Today I attend my last Day Program session. TMS has ended. Ketamine is back to maintenance. Recently I was attending 15 hours of therapies a week. And now I’m back to my personal Therapist, which is one hour a week.
I do have ketamine biweekly yet, and I attend my face-it men’s depression and anxiety support group. Going to one (or more) clinics per day made me feel like something was happening. Like regardless of my personal progress, it felt like maybe something would kick in and start helping.
Honestly, my upcoming “therapeutic exercise” has kept me busy and excited, and given me a positive kind of anxious. So it’s hard to tell if I’m any better. But I suppose that’s just as good?
I want to say I fell in love with everyone on my care team. They’ve been so nice, patient, kind, and wise. From the techs who sit with me while I get my head hammered to the therapist facilitators. I will miss the mission of having frequent therapy, but it’s really the people I will miss the most. They rock.
I feel like I’ve been crying for an hour. But I haven’t. It’s been a hard two hours.
Day program, the education session. New facilitator, and he seems really cool. We connected over music, concerts, and his fascination with (my) home built boats. He’s a bit high energy, but so much more interesting than the previous education person.
After a difficult processing group, talking mostly about my return to work and the dangers and concerns therein. The closer we get, the more anxious I get, and honestly the higher my SI gets. But we talked about breathing methods, and we did some painting. So I was feeling almost okay by the time we got to checkout. After I had submitted my sheet, however, I checked my mail. Email from my manager asking if I was still on track to come back part time next week. I had intended to send him the update today after verifying my Day Program discharge date.
I think I understand the concept of triggering, because I freaked the fuck out. Full on panic attack, fight or flight response, the main thought going through my head was “I can’t do this” and “I don’t want to exist.” I was actively thinking about how I could kill myself. Full body shaking, couldn’t focus on any one thing, and trying to breathe but will little effect.
The group was on the way out, but when I said it was from my manager I heard one audible gasp, and some other response I can’t remember. They were all very concerned and said as much. I was given hugs from a few of them, and I knew they were all there to support me. Therapist ushered the group out and came back to check in with me. He asked who I wanted to talk to and I said my primary therapist (processing session) who happened to still be in the office.
Our prime concern was my safety, and I was having trouble thinking straight. I answered questions as best I could, but honestly, I didn’t have all the answers. We talked about my days safety plan. I am going to dinner with a fellow misfit (met in inpatient #1), so all that’s left is after that, when I get home.
The main problem is that I don’t know what my safety looks like anymore. But we talked through it. Would I be able to call someone if things started to get rough? Would I be able to go to the ER? I had no answers, since I suck at both of those. I admitted as much and she suggested maybe having a sleepover with someone. Yeah, no.
Finally we decided she would walk me back to the parking ramp taking the long way around with the skyway, and see how I was by then. We chatted about random things which I can’t remember, and after the 10+ minute walk I was so much more regulated. We talked about safety and that I would be at program tomorrow. And I came home. Wrote a good response to work and sent, then bought plane tickets for my brother-in-laws memorial.
I wrote down something my therapist said once. “Better sleep than death.” I’m pretty sure it was about my not being able to get out of bed all weekend. That’s pretty much every weekend now. And a lot of days after program, when I get home and I’m completely washed out I’ll just go to bed for a few hours. Sometimes I’ll nap. Today I made myself stay out of bed for 2 hours after I got home so I could go out and get fast food for dinner and it wouldn’t be too early. Of course once I finished that I went to bed for a bunch of hours. Only to get up and consume media of questionable mental help for more hours.
I fully understand that sleeping too much or napping really screws up my regular sleep. So tonight I’ll probably get 3 hours sleep if I’m lucky, which sucks because tomorrow is one of my extremely long days. Five different types of therapies. Sometimes I wonder not just why I do all of them but what I do so many of them. Just following orders.
I think part of my willfulness, my bad sleep habits tonight are because I’m thinking a lot about how things have changed in the last 2 weeks. I know I dwell on anniversaries and time distances and I shouldn’t. I’m still just kind of reeling and lost and scared and isolated. I have so much less confidence that I know what I’m doing or what’s going on. I’ve had years of this depression and in some ways it was just fine. But it feels like I’ve broken something in me and I have less than a month to go back to work. Which in and of itself seems like an act of self-harm. I have other pretty big things going on in my personal life too and I’m trying so hard to keep my problems self-contained. Which doesn’t help the isolation problem.
My therapies have been getting harder. My acute series of ketamine treatments on top of the TMS series is a bit like a one two punch. They’re followed by the day program, where I get the very best quality group interactions, but they can be really hard to share and to hear feedback on. Follow that up with my personal therapy and all of the crap my therapist stirs up in the name of sorting my head out, I’m just completely wrung out when I get home. So I crawl into bed.
Now scroll back up to the top of this post and read it again and just keep repeating that cycle. That’s my life.
Working on getting back to (fucked up) normal. Schedule sorted, still in all of my therapies, apartment tidied and (somewhat) repaired. Bruises and scabs multicolor ugly but fading, and I’ve actually eaten some meals.
I was getting ready for my day, doing all the right things. Had time to enjoy my coffee, do my whole skincare regime, even had time to shave. But when I looked into the mirror clean shaven, I still felt the depression continue to pour over me like rain. And the first thought I had was that I’m not so sure I’m going to survive this thing. Actually scares me.
I’m using WordPress for this site, and it’s served me fairly well. Unfortunately, it’s not organized well. There is the list of all posts but that’s just title vomit, and not much help for finding things. I *thought* I had been helping people by telling them to use the search function in the upper right corner. Turns out that was only on my interface as the site owner. So sorry!
I know jetpack has some sort of search, but even a simple sitemap by date of post would be cool. So the question I ask of you: How do I add a search or a page with some sort of consumable index?
I used to be the person people would ask these questions of, but I just spent a few hours trying to do any of the above with nowhere near anything that could be called luck. Unfortunately, what I thought might be an interesting and productive diversion has reminded me of my greatest anxiety: intellectual ability to return to work.
(Sorry if you saw my posts from the past two days or so, while an interesting example of someone losing their mind, they had some spelling errors. And coherency issues.)
A couple days ago was a milestone reminder (want to stop saying anniversary) and I invited Drunk Robert back to my place and the rest is mostly gone, somewhat of a blur. I ended up in the hospital, spent a day there and they discharged me. I’ll admit it was a suicide attempt, and I started it by drinking, knowing my drunk self would try and kill me, though this one feels different.
I have attempted four times now. The others were either well planned out, or spur of the moment things. Afterward I felt foolish or stupid (always disappointed in the outcome) or more depressed. But they were mine, and my responsibility. This one was too, but now, afterward, I feel all of that but also like it was something that happened to me. I guess because of the lost time/blackout.
What I do remember over the 11 hours or so is screaming, crying, feeling out of control. I bought the alcohol myself. I called 911 myself. Between those two events is missing. I have bruises, carpet burns, cuts and abrasions, as well as bite marks. My favorite flower vase is destroyed, a drawer under my bed is broken, and part of a door jam was broken. The couch was moved to one end of the room, and I fully expect to find things missing or moved or broken in the days to come. I have no idea how there wasn’t a noise complaint, because none of that looks quiet. Honestly I’m surprised the balcony doors weren’t open, for obvious reasons.
So now I’m past that. I’ll be dealing with it for a while. I’m confused and disappointed both in myself and in Drunk Robert (to some extent.). But honestly I don’t know what’s next. They keep letting my leave the hospital, or program, or my treatments. When is it no longer safe for me to be alone? Ever?
I’m feeling much more safe now. I’m at the cabin ad I’m not alone, and having someone around helps. It doesn’t hurt to see a beautiful lake. I’m sore, which will pass. My wounds will heal. One of the bite marks is down to just an ugly bruise. I feel like this is all a massive setback for me. One of the clinical notes said that my current Day Program thinks I need a higher level of care. There’s only so far up the program ladder we can go though.
I will have to do a lot of work with my therapist. She’s a saint, but I promised her I would call if I was going to do anything, and I didn’t. And if I were her I would be losing patience. I will meet with the rest of my care team and have to explain it all again and again.
I know the subject is how to survive a suicide, not a suicide attempt. It feels like the correct way to put it, somehow. Like I didn’t just try it, I got partially through it. I’m so banged up, and it was such a violent experience. As I said before, it happened to me. Honestly I didn’t think I had it in me to beat me so violently, and that’s the scary part.
That’s all. No long set of posts describing my hospitalization or memories of other events. I feel like I can leave those be this time.
This morning I’m really feeling it, and want to write about it.
Waking up was hard as usual, getting out of bed took a few tries but eventually I slipped into the morning routine. Start coffee, lay out shower stuff, have OJ, grab coffee, start shower, etc. While I was in the shower the depression was a bit overwhelming, but I got through the routine okay. Go to the car, drive out to the suburbs. Sat in my car in the parking lot for a while, just trying to gather the energy? Motivation?
It’s a drowsy feeling, no matter how awake you are. It feels like being pulled down by your chest, but there’s also usually the anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Shoulders pulled down, and I find myself looking down when I’m walking. Everything is like a thick fog you have to push through, hard to walk, hard to interact with people. Somehow even hard to just sit. And no patience for anyone.
Sometimes it’s like drowning, but when someone makes you laugh you bob to the surface for a moment to breathe. But you’re always going to drop back down into the water. I had my usual TMS session and was relieved to see my favorite tech would be running it. It just felt difficult to get in the chair, and once it started I had the familiar feeling of intensified depression when the mallets were hitting me. The tech, as always, engaged me in nice conversation, talking about the State Fair, or proper condiments for hot dogs.
I laughed, I smiled, I enjoyed our conversation. But so much of the time I felt like I was going to start crying. The overwhelm was so strong, and the depression so intense this morning that it all just worked against me. On one hand I’m glad I didn’t start sobbing in front of the tech, but on the other hand I think it would have felt like some kind of relief. In the end I was left with this heavy, thick, sad fog to push through whether I like it or not.
The fact that I don’t tag these well makes this a lamely titled entry.
It’s been a minute since I posted, and honestly it’s just the same old same old. I think I got a 26 on the PDQ-9, which ties a personal best. TMS hurts my head and my soul. Seriously it’s like tiny metal mallets, but when it’s firing it feels like the depression core of my brain is being poked with a sadness stick. Day Program is good, especially group. Haven’t had to convince anyone I was safe lately.
The next stuff is truly horrible. The only redeeming thing I can say about it is that at least it isn’t poetry. You’re good to go just stopping here.
Random quotes from the notebook of an angsty middle schooler:
Better to sleep than to die – my Therapist
I can’t seem to reconcile having bright days or hours with my depression. Nor can I comfortably accept a possible trend toward the light. Who am I if not my depression?
Depression is so much easier in the winter because there’s less sunlight. [to wake you up]
When I’m happy I feel as though I’m disrespecting my depression
Stimulants feel like a scaffolding on an old, rotten church.
Sauerkraut is just kimchi for midwesterners
Isn’t it strange that we don’t know what’s after this? Not a single credible explanation. We’re all just over here on one side of the wall without a clue. What if there is no other side of the wall?
I threw my pedigree at the facilitator and talked about a reason to live or a reason to die. He had no clear response.
I am too lazy to get better, or just want to get worse until I die?
I went for a walk yesterday, saw a bunch of pretty wildflowers, but didn’t find any more hemlock. But hey, it’s exercise!
Second week in on anything is usually not very newsworthy. I think this is worthy of a post. Also, I’m eating an eclair at one of my favorite shops and need to kill some time.
The weekend was bad. I stayed in bed for most of it, just trying to escape. I remember a strong impulse to call someone to talk, but knew it would just be complaining, and it wouldn’t help. I was so low on energy that my suicidal ideation was super safe. But I didn’t want to feel like this anymore. At all, forever.
Saturday was bad enough that I started worrying about Sunday’s concert. I’m known for having concert tickets during a funk and completely blowing the show off. I love love love Wang Chung and some of their soundtrack work. Had tickets, pretty good tickets at that. Never went. Too hard, mentally and thus physically.
Told my best friend about my concern and he ordered me to drag myself to it. So I did. Nine Inch Nails are super important to me (see previous post about music) and I did enjoy it, though it was a little overwhelming to hear some of the more impactful songs live. It. was an assault of emotion, but reaally in a good way.
Monday morning. I’m told right away that the monday after the first week can be tough. Also, we were turning up the intensity. And it hurt. It was clamping my jaw shut when it fired, and I could feel my hand twitch. But I sucked it up and made it through. Got a little headache, all done.
Today (Tuesday) was a different story. I went in with a 24/27 on the PHQ-9 (scored as Severe Depression) and was just flat. Settled into the machine, got my earplugs halfway in as intended, and got myself into the Magnet beams deep into the brain. The little hammers were really hitting me hard. I’m still not ready to back it down to the previous intensity.
It was the chatty tech that I have decided is my favorite one, but I just wasn’t in the mood. I had no headphones so conversation was the way of the day. We talked about the State Fair, which I love. But when the device fired, I clammed up. Not just from the automated jaw clench, but an overwhelming sad mood. It was like being pushed into something stronger than I already had, but only for the time it was firing. Doing that 54 times did not help my disposition, and I’m carrying a headache as a souvenir.
Off to Day program, we’ll see if I feel any better after that. Luckily, a blank afternoon after.
I’ve always been deeply connected to music. Happy, sad, doesn’t matter. Something is playing. Depressive episodes are no exception. While I tend to play music until I’m sick of it, it goes doubly so for depression. I guess instead of getting sick of it, it tunnels it’s way into me, and the more I play it the more it resonates. Like a coil buried deep inside me that hums when I play the music. Each episode, for the most part, has it’s own album. Something I play and play and it makes me feel something or nothing. If it’s depressing music, it lets me hold onto my sadness. If it’s angry, it lets me yell along with it in the car. You get the concept.
1983-1987 This Mortal Coil It'll End In Tears
High school is tough for anyone, all those hormones and social situations. While my first depression experiences were in middle school, it wasn’t until high school that I felt the real sting. Being into music – the more obscure the better – I had friends who knew more than I did, and would offer suggestions. At one point I traded a low-end CD player for this CD and Joy Division’s “Closer.” A real double whammy. I didn’t like it as much as “Unknown Pleasures” so I focused on This Mortal Coil. While I appreciated the mood, I didn’t really understand the significance of the source of the music (Big Star) or the artists in the “group.” Performed by mostly artists from the 4AD label – also known for their downtempo content.
I would lay on my bed and listen and put visuals to the soundscapes, listen to the impassioned singing, and disappear for 44 minutes.
2006 The Dresden Dolls The Dresden Dolls
Work was a nightmare. I would go in at 9 or 10, then work until 6. I would go home and have dinner with the family (wife, 2 kids aged 3 and 6) and turn right around and go back to work around 8pm. I would work until 2 or 3, and go home. Every day. Weekdays. Weekends. This went on for what seems like years, but it was probably only one or two. It took it’s toll.
Wife and I got matching shrinks. Psychiatrist for the meds, psychologist for the happy talk. I had been on only one med so far, and this was the introduction to experimenting with different options. My first med was in 2001, but I can’t think of an album for that time. I remember it was pretty quiet, but very loud. Baby with legendary colic and unemployment, not to mention 9/11.
The Psychologist started by calling me out on my suicidal ideation. At the end of the first session she pushed me pretty hard on it, and at the beginning of the second I asked about it. She said some people just needed to do what they had to do. I mean, she’s not wrong, but it didn’t feel like the right thing a mental health professional should be saying..
I would drive back to work (where else?) from my appointments, screaming along to Amanda Palmer’s super triggering lyrics. I was almost happy doing that.
2019 Nine Inch Nails Hesitation Marks
Another big gap, but we’re skipping ahead a could of episodes here. This was the beginning of the end, taking a leave from the job I loved and loved me. My introduction to ECT, TMS, and a whole host of meds that didn’t work.
I’ve been a fan of Nine Inch Nails from their first album, which actually holds up quite well 30 years later. But there was something in Hesitation Marks that caught me and held on. At some point one of the streaming services reported that I was in the top .02% of Nine Inch Nails listeners. I think it was for one specific date and there were probably other qualifiers, but I found it amusing.
Again, loud in the car.
The 2019 episode lasted for 4 long years. Three suicide attempts, more ECT, a spell in the actual hospital with no sharp objects. But by 2024 things were looking better.. for..
2024 Lady Gaga Mayhem
.. about 5 minutes. Back in the dumpster. More Ketamine, more meds, another PHP, another Day Program, and now another TMS. My care team was pretty closely aligned, they all independantly told me to go PHP. So I took another leave from another job and went back into the game. I would get gentle suggestions from time to time that maybe I should consider a higher level of care, like inpatient. That long sentence is a suggestion. Later I would get sharper suggestions with a tone that indicated I was going to have to talk them out of it if I wanted to leave the room free. And that’s where I am now. My happy moments are when I’m flying along the freeway with the top down and Lady Gaga turned all the way up, I may or may not be singing along. (I am)
a Scarlet D 