PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression - Part 3

I feel nothing. Numb. And I am so overwhelmingly downtrodden that I can't even make the argument to myself that I am anything but useless...and that's just part of what's going on inside my head. My mind has completely lost focus on anything real. I haven't spoken to anyone for hours. All I can manage to do is to lie here in my own filth and stare at the wall or the ceiling. Inside my head there is a monologue that keeps saying things like "help me" and "can't anyone see how bad off I am" all while I'm desperately trying to not go through with the several different irrational plans my head is insisting I follow. I am lost in my depression, and it feels like the comfortable darkness will finally win. And all I can think about that possibility is...finally.

I don't know why this happens to me, but it does, and it's very, very real. Something tweaks in my brain, and suddenly I am falling down a rabbit hole. And it's so weird because I don't have anything in me to motivate me to move, shower, nothing. People who know me personally know that's not who I am inside...I am a fighter. But instead I just lay here lost in my head, and I am not showing any signs of life except for breathing, which...c'mon. That really isn't normal behavior.

Nothing matters except not moving and staying lost in my head. I'm comfortable, believe it or not. To say that I am comfortably numb is not a cliche or a sign of my deep love for Pink Floyd. The sad truth is that I AM lost and mostly unresponsive. And the thoughts I am having, they make so much sense--even though they are so NOT okay. Plans to fatally hurt myself reveal themselves over and over in different scenarios. And they all make sense. That's the thing I want to stress. This suicidal thinking makes sense while you're lost in it. Insanity is a real thing. When I am lost I know...KNOW...that I am a failure. I'm useless. No one can help me, and besides that I don't deserve anything and certainly don't belong where people can help me and support me because I am, in actuality, ruining their lives. This isn't even close to what I believe when I am feeling okay and am able to focus on what's real, but it's the conclusion I always come to when I am captured in a severe depressive episode.

Why is it that my brain makes me want to kill myself so badly when I am like this? I don't understand what triggers my head to go there, but it does. It's done this to me for 30 years, but the last 7 have been especially difficult. The only weapon I have against this suicidal mania is this distant voice from deep inside telling me to hang on. It's an internal struggle, for sure...one that I have, in fact, lost several times. In those cases I simply can't hold on, and I try to kill myself. I have honestly lost count of how many times in the last 7 years I have tried to end my life, and that doesn't include the sporadic times before that. However, I will tell you that every single one of those times was one where I was lost in that extreme thinking. I have just been lucky enough to have someone show up or figure it out and save my life. It amazes me, really, because I'm always sure that I am not going to be found until its too late; yet, it never ends that way. Somehow someone close to me always finds me in time.

Anyway, the only thing I have found that I can do when I desperately try to hang on is to seek out the safety of my bed and close my eyes as I hug one of my pillows. Inside my head there is a wondrous and fierce battle taking place, and I am just a witness to most of it. I have all of the thoughts I described above, yet there is a part of me that is instinctively fighting to stop myself from carrying out these terrible plans.

And I do fight...it's just not obvious because from the outside view I am not moving or communicating or keeping myself healthy. I fight by thinking of my educational goals and my brother's new wife, Martha, and his new step-daughter, Andrea, who, of course, is now my niece. AND there is the forthcoming birth of Abby, my brother's first child with Martha. I love them and am excited that Abby will be here in less than two months. It's thoughts like this and of the friends that love me who would be devastated if I died that allow me to hold on. But again, this battle is all in my head, and it's not obvious which line of thinking is going to control my actions.

For example, one action I can't stop myself from doing, because my negative thinking forces me to, is to hoard selective pills that are given to me even though I am screaming to myself, "NO, NO! Don't do this!". But it doesn't stop me. There is some part of me that irrationally knows that this is important because if I do this consistently for a short amount of time, I will have enough to overdose again. It's as if I am fighting to hang on whilst ensuring that the next time I fall into a deep depression I will have the necessary amount of meds to overdose and finally end this battle. I admit, it's sick, and it sure as hell scares me.

Usually I end up in the hospital when I am like this, but since it started (a week ago today until now), I have just regained the ability to articulate what it's like...really like...for those that may or may not know. Obviously there are varying degrees of depression ranging from being bummed out to all-out suicidal, and they are all important to recognize and to get help. As you can see, my brain tends to go for the worst, and it takes me a while to go for help...if at all. A lot of times I am forced to go against my will, and most of the times I can't remember at all.

My therapist/counselor has noticed that my brain easily gets going on a negative thinking path. It's automatic for me to think negatively about myself now. And that's hard to process because I know...KNOW...that negative thinking is not fundamentally me. Until this accident, I spent every day, year, decade pronouncing that I know I can do anything. I set an example for more than one person who wasn't sure. And yet now I have to admit that she's correct. In the last 7 years I have been disappointed more and more by my limitations. My visions for the future have been bleak and scary, although sometimes a ray of sunshine would help me to see that my future wasn't over if I just fought for it. For all of that, though, the bottom line was that I had no choice but to find a way to (radically) accept a completely different body. One that hurts a lot, is fatter than I ever imagined myself being, and of which I am very much ashamed.

I don't know how long I will be like this. I can say that I am a little better today as compared to last Saturday, and certainly this past Wednesday where I was so, so lost that the comfortable darkness was winning big. Yet here I am today, and I am able to look back on those days and articulate what it's like to those of you who may or may not understand, instead of lying in a mortuary. I'm counting that as progress.

As always, thanks for reading.

Setbacks

If I had written this entry a few weeks ago I would surely have had a different topic to discuss. I have had approximately 2 weeks of pretty good feelings. I was able to focus on my schoolwork and simple tasks in my life, and I took 2+ showers each week. I even did my hair and put on makeup those days. I ensured I looked really good for my doctor appointments so that they could see what I should be looking like more days than not (instead of the opposite, which is how I live now). During this time I completed 2 major papers in school and even made a commitment (which I kept) to go to the movies on that Friday. And again, I was able to get ready including hair, make up, etc. I honestly felt like I was better. I was a little anxious, but I conquered that feeling and participated in life for once.

Then Saturday hit. Of course, I needed the weekend (Sat, Sun, and Mon) to catch up with my new class, but unfortunately that's not what happened. Not only could I not focus on homework, but also I couldn't keep focused on reading, watching TV, nothing. I ended up in a fetal position for most of my days. My thoughts were racing so bad that I couldn't think straight. Sunday was no better. And Monday, yesterday, I couldn't keep my thoughts together at all. All of these negative thoughts were bouncing around in my head so rampantly that I couldn't do anything but sink into what my head was thinking. I spent most of the day in my bed, which I hate, but luckily I was able to sleep a lot. It's so disturbing to have this happen to me, especially for several days.

The reality is that I am extremely frustrated by periods of this whacked out thinking and behavior. I can't for the life of me understand why this happens to me. I am an articulate, intelligent, social, and generally kind person...so why do I have days where I am so lost? No doctor has been able to explain this, and I am stumped myself. I recently grilled my doctors about the medications I take, since I take A LOT, and the firm answer I received from all of them is that the drugs I take, antidepressants, for example, only help me (and everybody else) to feel just a little bit better. Instead what's more important is that I force myself to be active.

Can someone please tell me how this is possible? Do they think that I can just switch direction and be the person I used to be? I mean, I am aching to be active! I want to be the person I was before this damned accident! I want to get up everyday and take a shower (or at least get ready) and go places. I want to do this EVERY day. I even plan out my week in my calendar that includes me getting ready and going to a library to study or whatever. Yet, it really never happens. So often I am so overly and inexplicably anxious with random and dehumanizing, self-criticizing thoughts that disable me. How would you feel if your dominant thoughts were constantly telling you not only that you're a failure but reasons why? The only question left is when you would start to give in. I am my own worst enemy, I know. And not only me, but my professional help, don't know how to fix it.  

I receive ECT treatments every month, which have made a difference in my level of depression, and I am grateful beyond words for this. It hasn't stopped it completely, but between my mom dispersing my medications (so that there is no chance of my overdosing) and the treatments themselves, this strange focus of wanting to kill myself has mostly dissipated, with the exception of those horrible days like I described above.

During those periods where I am not strong, I picture things like holding a gun to my temple. I am also sure I am a severe burden to my family, so I often think I should just leave. Pack up the car with as much stuff as I can, load the dog, and hit the road. I think about this a lot when I am like this, actually. It's different than fixating on desperately wanting to end my life, which is great. But this idea to just run, sleep in my car, walk the dog, not worrying about showers since I can take them at YMCAs when I can. The idea that I can just run away from this environment where I spend almost all of my time feels like I would finally feel freedom...something I have not felt for a long, long time. I honestly don't know where I would end up. I just know that although I would miss my family terribly, I would feel better knowing that they could live their lives without having to take care of me or make excuses because I can't function effectively.

All of these details are part of the reason that I heartily believe that I am a burden to my family, my mother in particular. I have no words to describe the extreme and lasting guilt I feel when I have to rely upon her assistance. I feel useless and truly hate myself for the extra work I cause her. Sometimes I would rather she just stop helping me. I already feel alone, so it probably won't be so bad if she just gave up on me. I'm a hopeless case, and we all know it.

So yeah. These last few days have been a significant setback in feeling better. Intellectually, I know that there will be a period where I feel strong again. Yesterday my mom and I made a list of things that I wanted to do--tasks that aren't pressing but I would really feel better if I could take care of them. I really, really hope I can do those things. She has promised to help me--which makes my head insist that I am worthless and can't do anything anymore--so I hope that I can achieve my goals.

Setbacks are part of life--in all facets of life really--and I am no stranger to them in many respects. For me, I need to fight that horrific negative thinking which keeps me stuck, so that I can fight and fight hard. I imagine that many of you understand what it feels like to experience a setback, mental or situational. And I am sure you all thought it majorly sucked. So I guess that I am going to continue to strive to reach deep into myself and summon the strength I need to get past myself. I really, really want to succeed...like a lot of you can do.

I have work ahead of me, so wish me luck. And as always, thanks for reading.

Disappointment, Frustration, and Rage

Let's just start out by recognizing that everyone knows how it feels to be disappointed. Perhaps you weren't picked to be the leader of a creative team at work, or maybe your favorite sports team lost the game 2-3, whatever. There are countless ways that we all come to feel disappointed in our lives. It just depends on who you are and what you value as important. I see being disappointed as needing an attitude adjustment, and I'm used to feeling disappointed because my life is limited and difficult--although I will heartily admit that my disappointment sometimes departs, and I feel okay about where I am in the circle of life because I am blessed to have such loving people around me who do their best to show me they care and help me to overcome difficult moments.

Moving on, then there's that disappointing "thing" in your life that keeps happening over and over, and over time or just suddenly that disappointed feeling turns into frustration. Again this isn't a new emotion for any of us either. We've all been frustrated at some point. Whether it's being late to work while stuck in miles of traffic that doesn't seem to move or that you keep practicing something (dancing, singing, playing a musical instrument, doing math, whatever) but it's not coming together for you. Maybe you live paycheck to paycheck and still can't pay your bills, so you have difficult choices to make every month. In the end, it doesn't matter the scenario. You're just frustrated.

Frustration is a step-up from disappointment because when you feel frustrated it affects your mood, not only your attitude. You could be pissed off that you can't afford to buy any more food until the 1st of the month, even though you really need to, all the while trying to stay calm and think rationally about what you're going to do whilst the neighbor's dog is barking so loud it's as if he's in your kitchen with you. And it's tough to get beyond that frustration because you're not in control of what's happening and you direly wish you were. And that frustration can be very aggregating...leading to points which are not at all in the best interests of anyone near you.

In fact, to me frustration is like walking on the edge of a precipice. You still have a choice to walk away from the danger of falling off the edge (something that will most assuredly be horrific for you) even if you're already truly at the edge looking down. Yet we know that we can still gain control at this point because the messages that we can do it, hang in there, whatever, have been blasting in our faces between Facebook memes, TV commercials, and inspirational posters for decades...not to mention, let's face it, we've all overcome a lot of crap in our lives thus far, so there's an innate feeling that you can get through this too.

What is necessary is simple actually. When feeling frustrated one must simply remove oneself from the situation, even if it's only through visualization for a minute or so (which has an amazing effect on many, many people so don't knock it until you've tried it--and I mean really tried it). Doing this--this simple thing of focusing your thoughts on a pleasant memory or a goal or the love of your children, etc.--can mean that you have an opportunity to step back from a powerfully-negative emotion and instead rationally piece together your thoughts and your next move. It doesn't mean that things are going to get better. It just means that you are giving yourself a chance to think clearly and rationally. If you want my advice, the second you feel frustrated is the time that you give yourself a break (for as long as possible...maybe only just time enough to count to ten even, but hopefully longer) because what an escalation of frustration leads to is ugly.


I often wonder how many people in the world actually understand how it feels to be in a rage. I've been there more times than I can count--especially in the last 7 years--and I can tell you firsthand that its very scary when you look back on how you felt, your thought processes at the time, and the actions you took. There's no control being in a rage...there's only this unmitigated, strong, uncontrollable feeling that can and does make you act out in dangerous ways. Easy example: everyone knows about the plague of mass shootings in the U.S.and in the other parts of the world. That's rage at work.

Last night I was able to make it through a rage that was really, really harsh. I want to tell you about it because it's surreal to me when I look back at how I felt and what my thoughts were, and I honestly feel lucky that I couldn't/didn't do what my mind was telling me to do.

It started with being disappointed about having to deal with constant shocks in my legs (while being shocked, of course). This was quickly followed by feelings of intense frustration because I know that this pain and just complete randomness of shocked location is a prevalent part of my new life. Before I knew it I was lost and helpless and instead of thinking even slightly clear. I could only fixate on the fact that this was going to be part of my life for the rest of my life.

When this happens to me I typically try to calm myself down through either listening to music or by watching re-runs of The Big Bang Theory. Everyone has something they can do to help them escape/relax/whatever. Both of my activities include me laying in my bed, which is pretty typical for me, as you know, but in the end they work, and I was able to stop fixating and relax after a while. Soon after I fell asleep.

A few hours later I awoke to a situation that happens to me much more than I want to acknowledge. I know what it is like to feel helpless and an invalid when this happens. I can't imagine having the ability I used to have (but have now lost) for the majority of my life and then have this to look forward to. It's depressing.

So when I awoke I could feel cramping in my stomach, so I ran to the bathroom. Of course I was too late. I am always too late. Because of the nerve damage I suffered when my spinal cord was smashed, I have no ability to mentally, subconsciously, or physiologically tighten the sphincters that control when my body releases pee and poop. Instead the best I can do is to head it off and get to a bathroom the minute I feel any type of urge to go.

If you're reading this and know firsthand what I am referring to, I'm sorry that you have to deal with this. If you don't know what it's like, count yourself blessed. It's horrid that I not only cannot feel when I am excreting this waste but that I also can't feel where it is on my body because most of the skin below my hips (both the front and rear and sides) is numb. I can feel pressure (like when someone pushes on me), but no subtle sensation like other, unaffected areas of my skin. And the truth is that I am abashedly ashamed of this. No, it's not my fault, but I am still ashamed and very angry that I will never be normal again. I am ashamed that I have to wear Poise pads every day because I never know when I am going to pee unexpectedly. To date I am too proud to utilize Depends for both problems, but even that is starting to wain.

Anyway, back to my being too late. Put bluntly, shit was everywhere. All through my underwear and pajamas...even on the carpet of the bathroom and all over the toilet seat...not to mention that I am actively sitting down in the midst and atop of all this while my body continues to spew horrid-smelling goo. When it finally stops (and there is no way to know, to be honest, if it has truly stopped or just paused), I start working on cleaning myself up. I wiped myself clean from my lower legs to, well you know, and then have to deal with all the places it remains. The toilet is covered, the rug has a nice splotch on it, its throughout my clothes, and yes, it's in my bed too.

My mom wakes up and starts to help me, which immediately starts me thinking that I am unsure if I can ever live without a caretaker again. And to be perfectly honest, I notice that she's dealing with rinsing the shit off my clothes and my bed sheets--just what one wants to do when they wake up in the middle of the night--and I am extremely thankful for her efforts but can't react appropriately because I am so unnerved by everything has just happened. It's finally sunken in. This too is going to be part of my life forever. I gotta remember to pack a backpack with a spare outfit, towels, baby wipes, and more that I keep with me at all times. I gotta seriously think about wearing Depends...me...someone who has worn Victoria's Secret all of her adult life. I admit that this feels like I am surrendering to the life of an invalid, and it has pushed me to a breaking point.

I curl up in my bed as my wild thoughts start to swirl at tremendous speed, and all I can glean from them--the common theme of all of these flashes in my mind--is that my life will never be okay again. I want things to be different, but they never will be. And suddenly a rush of horrible visions sweep into my head. Thoughts of my room on fire while I just sit there and watch, thoughts of shooting myself, thoughts of taking a bat to all of the windows, TVs, and more all over the house simply to watch them explode when I shatter them, even flashes of thoughts of hurting others. Rationally speaking, I am completely in the throes of rage and the only question left is how I shall manage to get out of it.

After a bit, I marched over to the corner of my room and grabbed my cane.With it I beat the crap out of my newly made up bed. I beat it and beat it until I was quite exhausted, and even then I was driven to beat it more. The only way I knew that I could calm down was to physically exhaust myself...and I do give myself props for knowing that. I feel lucky that I had no access to weapons of any kind and that no one came in to disturb me whilst I was in the midst of this rage. I cannot say if I would have hurt them, but I definitely believe I could have. I was dangerous and out of control, so all I could do to negate it was to exhaust myself.

In the end, it worked. I found myself finally leaning against the bed and chucking my cane across the room as hard as I could. I was lucky. The only harm I did was to whack the crap out of my bed, but based on my thoughts it could have been so much worse. What if I had had access to a gun, for example? Or what if I had a bat that could easily smash everything in the house, including people or animals that got in my way? My thoughts were filled with images of this violence, but I fought them. I was horrified that I was envisioning myself acting that way. Scared, even.

So, as awful as it sounds, I actually understand the pathway to madness that brings forth these enraged people who mass shoot or bomb or whatever. I get it. I certainly don't approve of that kind of behavior, of course. I absolutely think that these people should be punished to the max for murder and terrorism, regardless whether they are mentally ill, religious extremists, or just blinded by rage that can't be overcome, whatever. Doesn't matter. I mean, if I was to do something that horrible, which let's face it, with the right circumstances who knows what I could be capable of (probably something extremely dangerous, harmful, and unretractable), I would WANT people to exterminate me so that this would never happen again.

Rage is a scary stage of mental thought processes because the majority of the time it results in actions...actions that are not usually good in nature. It all starts (for me anyway) by standing on the edge of the precipice feeling frustrated. If I could just take my own advice and immediately start calming down through some sort of medium, things might have gone differently for me over the last 3 years. Alas, they didn't, and whilst in rages over my situations, I tried to kill myself repeatedly. I have yet to hurt anyone or anything.

I guess what I am saying is please don't give into hate, which is precisely where rage takes you. Recognize when your level of frustration is getting the best of you and do something to mitigate it. It is the only way toward peace within. All of this I say knowing that my behavior is not a good example of how to do this yet. But I am going to keep trying.

As always, thanks for reading.