Other than the fact that I felt like I was going to burst into tears over the cat looking at me sideways it turned out to be one of those days where everything sent me into hysterics, which was good and bad. I already had a massive headache and was bloated and felt disgusting overall and wouldn’t shut up about it, but that is still better than it going the way of feeling like my blood is going to boil out of my body.

It isn’t uncommon for us to spend large amounts of time laughing but I was still thinking – “what the fuck is up with me, I almost never get this hyper.” When I went to bed I figured I’d sleep like a log, I hadn’t napped that day and was tired; having felt like crap all day sucked and I was in no mood to accept that laughing is good.

Sleep didn’t come, night sweats on the other hand came with a fucking vengeance, I deduced that it was still payback for forgetting my medication, although in my not fully sleeping but sort of dreaming enough that I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the soaked sheets and clothes haze, I could tell that there was something else wrong. I was feeling numb in my hands and I wasn’t so much dizzy as it just felt like every time I moved I could hear and feel everything around me moving with me. I ass-umed it was related to the migraine side of it all and went back to tossing and turning in the damp gross sheets. As IF I would ever do it, but Adam has always said that I can wake him up and that he will sleep in my night sweat area, fucking disgusting but sweetest shit ever.

When I got up in the morning I felt horrible. The numbness was still coming and going from my hands and I was finding myself pretty creeped out by the whole moving my head and then hearing almost a whooshing sound going by, not to mention anxiety shakes central. I can’t remember what clued me in, but I jumped off the couch, grabbed my granny style pill holder and let out a nice loud FUCK ME when I discovered that my pills for Sunday were still sitting in the wee compartment. No wonder it felt like my fucking head was going to fly off my shoulders which would have at least cleared up the problem I was experiencing with my lips going numb.

I instantly started to tweet my disdain for myself and my carelessness whilst trying not to freak out because I was feeling seriously ill and other than taking more than one extra milligram of clonazepam, I did not want to mess with anything. I figured it was better to suffer it out than to take two or three milligrams only to have a longer recovery period.

I was basically a walking public service announcement for what not to do; I’m still quite frankly floored that not only did I forget my meds twice in one week but within that proximity. I’m not a defiant person with my medication, I will go off medication that my shrink puts me on if I don’t like it, but I have never ever just stopped taking anything cold turkey.

I felt so bad I was worried it would carry over into Tuesday and I’d have to miss a gym session, missing my workout on Monday was piss off enough but my equilibrium was fucked. I did chuckle over the one part of the email my shrink sent me which said: “Problem with effexor is when you miss doses you can feel extremely unwell.” That much I had fully figured out. Got it.

Thankfully, the really nasty side affects only lasted into the evening, Tuesday I was still a bit off balance and we did have to modify my workout but I was still able to go, and today I’m pretty tired but back on track. At least I didn’t go nuts. I have to admit I was a little worried about that, I thought I would be super depressed today actually but other than napping for a few hours I still feel alright.

This little fuck-up made it pretty clear to me that I am doing the right thing coming off all of this shit, granted I wasn’t trying to rush it, the next official drop isn’t until my next refill but whoa man holy shit I hope in the mean time that I don’t do that again.

Doesn’t so much matter what happened but for the first time ever on Friday evening I admitted on Twitter that not only had Adam and I had a fight but that he wouldn’t be coming home that night. Many people were very quickly very supportive and I can’t thank you enough we are both very lucky to have the friends we do. Sometimes I just get to a point where I don’t care, if people want to pretend their marriages and relationships are perfect fine so be it that works for them but I think it is unrealistic to think that an eight year relationship / [almost] five year marriage wouldn’t have a few hick-ups. Since last July, we’ve been going through the first real rough patch in our marriage and I’m quite frankly tired of pretending everything is fine. I don’t feel the need to elaborate further but I do feeI that I needed to be honest with myself about it. At this point all that really matters is that we want our marriage to work.

Friday evening also brought the horrible news that a friend had again tried to take his life. This is a friend who I’ve visited in hospital before, someone we both care for deeply, but for me when they get to the point of hospitalization there is a part of me that sometimes shuts down, I simply cannot handle it and I feel physically ill. When you are dealing with friends who suffer from depression and you yourself suffer from depression and have tried to take your own life on multiple occasions, in some cases you have no choice but to protect yourself first and immediately pull down the oxygen mask, but in others you have to put the triggers and nausea aside and step up to the plate walk into the fucking ward and visit or in this case you and your husband who you’re not really talking to spend the day following day with them.

It took a few hours for my body to relax on Saturday, for me when I hear someone say something to the affect of “a few people would’ve missed me, some I’d really hurt, most not.” I can’t deal because already losing someone to suicide was by far the worst pain I have to this day ever felt in my life, I know for a fact that any variation of that statement is bullshit. And from the most selfish place in me I won’t lose another person that way, I fucking won’t. But I also won’t not be friends with someone or abandon them because they suffer from something outside of their control.

And so today I’m freaking out a tad and feeling yet again unaccepted for my depression because I tweeted my feelings today and was instantly unfollowed by someone I’ve met so yes, I take it personally. Now, let me be clear, if someone doesn’t want to follow me on Twitter I’m fine with that, long gone are the days I’d freak out, I didn’t even understand social media back then, but fuck it, whatever, that was until today because you know what? If you know the person, even if you don’t like the person show some fucking tact, wait a few hours, don’t make it so glaringly obvious how big of an asshole you are. I get it, not everyone wants to see people who suffer from depression talk about their depression but that’s actually kinda funny too, because most people will keep following the person who suffers from Cancer and support their battle but unfollow the person struggling with depression. I’m trying to calm down and relax I obviously know I’m not in this bad of a rant mood over Twitter, I’m honestly sort of amazed I cracked this soon, normally I can hold shit it and make it a fuck lot worse before I explode so I guess I’ll call that a baby step in the right direction of feeling the feelings.

I know that I have mentioned how I’ve been spending a lot of time this year learning how to feel for real again and sit in my feelings and that my medication(s) were being dropped, but I’ve never said how much or what exactly, for some reason that is one of the areas I do find myself keeping close is how much medication I take. But I feel that I’m working so hard at present yet fucking up left, right and centre, I’m feeling discouraged but I’m not ready to give up on myself, I dropped a lot and it took a long time and I need to give this a shot. It is clearly affecting me right now and in some ways I’m really struggling to find out who I am and what the fuck I’m doing. This does make perfect sense to me though, it just doesn’t make figuring shit out any easier.

I was taking:

Seroquel 275 mgs – 200 at night, 75 in the morning with the rest below
Effexor 150 mgs
Clonazepam 4 mgs
Gabapentin 500 mgs

What I’m taking now:

Effexor 150 mgs
Clonazepam 2 mgs

I look at that and don’t even know how I functioned, it is no wonder I’m having some issues getting myself on track, and feeling overwhelmed by feelings. On one hand I know I’m being too hard on myself even in the areas where I’ve made a complete fool of myself but on the other hand, shit seeing it in writing I still can’t not be proud. It was at the end of May that I took the last of the gabapentin, I can’t remember when I took the very last 25 mgs of seroquel but it was this year, my last prescription [beginning June] of clonazepam was the first one filled at 2 mgs.

Even when I was on that extreme amount of medication I would still get depressed and I’ve been trying different combinations for years and nothing was working, I was tired and sleeping all the time so it was time for a big change and that change was basically attempting to take life by the balls. In some ways I’ve become more reclusive and closed off than ever and in some I’ve opened myself up too much and gotten myself smashed in the face with short lived friendships where there seemed to be potential but in trying to navigate new situations in my life I’ve found I’m getting carried away easily and where I have completely learned how to not over share in certain areas I’ve now found myself still pushing people away by simply over sharing in new previously not over shared areas. Right, that wasn’t the point of that exercise, I’m re-evaluating and starting over on that one.

Given that I’ve always cherished my alone time I also didn’t realize until very recently that spending so much time alone with Adam having been away working for months now [only home on weekends] and the fact the he will be gone for a few more that spending THIS much time alone is starting to bring out behaviours I’ve never even seen in myself before and they are proving to be extremely unhealthy and damaging to me. It isn’t that I don’t have people to spend time with, I have loads of things I could be doing but being on less medication hasn’t really changed my leaving the house problems and that has unfortunately always been one of the harder things for friends to be supportive of.

I’m thankful that I make a point not to regret things in life even with the fuck-ups I’ve made that I can’t yet laugh at, they do make me wanna hide in here, but even on the really really bad days I know how hard I’m working even if it feels like I’m losing more than I’m gaining right now. I told myself I was going be to be gentle with myself today when I went to bed last night because I deserve it and woke up kicking the shit out of myself, it has taken me most of the day to calm myself down but I did it. I haven’t ended up being that gentle with myself today, but I still set the intent and I will set it again for tomorrow.

I feel locked up inside. I feel like over the years I’ve been able to put a positive spin on most of the really dark periods that I have shared but I’m just not seeing the lights or feeling the positives at this very moment. I haven’t lately and I’ve been sinking into a deeper and darker place. Pulling the same shit I always do, letting people know I’m hurting but not letting them actually near me but of course completely over-sharing just how fucked up I am right now with at least one almost stranger who is only putting up with me because they are paid to.

I get that I’m in a transitional place right now and that those are never easy but I still feel so far behind on everything too old to be having the problems I do in life. I’m tired of being afraid all the time but I don’t know how not to be. I don’t know how not to fear success. I don’t know how to not sabotage every single possible good thing and or person that could and does come into my life. I don’t understand why anyone would want to be around THIS. This unpredictable, socially awkward, and currently, lately crying mess.

I know that some people do understand and do care about me, but at times I still feel like I am simply too much for everything and everyone. I thought that after eight full years of psychotherapy that I was ready, how could I not be, but it feels like I will never get better or be ready for anything. It isn’t like I haven’t been doing the fucking work and sure I get it, things don’t happen over night, but this is ridiculous. I’ve made it to eighteen sessions with an athletic therapist / personal trainer, taken yoga back up, been riding a bike in and out of the gym, been working out in the apartment and I don’t feel any better. In fact, I fucking feel worse about myself and where I am and who I am, and I’m extremely confused by this. What the fuck is wrong with me. I’m just about ready to give up, investing in myself doesn’t seem to be working, it seems to be sending me a message that I’m not worth it. I should have known, the truth about me is written in my blog, in my own comments right there for the world to see by my own family.

When I think about the fact that Adam and I have been together [including the dating years] for almost eight years and that he has never seen me run a race it triggers more than just not having been able to run, it also triggers the loss of a person I miss. It is one thing that I have always struggled with depression, it’s another that since developing anxiety back in 2002 I became a person I despise sometimes when I really let myself go there. And given that my brain feels like it is in an emotional firing range right now I suddenly feel like I have absolutely no idea who I am. I find that I am thankfully able to draw from the eight years of psychotherapy that has brought me to this place where I can attempt this reemergence to a life outside of my apartment. But I use draw from lightly, I couldn’t have imagined if I’d tried just how emotionally challenging taking on a few new life goals was going to be – ready or not.

I was prepared to deal with a bit of an emotional roller-coaster, I have major daddy issues wrapped up in running. Pushing my fathers voice trying to remind me that I can’t do it and that I’m not good enough out of my head during my sessions at the gym, during yoga or sitting on my ass thinking about this process isn’t nearly as easy as pretending I don’t have to get over it.

When I’m allowed to run again, I will be running through all of those issues and I know it’s going to be painful but I also know it’s coming. What I wasn’t prepared for was to be plummeted into relentless anxiety, some days it feels like too much is being triggered by this. I’m acting irrationally but at the same time not, a lot of shit has been happening in the last while that I have no control over. I have control over how I react to it, and I have let my emotions get away from me a few times, but I’m also realizing I’m dealing with so much more than I originally thought I was. I did not realize just how true it is that muscles don’t just hold many memories but that they hold them in the most hermetic of places.

I’m going to stay on this journey even though it is currently kicking my ass because I believe I made the right decision in starting it, I believe that all the tears and painful memories that are surfacing will only make me wiser, stronger and faster when I do hit the pavement and race again. I’m simply struggling with how big of a tempest it has brewing with my emotions, the fact that working out and working with an athletic therapist isn’t currently transferring over in a positive way in regards to my depression or my anxiety is also causing me a great deal of stress. I’m trying to remember that right now I’m in therapy and that therapy on any injury is painful but I feel unmotivated and depressed and getting to the gym is a workout in itself and some days other than proving my father wrong, I don’t know what the fuck is keeping me doing this.

Last night my friend Airdrie lost her best friend and her husband while the Vancouver blogging / social media community also lost the same great man, Derek Miller passed away after a valiant fight with Cancer.

Today is one of those days where I grapple with the magnitude of blogging and just how much someone can touch you via words on a screen. Nothing tangible, no pages to turn.

Before 2008, I knew of Derek, I read his blog I followed him on Twitter, I admired him greatly; it was hard not to given how open he was about his battles with Cancer. #fuckcancer

At the beginning of March ‘08 I took a lot of pills and went across the street for an off-sales bottle of wine and downed it which sealed my lackluster attempt at a suicide and I found myself in the hospital. I’ve never denied how selfish of a disorder depression is. And although I received a great deal of support, more than I could have hoped for given some of the circumstances, when I came upon this post written for me by this man that I respected for his strength, courage and his fighting spirit – trying to put into words what it meant to me is almost impossible. Someone who knew they were going to die, someone facing eminent death took the time to reach out and publicly support me. I found it to be and still do consider it one of the most selfless things anyone has ever done for me.

I met Derek that following December, I b-lined for him when I saw him so I could finally thank him in person. I’m glad I have this photo below, my social anxiety kept me from most events where I would have had an opportunity to have gotten to know him better.

photo courtesy of Raul on Flickr

I end this with great sadness he is gone, with sincerest condolences to Airdrie and to the rest of his family and friends but also from a place of peace knowing that he touched so many people.

You can read Derek’s last words here, if you experience technical difficulties due to traffic there is a cached version of it located here instead.

And last but not least #FUCKCANCER.

I was straight up honest with him that last Sunday I’d upped my Clonazepam by a milligram because in order to be in the gym I have no choice but to find ways to get food down my throat and this is the fantastic it feels like I have a dryer than fuck metal bar across my esophagus anxiety the kind that if I do get food by it’ll just laugh at me whilst I double over from the waves of nausea. Given that I have been learning to sit in my feelings this new thing where I actually learn to experience feelings in the real word again and do things for me is turning out to be a wee bit challenging.

I’ve had more than one situation trigger me into this anxiety but unfortunately to get out I can only deal with one thing at a time. It may seem strange, but I don’t often find myself crying in my sessions, lately though I’ve noticed that I have been crying more in general. I used to be a crier and then I wasn’t and then I learned how to accept being a joy crier and I left it at that and kept suppressing real tears and firing them off in destructive bullets of anger instead.

When I found out in February about a week before what would have been her 89th birthday that my grandmother had died in January and that no one had told me I was quite devastated. After the vitriol spewed by my Aunt in my comments you’d really not think that things could’ve gotten much worse from there. I didn’t call my mother right away to offer any condolences, I had no idea how to deal with a betrayal of that magnitude, had no idea how to put my anger aside, myself aside to make it about her loss and I questioned whether I would call at all. I did end up calling, I called her on what would have been her mother’s birthday, it was still the day before here. I don’t remember a lot of the conversation but I know that at no time was any mention made of anything except my grandmother and current events. I don’t think I need to go into detail as to how fucking hard that was I wanted to explode on the inside.

Shortly after this phone call we received an email saying she wanted to come stay with us. We were both pretty floored she had the balls to ask considering no explanation, no apology has been issued for the offside attack launched on me, not to mention she doesn’t think that not telling me that my grandmother died was wrong she feels she did the right thing. And in this case I don’t really give a fuck about opinion entitlements, I don’t know how to forgive that, but somehow I found myself telling her she could come for five days.

Enter discussions with close friends who ask me very very good questions and challenge my decision, to the point that I even tell the Dr. I ain’t letting her come. But he talked me out of it. He suggested some great ideas and we discussed for about the millionth time laying down boundaries with her. The boundaries I try to set with my parents generally dissipate into the depths of I give the fuck up pretty quickly. But at that moment, I felt good, for real, I figured that I’d handled the phone call and left my dad and everything else out of it, so fuck it, I could do it, I could have her come visit, plan it all out before she got here, not even discuss my father, I even emailed her and offered an olive branch of another day saying she could leave on the morning of the sixth day, I told her the schedule with my psychiatrist so she could book the week around it, getting the full five days with me and was confident with the right boundaries we had a shot at a new beginning, for just the two of us. Or at least a start.

As I’m writing this I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

I’m 33, when the fuck will I ever learn.

To save a few bucks she decided to ask me if she could come for eight days; let us not forget, I used to be a travel agent so I know damn well that all international scheduled fares go down after a seven night stay, but she decided to show complete and absolute disrespect for this entire fucking try-a-thon, one I felt forced into anyway. But you know what? I didn’t freak out. But I did hold my ground and it was hard because she of course said she was sorry and that she was crying but piss off with your guilt trip seriously. The exchanges we had made it clear that if I didn’t do this now If I didn’t say no, NO this is our year, and I’M doing things for me right now and it isn’t a good time and it isn’t about you and NO I’m NOT saying that I’m never going to talk to you again but I can not do this right now.

I feel really fucking guilty and it was the initial anxiety trigger but it is fear, fear of finally putting my foot down, the pain of knowing that she hurts but that she has to live with the decisions she has made in her life and that I can’t do anything about them. My parents keep accusing me of not moving on when in reality I don’t think they realize how far I have moved. It hurts, but it isn’t forever. If I hadn’t set this boundary with her then there wouldn’t be any chance for change because I’d have only been enabling the same behavior I have for years.

I’ve been advised to cry more and feel the sadness, It is supposed to help me push through the anxiety and fear. I think that I had been concentrating on the same goals and personal improvements for so long that I forgot how scary it is to start new ones. But if i don’t move on, neither will the anxiety that keeps me down.