My Life is Ruled by Obsessions and I can’t Stop Them!

Every time I think I have something under control another problem arises. About two weeks ago my psychiatrist put me on lamictal for depression and as a replacement for Seroquel. I had been on Seroquel for over two years and at my peak I was taking 900mg a day. The problem was that the side effects became unbearable. In fact, it got so bad that I lost my short term memory and my motivation. This made it almost impossible to converse with other people because in the middle of speaking I would forget what I was talking about and struggle to remember basic words. During this period I would spend hours doing nothing, staring at my computer screen in a complete daze. This period of  my life lasted for over three months, until I realized that Seroquel was the cause of my problems. When I dropped my dosage, the side effects began to disappear and eventually my short term memory returned. However, another problem arose- depression. By decreasing my  Seroquel, I no longer had the ability to control my depression and as a result, I fell into dark emotional hole.

Fast forward six months and my psychiatrist and I finally found a way to stop the depression: lamictal. As I noted above I have been on lamictal for about two weeks and amazingly it has reduced my depression. I no longer feel the deep dread and mental darkness that had consumed me for the last six months. Instead I am now consumed by extreme anxiety and OCD. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, because every time I cure one problem another one arises and it’s driving me fucking crazy. Everyday I do the exact same thing (more after the picture):

(http://knowocd.wordpress.com/)

I wake up between 5 and 7 pm (I sleep during the day and stay up at night), roll up my blanket, put my chairs away (i’m afraid to sleep in my bedroom, so I sleep on a chair in my living room) and put my blanket in another room. I then make a cup of coffee,  turn on laptop and sit down. I first log into my blog and bemoan the fact that I  no longer  write, I beat myself up for being a waste of space and then close my blog in disgust. Next I search for Kotaku (a video game website) and from there I start reading their articles, which usually sends me to other articles on other sites.  For the next 5-6 hours I read countless articles, journals and papers on a wide range of topics, the only time I leave is to go to the bathroom or make a cup of coffee. I forgot, about 2 hours into my reading, I realize that I have yet to take my pills, so I search for my trileptal (a mood-stabilizing drug that  is also used for anti-convulsion)  and subutex (a generic semi-synthetic opioid used to stop my cravings for pain killers) which is taken sublingual and dissolves in one hour. During that time I am still reading. After six hours of reading and 5 cups of coffee, I realize that I have wasted most of the early evening and I start beating myself up. As I do everyday, I complain to myself that I spend way to much time on the internet when I could be doing other things. This usually goes on for 20 minutes, during which I get dressed to go out and get food.

By this time it’s usually 12:30 or 1 am. There is only one restaurant that is open, Alerto’s Mexican food.  They only take cash, so I have to go to 7-11 to buy a breakfast bar and receive cash back. I then race across the street, enter the drive through and order a burrito, a cheese quesadilla and a torta. I pull up to the window and hand the money to teller making sure I do not make eye contact. I’m to scared to look someone I don’t know in the eyes. Out side of saying thank you, I do not speak to the teller, it is way to scary to make small talk. About 10 minutes later I receive my food, race home, wash my dishes, make another cup of coffee, put out towels in front of my computer, turn on netflix and watch a TV show while eating. When I finish eating, I throw everything away and return to watching my show. When the show ends I have two options, continue watching the show for the rest of the night or play video games. The decision is usually based on how depressed I am- if I’m extremely depressed I watch TV.  This goes on till around 7:30 am, at which time I realize I have to go to be.

This is where the next obsession starts. I turn off my computer.  I then collect all of medication bottles place them in a circle on my desk, in front of my computer. I then go to the bathroom, wipe the grease off my face, complain that I don’t brush my teeth, which then causes me to beat myself up again. After a few minutes, I collect my clothes which are on my floor, go into my bedroom, put on some shorts, exit my bedroom and walk towards my table. I then make sure everything is in its right place. I then go to the oven and make sure every dial is set at off, where the line goes evenly through the word off, because if its not perfect then I am convinced it will  turn on while I’m  asleep and I will suffocate and die. From there, I make sure every object on all of my counters are in the right spot, because if  they are not I’m afraid they will fall and if I have to go to the bathroom I will trip on them, fall, break my neck and die. I then go back into my bedroom and get my blanket. Afterwards I check the window in my bedroom, making sure its in the right place because if it’s not, then someone will break in and slit my throat while I’m sleeping.  I then make my way out of my bedroom and recheck everything I had previously checked, because if I don’t I will die.

From there, I go to my front door, check spend the next 10 minutes checking my door knob,  making sure the door is  really locked, because if it’s  not perfect someone will break in and slit my throat. From there I check my blinds, over and over and over again, making sure they are perfect, because if they are not someone will break in. Finally, I make my way to my chair, fall into it and pass out.

As you can see, all of my obsessions revolve around the fear that someone or something will kill me. Because of that, I do the same exactly thing everyday, in the exact same way.

My life is completely fucked. I’m sorry about the really really long post, but I needed to talk about this, because everything seems to be falling apart. The reason why I was able to motivate myself to post is because I spilled coffee all over my laptop. Its fucking dead, I killed another fucking laptop and I don’t know why I keep doing this.  My life is completely ruled by my obsessions and they won’t stop.

Dave.

Manic Depressive Illness: An Unknown Episode- Or Why I’m Haunted by my Past

Every once in a while I experience a bizarre and crippling episode, that forces me to reminisce about my past. I know it doesn’t sound that bad, but when it hits I’m overwhelmed by a sense of dread, paranoia, anxiety and fear. I start thinking about how shitty my life is, which then evolves into depression and suicidal thoughts. What makes it even worse is that I don’t know what triggers it or why it happens.  Since I was diagnosed with manic-depressive illness, I’ve only encountered this “unknown episode” a few times.

Last night I experienced one of these “unknown episodes.”

I had just finished eating dinner and I was trying to clean up. As I was walking to the sink I started getting this feeling that something was wrong. My mind wasn’t racing, the voice in my head was quiet and I wasn’t depressed,  so I ignored it (I don’t know how this post will turn out, my memory is spotty because the episode only lasted a few minutes). After cleaning my plates, I started calling for Domino and he rushed into the kitchen. Then it hit me. I almost fell to my knees as I was overcome by a sense of failure and regret. I started getting flashbacks of my past, my high school years, when I wasn’t a complete mess. It felt like my life was over and that I had no reason to live. I couldn’t breath. Memories of my youth overwhelmed me, causing me to loose control of my mind. I didn’t want to live, I didn’t want to be the failure that I was, and I didn’t want to be crazy.  One thought started swirling around in my head: Why had my life fallen apart?  

It felt like my head was going to explode and it took all of my energy to pull myself out of it. Slowly the thoughts began to disappear-the memories stopped, the feeling of failure went away and I started gaining control of my mind. However, the damage was done and the frightening part was that I really wanted to die.

As I stated above, I don’t know what caused the episode and that’s what scares me. I don’t know how to prepare myself for the next episode.  So I want to ask you guys, have you ever experienced something like this? And what should I do to prepare myself or protect myself from this “episode?”

I’m going to stop here, my mind is all over the place. Unfortunately, I’ve spent the entire day (I started at 11am)  sitting in front of my computer and drinking coffee. I know it’s not very healthy, but I’ve been trying to avoid the world around me.

Dave.

Manic Depressive Illness- The Return of my Memories- A Depressive Episode

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a depressive episode (since I was diagnosed with manic depressive illness, I’ve experienced numerous manic episodes, as well as mixed episodes, but straight depressive episodes only occur a few times each year)- so when it started, I was not prepared for the darkness. Over the weekend I slept for more than 30 hours. I had absolutely no energy or motivation to function. It was fucking horrible. My mind was overcome by a sense of dread and the darkness consumed my thoughts, my feelings and my emotions.

Memories that I had worked hard to suppress started coming back.

The problem was that for the last two years I refused to see a therapist. I was convinced that my past therapists had taken advantage of me, by misdiagnosing me and destroying my confidence. So instead of working on my problems, I tried to hide them, forcing them deeper into my mind. That is why smoked so much weed and consumed a huge amount of pain killers- I was running away from my past, because it scared the living shit out of me.

Between the depression and the return of my memories, I was an absolute mess this weekend. Unfortunately, at this time I can’t write about these memories because it hurts too much to think about them. The depression weakened my mental state causing me to relive all of my failings, my loneliness and my sadness over and over and over again, until I could no longer stand it. I don’t know how I made it through this weekend, but I’m happy I did (one thing that did help pull me out the darkness, was that my parents took me out to dinner on Sunday)…

Yesterday, the depression broke and I was finally able to get my mind under control. However, I’m really frustrated because I thought I had finally gotten my medications right. But I guess nothing is ever perfect, especially when dealing with manic-depression. I should be happy that I have made a lot of progress the last few months, but like I pointed out in one of my previous posts, I am not used to stability or sobriety (side note: this was a very frustrating post for me to write. I have spent almost three hours writing it. I have deleted and restarted this post numerous times and I am still not comfortable with it. But I want to post this, because it is starting point for a possible series of posts on the problem with suppressing memories and self-medication).

I want to end this post on positive note. I have finally found a therapist I am comfortable with. I am seeing him again this Thursday and I can’t wait to start working on my problems, especially my low self-esteem. As I noted above, I haven’t seen a therapist in almost two years because of my paranoia, so this is a great indication that I am slowly embracing my stability and progress.

I hope you are doing well,

Dave.

It might be Friday, But My mind is Still In Shambles

What a tiring and stressful week. Not only did I kill my macbook, but I lost control of reality and flew into a blind rage. I have cuts and bruises all over my body, holes in various walls, broken chairs and a broken psyche. I haven’t felt like this in years and I’m scared. That all happened on Wednesday. The first half of my week was actually really good. I had a chance to catch up on a lot of TV shows and old school video games. I wasn’t manic or depressed, just content. Even Wednesday started out positive…

I was sitting at my computer playing Half Life 2.  Two hours past and I was starting to get tired. I paused the game and made a cup of instant coffee. Walking back to my computer, I made sure not to spill the hot coffee. Placing the cup to the left of my computer, I started playing Half Life 2 again.About 30 minutes later I hit frustrating point in the game. Angry I picked up my coffee cup and slammed it down on the table. The coffee cup exploded, as brown liquid spread all over my computer and table. I started to freak out. What the hell just happened? Oh shit, oh shit my macbook is covered in coffee. Fuck why did this happen to me? Why the fuck do I keep messing things up? Oh man, why did I get coffee all over my computer? Why Why Why. I stood there for a few minutes before I started to clean. I was in shock. Running to my kitchen I realized I was out of towels. So I turned to the next best thing- toilet paper. Although the toilet paper clumped together, I was able to sop up most of the coffee. Returning to my computer, I started testing it seeing if it was still OK. The computer still functioned, I was able to open up a browser and access Google.

However, I soon realized some of the keys were not working.

Instead of thinking rationally, I became blind with rage. I started yelling and cussing out loud. I turned to one of my chairs and threw at the wall. I kicked the next chair across the room, which turned out to be metal, causing a bright red mark around my ankle. I was furious, I was frustrated, but worst of all I was angry at myself.  Running around the apartment like a madman, I was trashing everything in sight. Then in a fit of anger I punched the wall, causing all four knuckles to rip open. Blood was dripping off my hand and in a last fit of anger I threw the case to my Iphone against a wall, causing a big black mark and splattered blood.

I don’t know why, but I began to break free from the anger. Maybe it was seeing my blood on the wall and the horrible state my right hand was in, or maybe it was the realization that this “episode” was part of a larger mental problem. Looking back on Wednesday’s events, I’m still in shock that I fell apart and flew into a blind rage. It’s embarrassing. But it forces me to realize that I am not in a good place and that I need help.

Hopefully I will be moving in a few weeks. I could really use a change scenery and a new therapist. This week has been eyeopening, frustrating and humbling. The aftermath is that my macbook is dead and I feel like shit because it was a present from my parents. I tried so hard to keep it clean, and the one time I get it dirty, I kill it. My parents have been really understanding and helpful the last few days, but that does not stop my mind from putting me down.

Well I hope you all had a better week than I did.

Dave.

An In-Depth Look into Self-Harm (Guest Blog)

Today’s post is from Jess, author of the amazing and must read-blog Thoughts of Jess (this is the first in a series of guest blogs/submissions). It delves deep into the world of self-harm, providing both personal stories as well as various observations on the subject:

WARNING: This post contains graphic material regarding cutting.  If cutting or self-harm is a trigger for you, please do not read any further. Self harm is always an interesting subject to discuss.  There are the aspects of self-harm as they relate to suicidiality, and suicidal ideation, but there is also the non-suicidal self injurious behavior.  In fact, the American Mental Health Counseling Association wrote an entire journal volume on Non Suicidal Self Injurious (NSSI) behavior.  I have yet to read all of the articles (as I have a backlog of journals to read!), but I plan on reading them soon.  There is so much misinformation regarding SI, that I hope to dispel some of that today, and add more personal anecdotes of SI behavior.

Unfortunately, a lot of popular misconceptions center around people’s beliefs that SI behavior whether it is cutting, burning, picking, beating or banging oneself (the list goes on), is only done for attention.  While there is a small percentage of people who do self harm for attention (and most of the general public attributes this to borderline personality disorder), the majority of self harmers do NOT do it  for attention.  Even those with borderline personality disorder, may not have a primary motive of attention-seeking.  The classic example is Glen Close in Fatal Attraction where she cuts herself to get him to stay with her.  This is not normally the case.  Most people self-harm as a way to establish control.  In the midst of depression or any other mental illness, some people self-harm in order to release pent up energy, to feel like they have some control over themselves when they are in the throes of spiraling mental and emotional instability, or any other personal reason.

For me, when I first self-harmed (via cutting), I was upset at the person I was dating because he continued to stay at a party, while drunk, during which, in the future, I learned that he cheated on me during that time.  I was already upset and slightly depressed, so it was not solely based on attention-seeking, but I imagine a small part of my reasons could come from that.  However, I was upset, antsy, and feeling out of control, so I did self-harm.  Using scissors was a bad idea, as they are blunt objects and didn’t work too well.  Also, since I had to go over and over with them, they left scars for a few years.  However, I noticed yesterday (as I was formulating this entry) that they are gone.  I cut on my thighs, so they would not be visible to others.  Side note: that is another thing.  Most cutters or SI people do not do it in places that people can easily see; therefore, it’s not usually about attention.  Sometime we are embarrassed about it afterward.  Anyway, after I cut, the person I was dating came back down to my room and helped me treat the area affected.

The second time I self-harmed was after a bad breakup (pattern anyone) in which I was completely out of control emotionally and mentally.  I was freaking out, going to therapy, because the woman I had dated was going apeshit.  Her friend put her on suicide watch.  I know it wasn’t my fault, and not to blame myself, but still, it’s hard!  My therapist told me that she had some borderline characteristics, but truthfully, how could she say that without having ever met my ex?  It’s odd.  So, I actually self harmed over the previous scars.  I didn’t want to give myself new scars, as I was afraid my parents or someone would see.  (I managed to keep them from seeing when we went on a cruise,  by putting shorts on immediately after getting out of the swimming pool.  I was so nervous!  I’d even come up with the idea of telling them that I did it in high school during my deep depression instead of a few months before).  The second time, I used a razor on my arm, because I knew scissors were not the way to go!  I accidentally cut deeper than I meant to, but it was still a superficial cut.  There is a faint scar, and no one would know it’s there unless I pointed it out.

The third (and last time) I self-harmed was also when I was an emotional wreck after the person I was dating accused me of cheating (or wanting to cheat).  I had responded to an email in which a person propositioned meeting him.  I answered saying I was available, but afterwards, I decided I wasn’t actually going to do it.  I was hypomanic at the time, but that’s not an excuse; I’m just explaining that because sometimes judgment is impaired.  Anyway, the guy I was dating read my email and Facebook accounts, so he found out about it.  This began a long spiral of bullshit, that led to abuse (emotionally and mentally; once physically, where he choked me hard), but that’s another story.

Anyway, for those that know me, they would never guess that I would self-harm.  Even if they know that I have BP, it wouldn’t cross their minds.  I have vowed never to self-harm again, and I will always stand by that.  It’s a bad coping mechanism, and I’ve learned better, more productive ones over the past few years.  For those that do self-harm, I know saying “that’s bad” and “don’t do that” are not good because they hear it all the time, but know that you can get help if you want, and there are people who care.

~

I want to end this post by providing you with Jess’ url again: http://thoughtsofjess.wordpress.com/

Dave.

Manic Depressive Illness- What it’s like to be Depressed

It took me a very long time to understand the different episodes associated with Manic Depressive Illness. For most of my life I had only experienced mania (I didn’t know it was mania because my original therapist never recognized it. Instead she just diagnosed me with ADHD. Unfortunately this set me way back. But that is a story for another day) which allowed me to do a tremendous amount until I collapsed, leading me to be re-diagnosed. There were numerous indications of manic depression, but I ignored them (at that time I was convinced I had been cured of all mental illness. I had stopped seeing my therapist and thought I could deal with life on my own). As a child and young adult I was constantly told that I was not depressed, I was a happy kid so how could I be depressed?? We had family members that suffered from depression and I was convinced I was not like them. So when I first experienced a depressive episode I was not ready.

I still remember my first depressive episode. It was freshman year of college and I was attending a basic writing seminar (it was one of those freshman mentoring classes that was mandatory of new students). I was a commuter student, so I got to class early. Entering the empty classroom, I sat down in the front row. Slowly the other students began pour in. No one acknowledged me as they took their seats on the other side of the room.

I had never felt so alone.

Sitting there with my head down, I began to wonder why I was so alone. Why didn’t I have friends? Why was I never included? Why did everyone ignore me? This was my first taste of depression. Within minutes my entire existence was overcome by darkness. I began thinking that my life was over, that if I moved the wrong way I would cease to exist. Maybe that is what everyone wanted- for me to just die and disappear. My mind was flooded with these thoughts.

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t turn to my fellow classmates and tell them I felt like dying because they ignored me. So I sat there and allowed the darkness to take over. I could feel myself starting to cry. I was desperate. The voices in my head were becoming louder and louder and louder and I could no longer hear the other students. It felt like my life was over.

The professor arrived late. But when he entered the classroom, he immediately began his lecture. I was still sitting there in my own dark world, oblivious to my surroundings. The pain and the darkness would not go away and I continued to wonder why I was always alone (loneliness, or the idea of loneliness, is a major trigger for my depressive episodes. I didn’t know it at the time, in fact I would not learn this for at least 4-5 years). I couldn’t think, I couldn’t function, I couldn’t write. All I could do was feel sorry for myself and feed the darkness. I was worried this feeling would never go away.

Why was I feeling like this now? I was always told that I was not a depressed person, that it  was just growing pains. But they were all fucking wrong. No one wanted to help me, instead they just saw me as a mistake, another problem child diagnosed with ADD trying to take advantage of society. Why couldn’t I just be normal?

Slowly, the feelings began to fade. The darkness receded and I began to take control of my body and mind again. Although the depressive episode only lasted 10-15 minutes it was the most intense feeling of despair I had ever encountered. As the weeks passed I tried to ignore what had happened. My life was returning to normal and I did not want the darkness to reappear. I had good grades, I finally had a few friends and my mind was stable. Before I knew it, three years had passed and I was a college graduate. I began working for a labor union as an underground organizer. Life seemed to be going well, but I was moving to fast (I now realize that I was going through a very long manic episode that allowed me to perform beyond my own abilities) and I was about to crash.

To be continued…

Dave.

Update

Today’s post is going to be really short (I might be able to put up a longer post later, however, I have class and a seminar today). I just wanted to let you all know that I am currently drafting a series of blog posts and if all goes well they will be a basis for my memoir. Each series will contain multiple strands and stories. So please bear with me as I work on this project. If everything goes well I should have a consistent blog posting schedule within the next week (blog updates monday-friday, with analysis and feedback on the weekends).

I hope you are all doing well,

Dave.

Manic Depressive Illness-Why Self-Harm can Happen to Anyone

(Warning, there is graphic content in this post that could potentially become a trigger) I never thought I would cut myself. I never thought I would resort to self-harm as a way to escape my emotional pain. I never thought my wrists would be covered in scars or that my favorite knife would become my only friend. But life takes its toll, causing us to do things we normally would not do. I was 22 when I first cut myself and I still remember it vividly. It was the middle of the week and I had just come home from work. Tired, I spent a few minutes talking with my parents before I retreated to my room. Closing the door, I walked over to my bookshelf  and examined my collection. My thoughts were racing, dragging me closer to a depressive episode (at the time I did not realize I suffered from Manic Depressive Illness. Although I had spent most of my childhood in therapy, my adult life was the complete opposite. I thought I had been cured. I thought that my mind was finally stable and that I could return to a normal existence. But I was wrong. I spent so much time trying to escape my past, that I did not realize I mentally unstable).

Walking away from my book case, I sat down on my bed and started to worry. Thoughts of death consumed my mind, causing me to further crack. I didn’t know what to do. I had no one to turn to (at the time I did not trust my parents, I had been so wrapped up in my own life that I forgot my parents were there to help me. So instead of walking out of my bedroom and confront my parents, I just sat there in silence). Tears began to trickle down my face as the darkness grew. I tried to tell myself that the thoughts were not real, that my brain was just fucking with me. But nothing was working. I was desperate, so I started to chant “Go away bad thoughts, go away bad thoughts, go away bad thoughts,” hoping that the darkness would recede. Unfortunately I was wrong. The negative thoughts began to grow, telling me that I would never have any friends, that I was ugly, that my co-workers hated me and that my own parents had given up on me.

It was around this time that a knife had found its way into my hands. Opening the blade, I stared at the cerated edge, contemplating my next move. Without realizing what I was doing, I placed the blade on my left wrist and began to cut. At first the blade did break through the skin. I pulled the knife away, stared at my wrist and began to laugh. A smile had formed on my face, as I tried to cut my left wrist again. This time I cut deeper into my wrist, causing blood to form at the cut. Not satisfied, I cut myself again and again and again until I had created a small gash. I dropped the knife and stared at my wrist. I watched as the blood poured out of the cut and fell onto my tile floor. I sat there for twenty minutes, staring at my cuts, watching as more blood left my body. It was a very surreal moment. The darkness had evaporated and I felt happy for the first time that week. I licked the blood off my arm, put my knife away and went to the bathroom to clean up. Unfortunately, that would not be the last time I cut myself (or caused other bodily harm). I refused to think that I was harming myself, instead I viewed it as a way to temporarily eliminate the darkness.

Some of the scars have disappeared, but if you look close enough you can still see where I had cut myself.

Unfortunately, society does not prepare us for self-harm. We are taught that only pre-teens cut themselves, that it usually is a cry for help or a faze one goes through. But that is not the truth. Anyone, at any age can fall victim to self-harm and unless we start to change the stigma surrounding it or create an open dialogue, then the problem will just continue to grow.

I learned the hard way that self-harm can happen to anyone. But like addiction, the problem is not easily fixed. Although I have not cut myself in the last year, I still feel the urge to get my knife and open up old wounds.

That is all for now.

Dave.