Life just keeps life-ing along

VNS

I’ve been incrementally turned up to 1.25, while 1.0 is the therapeutic target. Anything above that is a benefit, as long as it can be tolerated. Though I think next appointment (2 weeks) I’m going to ask to be set back to 1.0 for a bit longer. I haven’t been getting used to 1.25 as quickly as the other settings.

The sensation is actually less complicated than some of the previous. I can feel it “ramping up” and then it’s a strong feeling like an uncomfortable twisting feeling at the neck. That sensation fades over the following thirty seconds. It’s accompanied by a small choking feeling and something like heart burn, which is annoying more than anything else.

I have found myself using the magnet to temporarily disable the VNS much more often than any other time. I’ve got a loose magnet but I’ve also got one on the underside of a watch band, so it looks like a wristwatch on my right wrist. Actually, it is a wristwatch on one of the provided wrist magnets. But if I’m in public and I feel it kick in while I’m talking, I just reach up to my left shoulder as if to scratch it and the movement puts the magnet in just the right place. So subtle. My scars are so subtle now that Wife actually wondered what that redness was on my chest, until she remembered.

As for me..

I’m introducing a new section, positive news.

Positive

I had a trip to the east coast (the same one I did last year, without the following suicide attempt) which was good. I got to spend a ton of time with my daughter, we really get on well. She has a passion for road trips to match my own.

I got to see my brother and his growing family. With frozen custard!

I spent five days with my oldest sister. No plans except some day trips to various parts of New York City. The rest of the time was spent doing absolutely nothing. Some writing, a bit of playing music, and a ton of time having really good chats with my sister and her husband.

I’ve have had some freelance work contracts come through, including a new one that’s part of a series. I think I’ve made dozens of dollars this year. So not much. But it’s something, I guess.

Back to our regularly negative blog..

Logistically (therapies, schedules, DBT) things are the same for me, it feels like everything is unspooling lately. I feel I’ve broken in half after/despite the peace of my trip to the East Coast. Since then I haven’t been able to write, play music, or even take the Vespa out and wander around. While these are usually escapes for me, where I can forget myself for a bit, they no longer work. It’s like something just came and removed my ability to enjoy the last things I could.

I’ve been thinking about the “anniversary” all week. Remembering the hospital and so on. So much has happened in a year, and yet nothing feels different, except the various side effects. I reread my journal from my hospitalization and I was so upbeat on release. I had plans and schedules and an attitude. That all seems so foreign to me. I can’t remember if that was genuine or I was just saying the things I needed to say to get out of there. I do remember the day I came home Wife picked me up and it was a pretty day. Still warm like summer, but hope for sweaters was there. And we went home and sat around the table and had dinner in the fading light of the day. Just like before. And after.

It feels like everyone else seems to be getting on with their lives. Everybody knows neighbor X is a baker, neighbor Y is a salesman, and neighbor me doesn’t work because he’s got the depression. That normalization is one of the most isolating things I’ve felt yet. Somehow I keep thinking I’m the old, robust me (with some weight lost, even!) but that I’ve been temporarily hobbled by my issues. As this wears on it really feels like this is it though, how it’ll always be.

(In rereading this, that’s a lot of feels. It took about three hours for me to write this, should have been easier.)

Happy Anniversary

Today is the first anniversary of my suicide attempt. In just this past year alone I have:

  • done an inpatient stay
  • a partial hospitalization
  • an intensive outpatient program
  • started ketamine therapy
  • a full course of ECT
  • had a VNS surgically implanted
  • started DBT
  • applied for disability.
  • Spent 75+ hours in therapy
  • Spent 96+ hours in group therapy
  • Changed medications at least a dozen times

(And a huge thank you and I love you to my wife. She was by my side for all of that.)

Three years ago last week I attended my first PHP, essentially marking this major depressive episode’s official start, though it was growing for months.

I have a wide variety of feelings this weekend. Hope is not high on the list, but I suppose it counts for something that it is on the list.

It’s been a long three years.

The Pain of Progress

Forever ago I found a cable knit sweater at Target. It was mustard colored and I loved it. It fit well, and it just had a sense of comfort. I went back and over a few weeks collected as many colors as I could find. Blue, green, beige. Sad I never found a red. The off white sweater was one size larger than the others but that made it even comfier.

I wore it all winter. I wore it to work and I wore it at home. In the summer I would find the lamest excuse to wear it. When I went into the “grippy sock jail,” aka hospital it was one of the few items of my own that I had.

Wearing that sweater gives me comfort and security. It was armor and it was what I knew.

Depression, for so long, feels like that too. It still makes me want to die, but it is also familiar, something I know, and at times, something that keeps me warm.

Last week, I visited my sister, who lives in a kind of remote paradise. My daughter was living there for part of the summer, and some of my trips purpose was to help my daughter move back home. It was an amazing visit. I spent time with my daughter, but also with my sister and her wonderful family. I took walks, I sat on a porch and read, and just sat there appreciating peace. I wrote about my childhood and about canoe trips, in an actual book.

I had two days of.. Nothing. Depression and anxiety weren’t there. At the end of these days I would be so exhausted that I could feel them, but it was only as I was going to sleep.

The closer I got to home the more the anxiety grew, and the depression poked its head out. Remembering that I had nothing to be, except broken.

“Getting better” has always scared me. So this development is very overwhelming. I worry that people will see me being more alert and active, and think “Great, he’s better now!” I worry the life I awaken to will be so very different from my old life. I will have to recreate myself, learn who I am and how I live my life.

I do know that I have more energy, but that a lot of it goes to wearing my “human face” and interacting with others. Ironically, the better I look, the better I’m putting on a good show. It feels a bit like I’m just going back to the time I was depressed but able to convince others I was fine. Back into the sadness closet.

I’m not there (“Better”) yet, obviously. It’s a long road. And I’m still not sure how I feel about walking that long journey. Or even if I’m willing to.

MAOI

I will preface this with the fact that this is a catch up post, and the latest “real” post is coming next.

Started the emsam patch, an MAOI. It does not have the usual dietary restrictions, but any higher dose they switch me to will have them. It reads like my grocery list of favorite foods. No ill effect from the patches so far. Sometimes they leave a red mark, and I change locations enough that it doesn’t get too bad. I was working on a series of red blotches from one bicep to the other, across my chest. Didn’t quite get there. On ketamine days I usually go “iron man” style with the patch right in the middle of my upper chest area.

I am back to full strength on my sleep med, and the vertigo has returned with some additional random dizziness. But I’m getting to sleep eventually. Forgot to take my night meds one night and was wide awake until near-dawn. That was a hard day.

Therapist says I need to buy in. believe, and try. Fight, even. And I understand that. But to be honest I gave up caring a couple weeks back. This is me forever and I can’t find the physical strength to fight it. I’m just like a weed in a stream, totally letting the current shape me.

I have finished the intensive outpatient program, and finished with complete therapy burnout. So now my structure is much less, which means I have to come up with my own routine and somehow gather the self discipline to stick to it. I think we all know that’s not going to happen easily or soon. But I’ll try.

Talking about everything with family, friends and therapist feels good but usually sends me deeper. The more I talk about the depression or focus on it, the more I feel it. It does feel like not talking about it and just doing a hobby is avoiding the issue, but sometimes I think I need that.

Finally, every moment of the day in my head I am saying “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” to everyone and everything. I feel guilty for making Wife go through this with me, as well as my whole family and network of friends. I feel like I am a sinkhole of emotion and resources.