How Deep is Your Well?

A day best slept through than lived. You can only understand that if you've ever been truly depressed. Made myself shower. It had been a week since I'd washed my hair. Made myself refill my pill boxes and take my morning meds. It'd been three days.

I confessed to my therapist that I hadn't been med compliant. And she asked me why, which is a reasonable question, and I surprised myself by saying, "It's not really intentional. Last week, I was so high I didn't think I needed them. And then when I crashed, I couldn't be bothered to care."

There's a lot of that last lately. Can't be bothered to eat. Can't be bothered to care about food, groceries, money, bills, pills. As if they will all, somehow, magically take care of themselves. Don't care about my hygiene, how the apartment looks, if I'm able to get anything done.

I've started having the gas mask fantasy again.

Slippery Slope

I'm heading for a depression. I can feel it coming on. I've lost interest in most everything again: reading, computer games, movies, sex, going places, doing things. I am angry at myself about this, so I'm cranky all the time and restless. Sometimes, instead, I'm listless and passive. The IBS and GERDs is acting up as well. I'm beginning to stress about things like Jb coming home at night. While other things, I don't care about at all: like whether the bills get paid, whether we have money or not, whether we have food or not. When Jb tries to ask me about these things, I get annoyed, short with him. He is constantly yelling at me for snapping at him. My temper and patience are nonexistent. I resent Jb's intrusion into my "world." More and more, he says things to me like, "You know, maybe you should try living here in reality, like everybody else."

This morning, on waking, I remember having a very vivid dream about living in a city with Hitler and being somehow close to him. Because he's a despot and mercurial of mood, everyone is always on eggshells around him, not wanting to curry his disfavor. I am someone he favors, and even I am very careful about what I do and say. It is stressful, this living on the edge, never knowing whether he'll be kind or cruel. And he can be very kind, as well as very cruel. There is a small resistance in the town. They know each other by the books they read. But those loyal to Hitler know them by the books they read as well. I try to sneak past a Hitler supporter with one of these books tucked among many. I make it, barely, out to a terraced park full of students and wildflowers, and there are two women who oversee the whole body of supporters. L-----, from the psych ward, is there in my dream. She screams out at a line of nuns who walk past the park; she was always screaming out about freedom and being closed in.

The dream is telling. I am having a hard time dealing with being home all day, then having Jb come home and disrupt my little world. It's like Jayne says in Firefly, "[He] damages my calm." It also sends me back to my childhood--when I lived in fear of my mother's moods, never knowing what they might be from minute to minute. I have to admit to myself that I've felt this way for the last year or so. Even when Jb was picking me up from work, the last hour of work, before I knew he was coming, I'd start to get sick to my stomach, I'd taste cigarettes in my mouth, and my IBS would suddenly flare up, so that I missed almost a half hour of work at the end of the day, every day. I think, perhaps, this is an inability to deal with change on a small, localized scale. And like in my dream, I used to escape into books. But since the hospitalization, I've had trouble concentrating enough to read them, except in small snippets.

Jb also gets on my ass--understandably so--about not having started to unpack. I took a week off because I needed it after the move, but I've no energy for it. It's been up near the 100s this week, so I tell myself it's because it's been so hot and I've been trying to keep the A/C off during the day. But the truth is that I simply don't have the motivation to do it. And Jb's losing patience with me. We had another fight last night. He told me that I've ruined every night so far in the new apartment, that I no longer participate in our relationship. And I'm left hurt and shamed and guilty and small--and angry at him for making me face the truth. I wish, sometimes, I could not listen. That I could wrap the bubble of my quiet day alone around me.

I cannot blame Jb, though. He is working hard, for both of us. He has every right to resent what he must see as my laziness. And it's like work all over again. How many times can you say, "I don't feel well," before they begin to look at you askance, like you're lying, or making it up. Depression isn't an excuse, but it comes across as one. Unless you've been there, deep and alone, you cannot ever truly understand what it feels like. Mild depression is not the same as major depression. Trying to follow each mood swing is exhausting. Depression is depleting. You are told, expected, to be this or that, but you can't be. Part of you no longer even cares that you can't be. Another part of you is angry and bitter, guilt-ridden and ashamed. And still, even though you want to meet someone's expectations, you can't. The will to try sputters and flags like a flame about to go out, and you're left feeling helpless, and you know it's all you're fault. You are the one who is broken. You are the one who is wrong.

9:59 a.m. How Do I Feel Today?

It's one of those "activities" they make you do in therapy and at the hospital. In the hospital, you rated yourself on a scale of 1 to 10. In therapy, I had a sheet of faces with the names of different emotions beneath them. Often, there wasn't an emotion that ever fit how I felt, or I couldn't quite name how I felt. On a 1 to 10 scale? About a 3 today. I'm feeling numb. I don't care about much. There will be no shower today. I will put my hair up in a makeshift bun with a hairband. I will not unpack--something I haven't really done since we moved in. I will not play on the computer. I will not read a book. If I do either, it will be for 10 minutes, maybe less. I may turn on the tv, but I will not watch it. If Jb comes home and asks anything of me, I will be upset and put out. I'm supposed to make a grocery list today. I will wait until the last minute to do it. When we go to the store, I will shuffle around from aisle to aisle without really seeing anything. I will not want to be there. I do not care about eating, though I will when I'm hungry later. I ate half of one of Jb's Nutty Bars because I couldn't be bothered to make anything more complicated. Jb will probably be upset that I did. I don't much care. He will take that as me not caring about him, or his feelings, but it's simply apathy. He can be mad at me if he wants to--he often is these days--and I don't care. I do not want to write. That is how I feel today.

12:01 p.m. Pharmacies, Insurance, & Copayments, Oh My!

Thwarted at the pharmacy. I swear. Took a bus all the way out to the hospital, and I could only get the Lamictal filled. Luckily, it was the one I was completely out of. Since I seem to have dropped off prescriptions elsewhere, insurance won't pay for them until June 13th. Nevermind that my prescription has changed. But I've enough Remeron and Klonopin to last me a couple days more. I checked out my receipt for my Lamictal and about went into sticker shock. $20 with insurance. Without? $276. My god! I need to look up one of those free prescription programs my nurse practitioner (PCP) told me about. (This is when I seriously consider moving to Canada.) Health Insurance will certainly be a big influence on who gets my vote, that's for sure.

On another note, side effects today. I was falling asleep on the bus and in the pharmacy waiting room. And walking was this odd sort of seasick weave out to the bus stop and down the halls. My feet kept wanting to go in front of each other, and my body kept wanting to gravitate toward the nearest wall. It's a strange sort of gravity, this dizziness thing. And I feel weak, unable to really get to work and start cleaning the kitchen and the bathroom, both of which need it. I was also planning on making this Creamy Sausage Casserole with Biscuits, but that might be overkill for today. I hate having to conserve and space out my energy. I understand how, even when a patient might be feeling better, that person might still be unable to work. I do believe it'd be frowned upon if someone was found, head on their keyboard, at work. Not to mention the walking like you're drunk. Stellar review, I'm sure.

By the by, I love my nurse practitioner. She gave me two months worth of samples of Benicar so I wouldn't have to pay for them because she knew I'd lost my job. Psychiatrists, on the other hand, are stingy bastards I'm finding, and look at you like you're a junky if you ask for samples. Given the fact that they're the ones prescribing the medicine, it just makes me wanna slap 'em.

2:32 p.m. Feh.

Might be hitting a downswing. Might be the change in meds. Stayed up late last night, got up earlier, around 7ish. First time I've seen Jb before he headed off to work in a while. Played with a "new" pally on WoW for a bit, then went back to bed. Woke up again around noonish when Jb called.

Actually, now that I think on it, woke up cranky this morning. Jb and I got into it before he left without so much as a kiss and a very meh "goodbye." Was cranky, too, when Jb called around noon. I'm just loads of fun after being woken up and waking up already in a "mood."

Was thinking last night before bed that Jb ought to be a co-author of this blog. It'd be interesting to see what he has to say about how I affect him, and what sort of symptoms he's seeing in me. It'd be helpful to have some of his thoughts down if I have to go for disability. Because I'm not always rational enough to be objective about how I'm acting or what I'm doing. I doubt he'd be into doing something like that, though.

I have been feeling the compulsion to buy things and go places. Luckily, we don't have money, so the trips I used to take spur of the moment aren't possible anymore. When I discussed this with Jb, he took our bank card out of my wallet and took it to work with him and proceeded to tell me that if he ever came home and found me gone, I'd come home to an empty apartment. I vaguely mentioned taking the car to go see my parents for a week or so. This was vehemently veto'd.

I was productive today, but only because when Jb called at noon, he sorta got on my case about needing to pack. So I packed the booze with a winter coat (for cushioning), I packed the binders with our cds, movies, and games, as well as his Magic card binders and transferred his loose cards to a sturdier box with a top. There's some miscellaneous cds in ziploc bags in there, too, as well as my knitting and another winter coat (again, for cushioning). I taped up the box of my Framboise, too, because that's the important stuff (i.e. my favorite).

12:20 p.m. Breakfast

I dutifully make my breakfast -- a little bread, butter, and brie -- and eat it. I'm not really hungry, though. I'm also not sure what to do today. There are things to do around the house, but I don't want to do the things I should do, I want to do fun things, and maybe I should call the therapy places, and I should call my primary care physician (PCP) about that blood work. Then there's the gas and electric and cable to move over to the new place, and someone has to call that in. And there are bills to pay, so maybe I should do that, but I can't find the letter about my premium charges for my insurance. And I think I could be very productive today -- if only I could focus.

11:26 a.m. There and Back Again

I'm back in bed by 8:30 a.m. -- just as Jb's getting up. I stay in bed until 10:30 a.m. My dreams are vivid, some sexual, though I don't remember any of them. I heard the phone ring at one point, but decided, as I usually do these days, to ignore it.

Once I'm up, I'm... up. I still have energy. I still feel good. I'm ready to take on the day. I hop right into the kitchen to make Pillsbury Sausage and Cheese Crescent Squares for breakfast. Another surprise for Jb. They take preparation -- love -- to make and bake.

I want to play WoW today too, which I haven't really wanted to do in ages, though I have -- for Jb's sake. But it was always a task, something I was doing as a means to an end: to make Jb happy. Now, I actually want to. The way I want to read. Knit. Write.

My focus still isn't what it might be. I want to do everything at the same time, or 2 or 3 things, at the very least, and so sometimes I alt-tab between 3 different wants, not really focusing on any one thing, but spreading my focus, and thus, my productivity, thin.

Note to self: I am still unable to reach for some words. "Productivity" eluded me.

6:52 p.m. Playing "Wife"

I lasted until 4 p.m. before I crawled into bed for two hours. This was after, I think, I told Jb I'd make dinner, which I promptly forgot. I do remember the noise of the tv, the computer, Jb smoking, and it's like a static in my head that I can't tune out. I have problems with noise now: too much of it, too loud, too sensitive to it. Sometimes, when I want to sleep, or get very very quiet so that I can visit the party line in my head, I resent the noise. And so I resent Jb.

"The bitch" itches just below the skin, waiting. One minute, we're laughing, the next, Jb's looking at me wrong, I'm paranoid about what he's thinking, every expression is some comment on my condition, every request, some monumental task I can't stand to do for him. This is not about Jb. There is something wrong inside me, and anything can trigger it. And the bitch scratches her way out, scratching eyes and hearts in the process, and even when I know, somewhere in my mind, that there's no reason for this, it happens all the same. And because it does, the bitch becomes me; I become the bitch. And my mood dives.

So I play the "perfect wife" game. Dinner ready and on the stove at 5:30. Fresh-baked brownies, cookies, lasagna. Because I'm hoping food will forgive everything else Jb has to deal with; I'm hoping he'll see that I love him, that he isn't just a paycheck, which it feels like more and more when I'm numb and indifferent. Still, even then, I know that I love him. It's the disconnect in the knowing and the feeling, always that gap that I'm too tired, too sluggish, too down to traverse. Until the numbness lifts again, and feeling becomes fact. Up and down. In and out.

This is how my last week has gone:

10 a.m. - 2:30 p.m. -- Wake up.
10:10 a.m. - 2:40 p.m. -- Rummage in the fridge for a breakfast I don't want.
10:40 a.m. - 3:10 p.m. -- Sit in my chair and stare uselessly at the computer screen.
2 p.m. - 5 p.m. -- Try to pack one box, do one thing, so that I have something shiny to hold up to Jb when he comes home: "Look, I did the dishes! Look, I packed a box!"
3 p.m. -- Nap time. Deliberate or otherwise.
5 p.m. -- Start dinner.

I am happy when I manage one thing and dinner. I have managed this almost every day this week. I consider this a good week, despite how I might have actually felt. Because managing one thing and dinner looks, from the outside, like normal.