A Hormonal Tilt a Whirl…

There are so many things that could be affecting my mood right now. The medication adjustments (albeit minor ones), the season’s change, “normal” hormonal fluctuations, and so on. What I do know is that my anxiety and depression are not playing together well. Or, more realistically, they’re playing together too well. Anxiety’s screaming, “OMG we’re all going to die!!!” and depression replies with, “Great idea. If we get some momentum going, we could jump the railing before cowardice steps in.”

I’m not going to jump. I’ve got too many friends and family who would miss me plus Blackie and Lara would never understand why I didn’t return. I couldn’t do that to them. People talk about cats being aloof, Blackie and Lara are anything but aloof. And they love me dearly.

I hate this feeling. Everything seems scary but I have no idea why and, at the same time, I don’t really care. Part of me is craving sleep while the rest is dreading it. Last night I drempt I was standing beside a river, watching body parts floating by. The only good thing my mind could come up with was at least they weren’t climbing out of the river after me. I don’t remember what else happened but I was up for an hour afterwards.

And I try to make bedtime comfortable. Calm pillow spray with chamomile, rose, and white tea. My big squishy stuffed carrot. Soothing bedtime music. And my heart still pounds.

It’s not much better when I’m awake. I struggle to get anywhere, breaking each trip into pieces and only focusing on one piece at a time. Sometimes that works, other times it doesn’t. Then I just make do without whatever I was going to get. Going with someone helps… except my someone is Colin which means a monologue on how the conservatives are better and how hard done by men are. I’m hoping this is a phase he’ll grow out of but am losing hope on that one.

And today is the 80th day until I move. It feels like it’s so far away but I have to give notice at the end of this month and then I’m into the final crunch. Another huge chunk of anxiety to deal with.

I’m struggling with posting this. Half of me says that no one wants to hear me whine while the other says there are people who need to know they’re not alone. I can deal with people thinking I’m boring. It’s the people who feel alone that matter to me.

For those of you who feel you’re alone and drowning in pain. There are people out there. They might be hard to find but they are there. You can do it! I believe in you!

keep fighting

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Am I binging?

20190914_164447The first one slid down so smoothly and easily, an intoxicating balance of peanut butter and dark chocolate. The second one was almost as good. I lost count as I continued to eat. Taste and enjoyment faded away behind the urge to eat just one more… and another… and another… I couldn’t stop. I’d been planning on having two peanut butter cups a day but I ended up with twelve treats in under ten minutes. Why had I done it again? My mind continued to berate me. I was lazy… lacked self control… fat… ugly… I would never eat healthy… I’m the ugly sister in the family and this overeating just proved it. Obviously I was weak. Who couldn’t stop eating? I just needed to put the food down. It was that simple.

But it wasn’t that simple. Time after time I’d eaten a whole carton of Haagen Daz, a whole bag of chips, a huge bowl of spaghetti, a sleeve of cookies (and maybe one more). I’d eat until my stomach stretched uncomfortably and it felt like my food was kicking the valve to my esophagus.

And I have to stop.

This won’t be easy. I have to stop worrying about dieting and my weight because they seem to cycle into this eating. And I’m going to have to ignore some pretty strong cravings for just about anything unhealthy. Funny how I never crave an orange. Maybe that will change.

I see my psychiatrist this week, which is good. Even though I feel like I have binge eating, he’s the one that went to school for this.

If you struggle with binge eating, could you please share any tips on what made the cravings better? Thank you so much!

I don’t know…

filtered-flowersI was walking through the field in front of the park I usually visit and I realized I absolutely did not want to be there. I wanted to be safe at home, curled up in my swing chair right now. Short of a teleportation device, that wasn’t happening. I managed to keep on walking.

Tears prickle my eyes for no reason multiple times a day and I keep hoping I won’t start sobbing, which would be embarrassing if I was out, and often causes a headache.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself. And yet I have a completely detailed suicide plan. And Colin’s away and I got a sudden idea that I could implement it before he gets home. I won’t.

I ate a handful of crackers for lunch today and nothing at all yesterday because I’m not hungry. To be fair, I had packed an apple for lunch yesterday but there was an elderly man rummaging through the garbage and I figured he could use it more than me.

And I’m so very tired. All. The. Time. I wake up from a nap and feel like I should be sleeping again.

So much of my future is up in the air. I have a floor plan that likely looks like my unit but I have no idea if it’s accurate or not. I have a move in date but what if my building wants me out on the 31st? I’ve found several apartments for Colin and he’s turned them all down. I have no idea how much a moving van costs and am too scared to find out.

Will I make friends there? Will they be the sort of friend who hang out with you and do stuff together? Will they accept me for me? Autistic, asexual, panromantic, vegan, atheist. I don’t want to hear “I like you but…”

I have a psychiatrist appointment on Friday and I have a sinking feeling my answer to “And how’s Kathleen been?” will be “I don’t know”. But I really don’t know. And I’m going to take out the garbage and wash some dishes because leaving them as is will not help my mood. And hopefully my doctor will have a better idea to deal with this than I do.

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Me with glitter gel in my hair. Because depression’s on the inside, not on the outside

Saying goodbye to the old me…

It was Easter dinner last night and I had the menu all planned out. The previously frozen tofu was thawed and marinating in pickle brine. All I needed to do was peel and chop potatoes for fries then make the sauce for the broccoli before cutting the veggie into bite sized pieces. Oh and get the fries and broccoli into the oven to bake and dredge the tofu in a garlic powder and flour mixture and fry the tofu…

You get the picture. I’d hoped to make brownies too but I was struggling even with the thought of prepping the tofu. The veggies were overwhelming. So I ended up slicing up a tomato and an orange instead of prepping veggies. That way I wouldn’t end up curled up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor. Been there… done that… don’t want to do it again.

food prepI miss me. I miss the woman who could happily spend the day prepping meals then go on to read or write for a couple of hours. This picture’s from Facebook where I captioned it:

I spent all day cooking! I made apple sauce (apple, cherry, and nectarine sauce to be precise), chocolate pudding, fudgesicles, pizza dough, two different soups (lentil and broccoli-cauliflower), four loaves of banana bread, chocolate covered cherries, spaghetti sauce, almond cheese, and cashew cheese. Now it’s time for me to have a bubble bath, read a book, and relax before bed¬†

I struggle so much. I had to listen to two songs already just so I could be relaxed enough to write and I’m contemplating watching a third one. So many things I could handle with ease a couple of years ago, I can’t handle now. I get overwhelmed with shopping and will have to apologize to Colin because I just can’t handle one more store and the bus ride home too.

I used to curl up to read and finish (or almost finish) a novel. Now I’m lucky to get through a chapter. And I’m finding sleep getting harder and harder. My heart pounds… I feel short of breath. You’d think I was in a horror movie instead of my own safe bed. The past two days have found me listening to music in my swing chair in the wee hours of the morning, too anxious to sleep. It helps but it means I’m losing about two hours of sleep a night and I’m already needing an early afternoon nap so I can make it to evening.

I have brain fog. So much brain fog. People tell me things and I forget almost immediately, no matter how hard I try to remember them. I forget what I was saying as I’m speaking. I even forget what I’m thinking. I check my calendar multiple times a day, just in case I’m missing something. Sometimes I am and, luckily, I’ve found it before I was late. I signed up for free massages at Carea and completely and utterly forgot about them. Like I had no idea I’d even signed up, in writing, for one session let alone two. It was a pleasant surprise but still disconcerting. I am so thankful for reminder calls and texts.

The old me was lively and outgoing. She cheered people up and customers used to comment that her smile and friendly wave brightened their day. The old me carried around a notebook and wrote novel excerpts on the bus and quickly typed them out at home. The old me could hold a conversation that wasn’t online.

I’ve been autistic my whole life but the depression and anxiety ripped off my masks and I haven’t been able to find them again. I rock and sway regularly, listen to the same songs over and over (and over). Bounce in my swing chair to settle down. I have meltdowns when things aren’t going the way I thought and the world’s suddenly strange and different. Even though it really isn’t, it’s just my perception.

It’s weird to be mourning myself when I’m still here. But, in a way I’m not, there are so many differences between the old me and the new me, it’s like I’m a whole new person. I guess all I can really do is get to learn who the new me is and try to like her.

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Depression resurfaces…

I woke up to a room filled with sunshine and a sleepy cat purring by my side. My favourite breakfast food, hot chocolate and an english muffin, were waiting for me to prepare them and I bought myself a pomegranate as a special treat.

Soon the cats started pleading for their wet cat food then, as I rolled out of bed, a thought came unbidden.

“Oh no, not this again!”

The weight of all those hours and minutes ahead pressed down hard. It was overwhelming enough to take my breath away. Meanwhile there’s nothing stressful or even annoying about today. It was my body’s automatic reaction to simply being alive.

I have so much to live for. My adult children, a happy, adorable grandson, my parents, my cats. I’ve got a girlfriend who’s nice and doesn’t live too far away… who I’m seeing next week. Friends I see every week and more friends I chat with on messenger every day. I have an apartment I love and activities I truly enjoy. I have an amazing trip in a month and a half, where I’ll be surrounded by family. It’s a good life.

This depression didn’t spring out of nowhere. I’ve been struggling for several weeks to keep up with the dishes, wash my clothes, and make healthy meals. I have to start cooking by 4pm, otherwise I simply won’t have the energy to cook. I’m exhausted all day and need a nap in order to function… then wake up fully after using the toilet at night and need to settle myself all over again. I can’t understand how, at 2pm, I can sleep with my lights on and my comforter crumpled up under my right hip while at 2am, I can’t sleep because there’s a wrinkle near my big toe.

Luckily, this time, I haven’t reached the point of suicidal ideation. The cynical part of me whispers “yet”. I really don’t want to go to the hospital. It’s not bad, just boring as hell, which is okay for the first couple of days but gets more frustrating as time goes on. I can walk around the hallway and get my 10,000 steps (which I did last time), colour pages in the cafeteria, and chat with the other people. But there’s a lot of time and a limited number of activities to fill it with. I’d rather be home with my swing chair to calm me down, friends to distract me, cats to soothe me, and family to love me. Plus the freedom to walk in nature instead of around a sterile hall.

This post took me way longer to write than I expected. I started at breakfast time and have just finished lunch. And I keep on rocking in my chair and trying to breathe normally. Now I’m going to take a nap to calm me down and settle myself and hopefully the rest of the day will be better.

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Me at Cedar Valley Park

Where are the stars?

picture 2First came Kate Spade. I knew about her vaguely¬† because she brought out a purse shaped piggy bank titled “Kate saved” and I’d debated on buying it for Kait for her birthday. My Mom pointed out it was a play on words with the designer’s name, which I’d never heard before. I didn’t hear about her again until I found out she’d strangled herself to death with her red scarf.

Then came Anthony Bourdain. I don’t even know anything about him, just that he was 61 years old and had been fighting depression and substance abuse.

And then came the Facebook posts saying that he didn’t die too soon. He’d struggled for years and had lived a lifetime. That he’d had 30 more years than someone who’d died at thirty-one and the poster would have given anything for those thirty extra years.

I’m a hell of a lot closer to 61 than I am 30 and I can tell you right now that it isn’t enough. I want the chance to see my grandchild grow up. I want to see him finish high school, to fall in love. He’d only be 13 if I died then.

And I sit here in the sunshine and wonder where’s the light. It’s supposedly darkest before the dawn but I’m staring into the east and there’s no sun rising there.

They say that in the darkness there’s stars but the depths are inky black and no pinpricks of light are shining back at me.

I told my psychiatrist that those two were rich, with all the amenities that affords. The best therapists. The best counselling. I’m, well, not rich. I worry about falling through the cracks to land seven stories below. I guess technically eight because there’s a slope under my apartment.

My psychiatrist is worried about me.

When is going to the hospital the best choice to make and when is it running away from my problems? I’m already avoiding both balconies. My mind spools like an old film projector, showing reel after reel of me jumping. But, at the same time, I need to get the letters from our office for Revenue Canada. I need to deliver my new prescription to the pharmacy. And my cats would miss me.

And I look to the sky and hope, in vain, to see the stars.

hardest thing

2016… the year that won’t die…

2016I started out thinking that 2016 was going to be my year. My best friend of five years had asked me to start dating him and, by February, we were already hammering out rough plans for a simple, yet simply perfect, wedding… complete with a hot air balloon ride and trip to the Doctor Who museum. I bought plane tickets to see him in October and had a countdown going on my phone for how many days I had left. He was counting down too.

At first the goal was for him to move in with me but then we switched to me moving there. I didn’t realize it at the time but a lot of the reason for my decision was deep depression. I simply didn’t feel like anyone other than Lenny wanted me so what point was there in staying in Canada?

I knew I was struggling. I had Ativan from my family doctor for panic attacks and a low dose of Effexor for depression and I still had to hold myself back with all my strength some days to keep from running, screaming, out the front door of work. I couldn’t do that. I needed to be employed. I needed to stay employable so that I could move. So I transferred stores to work at one a five minute walk from home. That cut out two hours of transit time a day but my anxiety and depression increased. I confessed to Lenny that I was suicidal and he broke up with me two days later. Then I wrote a long and rambling letter on Facebook which was worrying enough that my sister took me to the hospital.

Going to the hospital netted me with more medication and a psychiatrist but things weren’t perfect. There were gaps between the various forms of disability assistance and I had three months with no income (not sequentially). Lenny first backed out on having me stay over then he blocked me the morning after my first hospital stay. I’ve never heard from him again.

It wasn’t until the late fall that things started picking up but I was still suicidal and still struggling. And flipping the calendar to 2017 didn’t solve anything. I was back in the hospital in January and February. Then came income tax time and me, in my infinite wisdom, decided that maybe I wasn’t in the best mental condition to do my taxes, even though I do them every year. So I hired someone.

July rolled around and I got an unexpected windfall of $200 and change. It was nice but there had to be a reason why. And that reason was the person who did my taxes never included my rent so, when it came time to calculate the Trillium benefit, I got the bare minimum. So I worked with the Canadian Revenue Agency, sent in the information, and requested a lump sum payment in June 2018 instead of monthly payments.

Then Colin got audited for, you guessed it, 2016. They wanted proof of rent. We got a basic income tax statement showing out total rent and I wrote a letter on it saying he paid half while I paid the other half. Then his GST cheque arrived and I figured that was good enough. It wasn’t. He got another letter asking for proof that he’s on the lease AND proof he pays half the rent. Nothing’s ever that easy.

Trillium was supposed to be deposited yesterday. I checked at 7:30am when I woke up and nothing. But I’ve had deposits as late as 8am so I wasn’t too worried. At least until 8am arrived and my money didn’t. I had a group to attend so I called the CRA while I was walking to the bus, the whole bus ride, and walking to the group. Two wrong numbers and a number that lead to a message stating “All our operators are dealing with other clients and our queues are full. Please try again later.” Finally I got someone who wasn’t dealing with Trillium but used some of the same software. He discovered they didn’t have my letter so he transferred me to someone else who gave me a bunch of information that I wrote on a sheet of paper towel. I’d love to say that was it but I also had to sign up for their online site and that was another headache with another phone call.

So tomorrow I have to write a letter for our building’s office asking for a letter for both Colin and I and for him to be finally put on the lease. Then I need to hand deliver it first thing Monday morning and hope our letters are ready soon. Maybe then will 2016 finally be done and buried because I’m telling you, it is truly starting to stink!