Monday, September 23, 2013

Getting out of Bed

As the title hints, this post is about getting out of bed.

Rather, it is about not wanting to get out of bed.

This morning anxiety and depression hit me harder than any other morning thus far. It may have to do with an unpleasant task I have ahead of me this morning that my mind has blown all out of proportion.  It may have to do with Son #2 being awake shortly before 0600 and raring to get out of bed and get on with his day. 

Who really knows why? I just know that my tummy is turning, my brain is on hyperalert, and my body is ultra tense.

But guess what?!

I got out of bed anyway.  And all I want to do is crawl right back under the covers where it is safe and, well, safe.  

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Varying Shades of Grey

Definitely not to be confused with the popular book series that had the words "grey" and "shades" in it, I'm referring to depression and its ups and downs.  Lately my ups have been so low that they are still in the grey.

Picture a grey cloud descending upon your world, just yours.  Somedays the sun shines and you can almost see its rays.  Other days the cloud is dark and gloomy.  But most days it is just grey.  Then, when meds start to work and depression starts to lift, the sun actually does shine through.

Its easy for those who have never suffered to say "its all in your head."  "just get over it!"  "What are you depressed about?"

There really is no rhyme or reason to depression, it just appears whenever it is presented with an opportunity.

Anyhow, my world is grey now, pretty darn grey.  And on a good day, its a little less grey.  Thus, the varying shades of grey.

Everything in my world is demanding my attention and I just am completely overwhelmed with it all.  So not like me to be quite this low, I am becoming concerned with the bleakness of my mind. 

Sunday, September 1, 2013


Anxiety is like a little gremlin, and not the cute kind, that comes in and worms its way into your body and festers and lingers, and then attacks when you are at your lowest.  That's how I see it anyway.

After struggling through one bout of depression just a few months ago, I was sure I had a free ticket for the rest of the year.  No more depression, just free sailing, free happiness, free whatever.  I was not prepared for the second bout that followed only four weeks after starting to feel better from the first.

When I finally could admit that I was depressed, it was already well into the downswing of my mood and morale, and anxiety, seeing a tiny little loophole, charged in!  At first I didn't recognize what was happening to me; it'd been 20 some years since I last felt anxiety in all its intensity.

What did it feel like for me?  Physically, it is a kick in the stomach kind of feeling that doesn't leave.  I was spending a fair bit of time dealing with IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) issues as that is where my anxiety seems to gather physically.  Mentally, I could not focus on anything for more than a  minute or two; its like the worst case of ADD ever!

At night, when trying to settle for sleep, I could not settle, I'd lie down and then get up within minutes.  Walk around the house a bit.  Sit down in the living room, and then go back to bed.  Actually, it was more like pacing.  Very restless pacing.  This went on for three to four nights, during which I may have gotten enough sleep to total a full night's sleep.  Needless to say, I felt hideous!  Even my daytime napping eluded me.

It was after several nights of this fractured sleep that I had to go back to work, as I'd already missed three out of my last five shifts and used up all my sick time.  A shift on rehab is a slower pace, but it was there that I made a med error; by far not my first, but the first one that I did not notice I had made and write up myself.  That is by far a worse feeling than writing yourself up, in my opinion.  Any nurses agree or disagree with me on that?  Needless to say, it feels hideous!

Against my better judgement, but following the advice I would have given to a coworker or friend, I asked for and received a prescription for a sleeping pill and have been sleeping like baby ever since and am feeling heaps and heaps better.  There was the balance between having a complete mental breakdown (which I was very very close to) and getting some sleep so I could go on with the business of living.  I chose to ask for the sleeping pill, knowing that it was a short term aid and that I would very quickly have to stop using it as soon as I found my feet again.

And that is where I am today, on my feet and half off the sleeping pills.  Anxiety still visits me as often as I let it; I've named it Bertha (my sister and I used to use that name as a joke for things we didn't like).  Bertha is unwelcome in my home and in my head, and I've taken to swearing at her when she tries to visit.  It was at the advice of a friend that I named the anxiety that was haunting me, and its been a wonderful idea.  It reminds me that Bertha is not real and that I am in control and not the anxiety.