I didn’t think it was possible…

I have this friend who was going through deep depression the same time I was. We would sulk in our misery together. Somehow our level of depression seemed to always be the same every time we saw each other. When we were at our lowest point, I remember us saying how we didn’t remember what it felt like to be happy. That we haven’t smiled in such a long time. All we felt all the time was emptiness. We didn’t want to live another day. We just wanted to end it all, right then and there. I don’t remember when we said those things or felt them. Sometime last year I think. We met up about every six months or so and would text each other every once in a while after that.

It has been over six months since the last time we met and that last time, we were already both doing okay. We met again this past weekend and let me tell you. Someway, somehow, we both are happy and loving life. She did what she needed to get better and I have written about mine. We sat in front of each other scratching our heads and laughing and saying “remember when we said we don’t know what it feels like to be happy?” Now we are saying we don’t know what it feels like to be where we were when we were depressed. We laugh and we smile. Life is good for both of us.

Never did I imagine that things could be like this. I thought I wasn’t going to make it to the end of the year. I didn’t think I could be happy again. To be able to look past tomorrow and the next day and next week and even next month. Heck, maybe even the next year. All I know is that my medicine is working and things couldn’t be any better. I still have that fear that my medicine will stop working at some point because I get immune to them, but I just got to remember that I am happy right here right now and I can always come back to this point, if not, even better.

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the year that I died

Things were already falling apart. I couldn’t tell you when it began, I just remember my therapist telling me at some point that I needed to see a psychiatrist. Why, because everything that I had buried so deep inside and chose to forget and other things that I didn’t know were there started pouring out of me and I couldn’t hold it together anymore. For a long time I refused to see a psychiatrist, I refused medication, I convinced myself that I was fine and that I could handle anything. Boy was I completely wrong. This was the second time it was happening but this time was a lot worse than the first.

The first time this happened, I remember in 2012, I sought out professional help because the things that I had buried deep inside and had chosen to forget had started to surface and I didn’t know what to do about it. I found a therapist and we started working through my issues. I had a boyfriend at the time. He knew what I was dealing with and I think we became closer because the more he knew, the more I felt comfortable around him. My therapist at that time suggested that I see a psychiatrist and get on meds to help with the depression. I refused for a while. Then I said I’d give it a try. Not too long after, I ended up in the ER. I don’t know if it was because of the meds or just a really bad anxiety attack. I stopped the meds and I stopped going to the psychiatrist. At some point I thought things were getting better and I was healed, so I stopped therapy and now we end up to the beginning of this blog.

Fast forward a couple years later, obviously I found a new therapist because I was really really really depressed. No one had to tell me. I don’t remember when I started seeing her but since the beginning she had been suggesting meds. I remember complaining to my therapist saying that I would be in a perfectly good mood and be with good company and all of a sudden a wave of depression would hit me. So that’s what clinical depression is. I still refused the meds. My depression was getting worse, things from my past were resurfacing and there was no stopping them. At some point the suicidal thoughts became apparent. They’ve been there before but the urge was a lot stronger now.

Things just got worse from that point on. I started hearing voices and seeing things, seeing ghosts. I felt like someone was following me. I was always on edge. The suicidal urges were constantly knocking on my door. I’d have episodes where I would be talking to someone in person and the voices in my head would start to talk and say that they would harm the person that was with me. I was scared for the other person’s safety and I would cry and cry and try to run away but that person would tell me that there is no one there. I would continue to argue with them telling them to leave, but they never did. In the end, they calmed me down and I would snap back into reality. I had several episodes of that. I remember when I felt like the voices in my head were plotting against me, plotting my death. I remember telling my friend that I wouldn’t make it to my next birthday that year. I remember saying that many times. I remember having a dream where I was dead. I felt like I was already dead. The voices in my head told me to give all my account information to someone. They told me to write goodbye letters to certain people. They would tell me exactly how it would happen, the only thing left is for me to do it. One day I remember them saying, you know where the xacto knife is. I told my friend I wasn’t going to be at church that night. I went home. I starred at where my xacto knife was. I sat there for a while. I eventually got up and ran to my room crying and digging my fingers into the palms of my hands so that they wouldn’t do anything. My pastor and friend found me and took me to my pastor’s house that evening. That was only one incident. I didn’t tell my therapist about that.

In the middle of all this, I gave into my therapists’ wishes and started looking for a psychiatrist. I didn’t realize how hard it was to find one until I started looking. Some said they were not taking any new patients. Some said I wasn’t sick enough. Some asked why my family wasn’t driving me to my appointments? One said they couldn’t treat me and didn’t tell me why. Looking for a psychiatrist and the constant rejection drove my suicidal urges into overdrive. Being told that you are not sick enough according to text book? Just because I still have a job and live on my own, I’m not sick enough?!? I’m on the verge of ending my own life! Is that not sick enough for you?!?

Eventually I found a psychiatrist that would treat me. Eventually I told my family what was going on with me. It wasn’t until September 2016 that I was officially diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder and started treatment. It’s been two years and many changes in medication since then. I think my psychiatrist has finally found what they call the “cocktail” of medication so that I could function normally. It’s been working well the past few months, I hope it keeps going and not have to change again. Things have gotten a lot better. I don’t have hallucinations anymore. I don’t see things any more. I don’t hear voices anymore. I’ve fought to stay alive for this long and now am making plans for the future. I went through hell and back and now I get to live my life to it’s full potential. I’m alive and well and am really glad that the meds are working. All I can do now is look towards the future.

i beat you to it

I meet a guy. We go out on a few dates, talk/text and obviously like each other. Then things get start to get rocky on my end, personal stuff, I have another episode. I end up leaving the guy in the dark because I don’t want to talk about it. In a day or two I say goodbye to the person and send them on their way because I want to be fair to them. I don’t want to leave them hanging and feel helpless because I won’t let them into my mess. And we’re back to shutting people out. Damn, I’m getting really good at this!

First of all, I want to be fair to them. I don’t know how long my episode(s) will last and each time it’s different. They will just be left in the dark because I don’t want to talk about it, especially because I barely know them. They will end up feeling helpless because they want to help but don’t know how. Not their fault. At the same time, I’m dealing with this episode and it’s consuming me and the last thing I want to have to worry about is entertaining this guy every now and then so he knows that I’m alive. The last thing you want to worry about when you’re depressed is another person. I don’t mean to be cold, but it’s true.

Second, I don’t want to have to explain myself for anything that happens. Why this or why that? Things that are out of my control. I don’t want to have to explain for you to understand. I don’t want to have to repeat what I’ve told others already… It’s exhausting just hearing about it and I don’t want to bore you or make you worry. I barely know you.

Third, I think that I am too much to handle. I come with a lot of baggage. I’m a huge complicated mess. I’m a lot to deal with. A person can say that they can handle it right now, but what about later down the road? Years later? How will you feel then? I don’t want to be a burden to anyone and I certainly don’t want them to resent me for what I end up putting them through because of my situation. So I beat them to the punch, I leave before any harm can be done. I leave before I could cause them any pain. I leave before they could cause me any pain.

It will be hard for any guy to come into my life because of this. You would have to be really really special to get past my walls. For me to talk to you about what I go through in my darkest moments will be your ticket in. Good Luck! and good luck to me if I ever find that guy that I will actually let into my life.

my saving grace

I took the day off today… for two reasons. One, I didn’t feel like going to work and two, I was feeling depressed. I definitely needed it. Work is not crazy but it’s not busy either. I slept in til 11am and then went to lunch with my cousin. Went home and took Mochi to the park.

It seems my depression has been getting worse. This is the 3rd time that I’ve gone home or stayed home from work because of it. It seems like I have depressive episodes every week. My doctor changed my medication again but this time they have to increase the dosage slowly and the effects will happen in the span of a couple of months. That scares me! If my depression is already getting bad, I don’t want it to get any worse waiting, months for the right dosage, for the medication to work. I wish I could say that I was getting better, that the medicine is working and I’m on the road to recovery. Well kinda but not really. I’m afraid of what’s to come in the next month or two. I’m afraid of how bad it might get. I still wish that all of this never happened. I get tired of going through the same thing month after month. Taking medicine day after day waiting for something to work. I hate being asked if I have suicidal thoughts, if I have a plan, and what am I going to do? Knowing full well that there is a definite answer to that scares the SHIT out of me! I know what I am capable of. But, in the back of my mind, I really really really don’t want to die! Even though sometimes I do. Maybe that will be my saving grace. That thought alone will keep me from pulling it off. That thought alone will fight my other half to stay alive. Maybe if I’m fighting for someone else and not just me, that will stop me. Maybe that support that I get from someone is enough to pull me out and get me through this mess. That too will be my saving grace. That has to be enough. There is still that glimmer of hope that I will get through all of this even though half the time I’m skeptical about it. C’est la vie.

the scary stuff

It’s been a long and crazy rough road getting to where I am now. I’m not out of the woods yet but the light is starting to shine through.

In the beginning it started with severe depression. I would be with family and around good vibes and still feel like I wasn’t even there. I hear people talking in the background but it’s just an echo. I’m there but I’m not. No one is home. I’ve floated away to nowhere land and not looking to come back anytime soon.

Seeing things has been there since I was a kid. This is just what has happened recently. Ghosts would be walking around my apartment. There were 5 of them at one point. There was a little girl hunched over on the floor by the piano looking at me during my piano lessons. She wouldn’t move, she would just look at me. There was a tall white naked man with lacerations all over his body always walking across the hallway pacing back and forth. I can’t remember the other three. They wouldn’t talk to me. They would just be there. On the drive home I would have a ghost or two riding in the back seat. There was always someone following me, but would never reveal himself.  I didn’t like to look in the mirror because there would be someone else looking back at me but it wasn’t me.

Then came the demons. The ghosts would disappear when the demons came. There were a lot of them. They would bounce off the walls hanging around everywhere in my apartment. At first they would just stay in the living room. At night I would go to sleep and I could only see them at the door. Night after night they would get closer. In the room. Next, the bedroom light fixture, and then right behind me and whisper in bad things in my ear. I was too scared to remember what they said because I jumped out of bed and ran to the couch and called a friend. I was afraid to be in my own apartment. I sleep with the lights on because if I turn them off, she will be there to take me. She is waiting at the foot of my bed just at the right time, to take me.

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My Pastor and some Elders at the church came for a couple weeks to do prayer sessions at my apartment and it did help a little.

I still sleep with the lights on.

Then came the voices. There were three of them. The nice one who didn’t like to argue. The mean one who dictated over everything, and the middle one who tried to keep the peace. Eventually the mean one took over and she started plotting. This is when the suicidal thoughts and attempts started. She would tell me what to do all day long. Write a letter to this person. Say goodbye to that person. Give all your account information to that person. I actually gave all my account information to my best friend just in case anything ever did happen, he could give it to my family. I had dreams that I was dead. I knew there were times that I was sure I wouldn’t make it to my next birthday. I knew that I wasn’t going to last very long. I had no desire to live anymore. I was numb to everything. The mean voice really didn’t have to say much for me to attempt anything at my own life. There was one night, all I had to do was go into my art box and find my xacto knife and just end it right then and there. I guess it wasn’t my time yet because some part of me kept me from pulling it off. Another incident was when I got home and all I wanted to do was swallow as much pills as I could and sleep and not wake up. I ended up calling a friend before any of it happened. As much as I wanted to die right then and there, at the same time, I didn’t. I don’t want to die. I think that is what is keeping me alive.

None of that happens now. I still have depressive episodes and sometimes suicidal thoughts but not as severe as it has been in the past. Things are getting better and all I can do is move forward.

this is me

I guess when I started this blog site, I didn’t know how personal I would get. In the beginning, I wanted it to be light hearted and funny, or quirky even. I realize that some of my posts have really gotten deep into what makes me who I am today. I have a journal that I write in almost on a daily basis, but lately I find that I’m writing in here more than the journal. I guess I’m learning to open up? I thought it would be scary at first, to let the world know the real me, that side of me that I’ve been hiding from, hiding from the world all these years. I’m afraid of letting the world know who I really am. I feel like I wouldn’t be accepted given my past experiences with people.

So this is me. I normally don’t open up my feeling or my true self to just anyone. It takes me a while before I begin to trust someone because I’ve been burned many times before.

What do I really want to say? I want to stop hiding behind the shadows! I want to stop being the submissive, passive, even door mat that I used to be! I want to let the world know who I am and this is what I’ve been through to get here! It was never the easy road for me. Every time I thought, “this is it, I’m done, I can’t take it anymore!” I somehow found a way to get through it, don’t know how exactly, but I do. Then a year and a half ago, I get this thing called Schizoaffective Disorder and I plummet down to the depths of nowhere land and have to climb my way back up what seems to be a never ending roller coaster of symptoms and emotions and have to start all over again. But God won’t give me anything I can’t handle right? Sometimes I feel like that’s not true. Like this battle is winning over me. I’ve really questioned my faith going through this and it has scared me to my core! I used to be like God can get me through anything. God will prevail. God you are my rock. God this. God that. Then it became why God? Why me? I can’t do this! This thing you gave me is too hard to handle and I’m not the person to do it. When there are times when all you think of is taking your own life day after day among many other symptoms and just waiting and hoping for the medicine to kick in. I began to think, where is God in that? No matter how many times or how hard I prayed that this wasn’t real, that I didn’t have this thing, it wouldn’t go away. I stopped relying on God. I lost my faith in God. I lost all trust in God. I relied only on medicine to hopefully get better and even then I was skeptical. The medicine is working now, a few changes here and there. I don’t think about suicide as much. I still have depressive episodes here and there. I try to talk to God but it gets cut short. I’m still angry with him. Hopefully someday that will change. I read back in some of my old journals and all I talk about is God being in my life and how much I looked to him for all the support I needed; I kinda want that back. But, I know that has to come from me, and God is waiting.

 

anger issues

So along with my depression, I have developed a bit of anger issues. I’m not an angry person, never have been. I was always the shy, quiet, hide behind the shadows type of person. I’ve done a pretty good job of hiding it because no one really notices it but me. Even when I did get mad, I would give the silent treatment. Lately it’s been quite the opposite.

I get that we all have those annoying coworkers who don’t know what they are doing and get on your nerves, but usually you can move past it right? You’re used to it, it’s expected, it’s not going to change. Yet I find myself becoming consumed with anger and frustration over the smallest things that I know they are going to do. So is it that they just got on my last nerve or am I really blowing things out of proportion? For instance, my fellow coworker gives me an incomplete property setup (which she has always done in the past) and I’m here slamming things on my desk, throwing pens or whatever, jamming my pen into a pad of post-it notes and trying to control myself from going over to her desk and yelling at her for the missing information. I mean COME ON! How long have you worked here and you can’t seem to give me complete information?!? Okay, calm down. I knew she was going to do that. I always had to do the second half of her job for her anyway. That was only one instance.

At home, it’s sad, my dog Mochi gets yelled at for no reason. I all of a sudden get in one of my moods and because she isn’t walking as fast or the way I want her to walk and she’s just being a dog and sniffing everything in her path. I start yelling at her and tugging at her leash to make her catch up to me. She’s just being a dog, going for a walk. That’s it. She didn’t do anything wrong and she’s getting reprimanded.

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I can’t control it. I just get into these angry fits and lash out at the first thing that gets in my way. I’m on mood stabilizers but I don’t think it’s doing what it’s supposed to otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this. It doesn’t seem like much but I know myself and this is not me. I’m not an angry person. It used to take a lot to make me angry, now it’s almost as if anything will make me angry. People don’t notice it either because I’m almost always alone when it happens with the exception of work. But I feel it, there is a change in me and I don’t like it. It’s not something I want to get used to either. I don’t want to be known as an angry person.