What on my Mind, 11/19/08

I haven't been posting about therapy as I originally intended to. I have allowed life to get in the way of what I want to do, which is writing. No matter the form, I want to write.

So here is a catch up: since lat Thursday, I have only attended therapy for 1 and 1/2 days. I attended partially on Thursday of last week. My fibromyalgia, for which I blame every ache and pain on, was in full swing. I did intend to initially stay the entire day, but the pain got the best of me, and I left half way through the day. I went home and took medication, which promptly made me so tired, I didn't feel like doing anything. On Friday, I felt awful and didn't even attempt to go to therapy.; I called in sick for that day.

I did go on Monday, but to be truthful, I didn't get much out of it. My pain levels were too high for me to focus on what they were saying and doing. So here it is Wednesday, and I was at the Clayton Sleep Lab. I did my sleep study last night. I thought I was going to be evaluated for a nap study, but found out that I have sleep apnea primarily during REM sleep, and need a C-Pap machine to allow for oxygen flow. I have already called off Therapy, so I am not going. I have a lot of things I want to do today at home.

We will see together what the next therapy session brings. I am hoping for a reduction pf days. I may demand the reduction of days attended. I need t he time, and I can honestly say that I am not getting as much from daily treatment as I was in the beginning. I believe that three times per week sessions would better serve my needs.

I am at home, Jacob is at school, Patrick is at Edgewood, and Mark is at work. I plan to get several pieces of writing done. Yesterday, I mailed out a manuscript for a contest. I think I might mail it out to a couple of other places to see if I can't get it published. I plan to work on some reviews and my books. Sounds like a great day, doesn't it?

Finally, my sttitude of gratitude: I am grateful for the leaves all over the place. I needed their beauty when they changed colors a week or so ago.

On Mel's Mind

It is 3:51 and I am wide awake. I had a restless sleep. My fibromyalgia is in high gear today. I am achey all over. My back hurts to bad right now. I am going to have to take meds, which make me feel like I am disconnected with the world.

I am looking into getting disability. Not the short term that I am getting through school, but the long term kind that you get through social security. I know that I can’t work when I feel this way. I hope that I have the correct documentation. I have read several things about my specific diagnosis, and I do know that you have to be diagnosed by a rheumatologist in order not be rejected by ssi. I have that, thanks to my smart husband.

On another note, I didn’t make it to therapy yesterday due to the issue with Patrick. I feel bad in a way for him, but I think this will be good. He doesn’t have enough coping skills. He, like his mom, needs to be taught how to better deal with the stressers of life.

The last time I did go to therapy, I saw the psychiatrist. I really like him. I told him that I couldn’t afford medication. I was denied a claim for one of the meds that I have been taking for some time – Cymbalta. He had his secretary call the company drug rep to get free samples. He is going to give it to me for a while. That is really awesome, at least I think so.

Money is so tight right now. I even asked my sister for a loan, but that didn’t work out. It is scary not to have enough money to even by milk for your children. I had planned to go to the food stamp office yesterday, but was closed due to Veteran’s day I know this situation is temporary, but I just never thought that I would be here. I am thinking about going to a local church for family adoption for Christmas because I didn’t make all of my bills this past month. Extra money, if there would be any between now and Christmas, will have to go to paying past due bills. I haven’t decided as of yet. I know Christmas isn’t about the gifts we give to each other, and I don’t care about myself, but I would like my kids to be able to receive gifts. A tough one that I will have to think over.

Voting and Therapy for today

I voted today, did you? I surely hope so. It is such an important responsibility that we accept as being and claiming citizenship to our country. I am excitedly watching election returns tonight.

I went to therapy today. I know I missed blogging about a couple of sessions, and I don't want to get too far behind. So -- we have been talking a lot about Human growth and development. I really am liking my therapist, S. She is so together and so smart. She seems to be able to pick my brain.

I am wrapping my head around the fact that a lot of my problems stem from being co-dependent. You know, I have been that way for so long that I can't pin point where self begins or ends and the sickness of being overly codependant starts and ends. I just about have myself talked into going to group recovery for CODa. I don't know for sure yet. Shit, I could spend all of my evenings going to support meetings. There is Al-Anon. I have never been to one of those, but I am really thinking strongly about it also. In addition there is Adult Children of Alcoholics that I would like to try also.

One thing I haved learned in therapy is that I don't know what my triggers for depressive behavior are. That is a real problem, as I can't begin a recovery plan when I am not even sure of the triggers. I am going to work on that really hard for the rest of the week. I am realizing that I really don't want to feel this way for the remainder of my life. I have spent my entire adult life not knowing what or whoe I am -- always wrapping my life around someone else's. Not a good thing if you allow yourself to suffer and fall to the wayside in the process.

Some good things came out of today; at least I think a lot of good things came out of it. Happy election day to you all.

Attitude of Gratitude

Attitude of Gratitude. This is one of the catch phrases that is used at therapy. I lost it, as I always do when I am depressed. The attitude is supposed to be one of thankfulness for all of the good things in your life.

When I am depressed, not just sad, but really deep down I-am-not-sure-I-can-make-it-anymore depressed, I lose my attitude of gratitude. I am sure I am not the only person that had felt this way, but when you look at it objectively, it is stinking thinking that puts one in this place. I call it the spiral to hell, because at the bottom of the spiral is a dark place where all of the hurts of the past that I haven’t dealt with just well up and overtake me. It blocks out all of the good in my life until I am so blinded by the trash, that I can’t see anything else.

More trash surfaces, more good is blocked, and before I know it, I am at a place where I don’t see the good. I look at my children and think, “How can I effectively parent when I didn’t have a good model?” I look at my husband and think, “He is so going to leave me when he finds out what I am really like.” I look at my job and think, “It is all a great sham and the children know that I can’t effectively manage them.” You begin to see how stinking thinking because this great all-encompassing fireball.

I get why group therapy works for me. I listen to others talk about their stinking thinking. I can see that their path is not the right one; I can see the good in them. Once I begin to talk to others about their good qualities and the good things in their life, I begin to picture my own, and my attitude of gratitude starts to build. As I sit here typing at 4 something am, surrounded by my still sleeping family, I can see through the fog at the goodness they bring into my life – and how their love and faith can rebuild my Attitude of Gratitude.

Therapy, Day 3

Surprisingly, getting ready for therapy and getting there wasn't an ordeal today. I didn't sleep well the previous night, even with taking Ambien CR. I am tired and edgy; I am functioning in a numb mode. I arrive at therapy, log in, and find I am exhausted. I don 't want to participate, but force myself to do so.

I have an epiphany while talking about my issues. I am so used to thinking that I am not worthy, that I don't love myself. How then can I give to anyone else? One of the therapists talks about how loving yourself allows you to give so much more to others. Have I ever been in this place she speaks of? I don't know. I am certainly not there now. I feel I don't have anything to give. It is exhausting to function as a wife and mother, much less do anything else. I have to leave therapy early to take Patrick to a counseling appointment, and I am thrilled when the time rolls around to leave. I am tired of being tired. Therapy hurts -- I have to face issues that I have stuffed down my whole life. I know I have to face these issues. i have to heal. I am growing old. Today is not the day to move forward, and I don't. Today, I just exist.

Therapy, Day 1

As I stood at the desk signing in, I felt such a rush of emotion. It has difficult not to leave. The failure that I felt, and feel, at not being able to deal with my depression can be consuming, so that I don't think of anything else. It is hard to keep the focus on wellness when I have been mired in this for so long.

I don't know that someone who has not battled with depression can fully understand how it can take over one's life. It is always there, a gray shroud that veils all aspects of me and everything I do. It is in my head, making it feel heavy and hurt. The constant throb in my temples. The aches of my body that feel always as if I am either just getting over or just coming down with a flu like bug.

I digress. Standing at the counter again, these few years later than last, make me feel as though I am a small child, at the teachers desk, asking for help with something that I should already know how to do. As the staff ask the perfunctory questions, I hang my head, and talk, I realize later, in a small voice. I just want this part ot be over with. After completing some paperwork, a staff member sits with me to discuss the intake process. They call the program partial hospitalization.

After that process is concluded, I am directed the first of many classrooms, or groups. It is these where, with direction of staff, I hope to work out the demons that keep me from the feelings that "those on the other side" feel. I am guessing those are happiness and a meaning for life -- neither of which I feel now. I am just existing, sucking up time and space. I attend classes on self esteem and enjoyment. One doesn't choose what classes you go to, the staff chooses for you. There was some grumbling among the other attendees that they had been involuntarily switched out of relaxation. I am checking my list; I don't want to go to that class, and am thrilled to find that it isn't circled. I am pulled out a session to talk to the nurse. She takes my temperature and blood pressure, making a comment about how they get the all of the older things, and apologizing for the thermometer. I didn't understand her comment that "the big house gets all of the newest equipment and rightly so."
Does that mean that a patient at Anthony House is any less deserving? I don't think that is what she meant, but it is obvious that some of the people in the system feel that we are. It is the oldest and least updated building on a multi-million dollar health care facility campus. Perhaps it is because society typically turns a cold shoulder to those things it doesn't fully understand. The nurse was nice enough, taking time to explain and to listen. For the first time in a while, it feels good to have someone really listen to me, knowing fully that her only agenda is to make me well. She encourages me to do things that I have given up on, and we make a deal that I will get out to go for a walk. "It will help you, and you will feel so much better." For some reason, I trust her and agree. We finish and she sends me off to the next session.


Somewhere along the line, I am asked what was my best day and what was my worst day. I couldn't tell them. I am so mired down in the now -- I can't remember a best day, and so many, many seem to be the worst. Another patient says, "I have a hard time accepting anything positive {about myself}. I feel that if people could only see what I see, if they could just look inside my head, they wouldn't say those things." Heads around the room bob in agreement. At the end of the day, I have to create a goal, I get to go last because I am the newbie. I copy someone else's because I can't think of a goal at that point. I am on overload. However, being able to reflect back over the day makes me realize that I want to get to a point where I feel as though I am not just being. I am hopeful.

Mel's Mind, Friday

The sign at the front of the building says Anthony House. Of the health care setting it is on, this is one of the ugliest buildings on the property. It is obviously several generations older than the others. I think it is supposed to be a cream color, but it looks as though someone took great lumps of charcoal and wiped down the sides of the building, creating dark streaks that start at the roof line and cascade down the outer walls. Someone has planted bright flowers at the entrance -- lipstick on a pig.

Sucking in my breath, I walk up to the door and give it a yank. I am reminded of another time I have been here. I pull the inner door open and am met with the dank smell of old carpet and even older building. It doesn't smell like a hospital, it smells old. The carpet is dingy, in need of a change. Walking down the hall, I glance up at the sign that confirms the mental health outpatient clinic is still in the same place as it was three years ago. The sign confirms that it is, and in a weird sort of way, confirms that I am still in the same place also.

I pull open yet another set of doors, and drag myself up to the desk. I am greeted by Tammy. I remembered her from the other time that I was at this same desk. She is still as bright and cheery as I remembered -- I hated her at that moment. Her happiness irritated me. Everyone on staff was kind and cheerful. A drag for me at that moment in time. It took everything I had not to turn tail and bolt out of there, but I didn't. I have made it a mission this time to stick it out. After 25 years of fighting, I am going to win the battle.

My battle, of course, is depression -- mental illness, if you will. As I struggle to be the best mom that I can for my children, and help them with their battles, I am waging my own war. I am tiring of fighting, and, therefore, have to win this time.