I went on a date last night.
It’s part of an ongoing campaign to push through the anxiety in order to conquer it. This was actually the fourth person I’ve seen in the last seven months.
Bottom line: I hate it and it’s terrible.
During my flirtation with mental wellbeing (the Nortriptyline period), I started to think that maybe I could have a relationship. The wellbeing didn’t last long enough to figure out if I wanted one, but I began to think it was something I was capable of doing successfully.
Though I no longer identify with that thought, I remember having it. What follows are my current, scattered thoughts. Strangely, these scattered thoughts feel less anxious and depressed than usual. They kind of feel like thoughts regular people have. Small steps, right? Don’t tell me if you disagree.
Socializing is exhausting.
Let’s consider the equation A – B < C.
- A = amount of anxiety created and energy depleted while socializing
- B = how much I want to see this person again.
- C = how much I enjoyed the socializing
These parameters must be true in order to consider the date successful. If we substitute in the numbers, the problem becomes clear
1,000,000 – 15 < 30
999,985 < 30
That is simply untrue. A – B < C is never true.
Social Anxiety is tough. I don’t want to spend time with others but am also kind of lonely. I don’t want to spend time with myself, which is simply impossible unless I’m at the movies. But until we start living like Theodore Twombly, there is no in between.
Ultimately, this is another case of not knowing what is real and what is anxiety – what do I want? And what is realistically achievable?
I am broken.
There’s no easy way to say, “Hey buddy, I get super anxious and super depressed. There are months where I need to cordon myself off like a crime scene or wild animal. It’s not great. Sooooo it was nice to meet you but you don’t want to get involved with this bag of crazy.”
It’s just not fair to bring another person into my life right now. What’s the saying – that you need to love yourself before you can love anyone else? Is that even true? Or do other people help you love yourself? I’m starting to ask a lot of questions.
Maybe the first step is to hate myself a little less.
Self-esteem is tricky.
When necessary, I can be delightful.
I call this delightful personality my “tour guide mode,” since it stems from the fake persona I adopted as a college tour guide. I’m engaged, inquisitive, enthusiastic, funny, a little sarcastic, capable of speaking for minutes at a time.
Tour guide mode is exhausting and unsustainable. It’s essentially forced hypomania.
I date these gentlemen under tour guide mode because it’s the way I interact with strangers. It places a barrier between myself and others. It matters less whether you like or dislike tour guide mode because it’s not really me. Failure is less of a blow.
But translating from tour guide mode to myself doesn’t work. In comparison, myself…sucks. I feel terrible so much of the time – it’s not fair to subject anyone to my consistently terrible mood. I’m better off spending time alone.
Added to that, it takes me at least six months to be comfortable with a new person, i.e. enough to consistently be “myself,” and that’s simply too long. These barriers apply as much to new friendships as new relationships.
Society, man. Oof
Part of the trouble is society. Dating and relationships fall under that “things that people do” umbrella.
It’s tough to watch the overwhelming majority of people follow particular patterns while personally feeling removed from that pattern. So I ask myself, “Ok. This is a thing that people do. Is it something that I do?“
This idea of whether you fit into societal norms is surely something with which we all struggle. So how do you think about it? Where do you find yourself going against societal norms and how do you deal with it?
I measure my levels of depression in various ways.
Heavy or Light. High energy or low. White noise or clear.
Dark or bright.
Dark/bright is hard to explain. It’s not just that I feel dark. It’s like light levels change depending on my mood. For example, when I try to remember the day I told the headshrinker about the suicidal thoughts, my recollection of her office is really dark – like half the lights were off. Dark/bright has absolutely nothing to do with actual light levels, just my perception of them.
But dark/bright is an imperfect measure because dark equals bad but bright does not equal good.
Today is really bright but I don’t feel bright, light, high energy, clear or good. I feel confused. There is a ton of chatter in my brain and I’m having trouble concentrating. My energy levels are low and I’m having trouble leaving my bed.
But it’s bright.
Days like this are frustrating because brightness should equate to feeling better. I put extra pressure on myself to feel better when everything is bright and get extra frustrated when I fail.
It’s like when spring and summer roll around and you see people outside enjoying themselves – you can see it but you can’t feel it or experience it.
This is the point of my mood cycle where I want to feel worse. I’ve been stuck in the middle section for too long – I feel nothing in the middle section. I want to feel worse because at least it will be something. And I can’t reach those couple good days until I get through the worst days.
I continue to struggle with pairing adjectives to my emotional state, but I can usually come up with a weird visual/aural analogy.
For example, my brain feels like taffy.
Everything is being pulled and twisted. There’s so much happening in my head that I can’t manage to do anything (get outside, read, clean). I can’t focus. It’s frustrating because it’s exhausting but not tiring. I wind up staring into space for much of the day because I don’t have energy to use on anything else.
The taffy is paired with brown noise. This is the noise I play while trying to fall asleep because it most closely echoes what my frenzied, muddled thoughts feel like.
For a quick trip into my brain, play both videos simultaneously (with the sound off on the taffy video)!
Doctor visits are stressful. You have to explain your issue correctly, answer questions, take tests, await results, and take medications.
It’s enough to make anyone anxious.
Doctor visits when you have Social Anxiety are difficult because, in addition to the normal stressors, you have to call to make the appointment, sit in a crowded waiting room, talk to multiple people, and avoid having a full-blown panic attack in the middle of the office…among other things.
For me, the worst is explaining your situation. My mind completely blanks – I manage to stammer out a few sentences but I completely downplay the issues, so the doctors are left thinking,
Why is this weird half-mute person even here? What she’s saying isn’t even a medical issue. She needs to be in an art supply store.
Because it takes me at least six months to become even remotely comfortable with a stranger, I needed to develop a nonverbal way to communicate with medical professionals.
Tips and Tricks
1. Keep Notes
I keep daily notes in my phone to bring to the headshrinker each week. Because I was forgetting anything I wanted to say and then getting too anxious to speak at all, the headshrinker and I decided that I’d bring notes each week to use as a jumping point. I still have many issues with forgetting and talking but it’s been useful.
2. Track Stuff
One of my anxiety safety behaviors is taking my heart rate – I do it at least five times a day. As such, I noticed immediately when my medication was causing a heart rate increase. This way, I felt like I had more credibility than just saying “my heart is beating faster” and relying on the single reading from the office visit as evidence.
3. Use Questionnaires
If it’s your first visit, sometimes it’s helpful to bring in results from questionnaires. The PHQ-9 (Depression) and GAD-7 (Anxiety) are probably the most commonly used. For Social Anxiety, the Liebowitz Social Anxiety Scale Test is very helpful.
Sometimes it helps to take these at normal intervals and track changes. I find this to be unhelpful because I memorize the questions and my previous responses…essentially, I can’t help but cheat.
4. Mutter “I’m Pretty Anxious Right Now”
This is the most difficult. It’s easier if you have something written. Heck, even if your notes say, “Hi, I get really anxious at doctor’s appointments and forget what I want to say. Here are my notes.” But if you can manage to tell someone – nurse, doctor, etc. – that you are anxious, then it might make it easier to talk.
Actually – here. I’ve done it for you. Good luck!
I like to think that I’m not the typical suicidal person. I’m 29. I have a full-time job and attend graduate school part-time. I’ve never attempted suicide nor have I been hospitalized. I go to therapy and have tried many medications. But somewhere along the way my anxiety and depression turned into Anxiety and Depression, the kind that can’t be treated with meditation and yoga, the kind that causes your psychiatrist to recommend electroshock therapy.
At first, I was certain that I would never kill myself – I was too curious about how things would turn out for me and for my loved ones. Then suicide became a certainty. I stopped being curious about myself. Eventually, I stopped being curious about other people. Everyone around me was following predictable life progressions so I didn’t have to wonder about them. Guilt replaced curiosity: I couldn’t kill myself because I didn’t want to anger and disappoint anyone.
But that reason is becoming less convincing. I’m only staying alive so that others aren’t upset? It’s not enough.
Imagine taking an hour to drag yourself out of bed only to stare blankly into space all day because leaving the bed depleted all your energy. Then you think, “I just need to do something enjoyable” so you eat delicious food, read a great book, go to the movies, have sex, take a nap, watch some tv, etc. But instead of feeling pleasure, you feel nothing.
Soon nothing is pleasurable and formerly pleasurable activities make you feel worse, but you feel like you should continue because… what’s the alternative? Suicide. Then repeat this for ten years.
Not an hour goes by without thinking about killing myself. I can’t cross the street without hoping and picturing that I’ll get hit by a car. It feels unsafe to keep sharp objects or too many pills in the house, but I do anyway – just in case. As such, I don’t feel safe at home. I need to take sleeping pills to avoid lying awake too long because lying awake makes me agitated, agitation makes me impulsive, and impulsivity leads to suicide.
There are layers to my suicidality. I call them text thoughts, images, urges, and planning thoughts. The text thoughts repeat ad nauseam: “I want to kill myself. I want to kill myself. I want to kill myself.” The images flash quickly: jumping in front of subway cars or falling out windows. Urges are more subtle, like feeling the blood running through my veins. The planning is practical: “I need to write a list of who gets my belongings.”
I’ve had these thoughts for so long that many of them are benign – sometimes I forget that most people aren’t suicidal.
At first, the suicidality made me feel sad. Now, I feel ashamed because I’m not strong enough to control it. I’m ashamed because I lost – it’s just a matter of time before suicide wins. I’m ashamed because I’ve accepted the defeat. Mostly, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t win.
Every night while laying in bed waiting to fall asleep, I am bombarded for hours with negative, bullying, anxious, suicidal thoughts. Those few hours between arriving home and falling asleep are very difficult to manage.
Like tonight, I write this at 6:55pm and I’ve finished all I need for the day. All I want is to be asleep because the thoughts are too fast and too furious.
It’s so chaotic and overwhelming that I can’t concentrate so I end up listening to mindless tv, podcasts, or movies until the sleeping pills kick in. The trouble is that these mindless activities are a poor distraction.
One of the few rational thoughts during the chaos is –
What would make me feel better right now?
And the quick answer is I don’t know.
I find myself scouring Twitter, Tumblr, blogs, academic journals…anything, looking for something to calm the chaotic thoughts.
The trouble is that I really have no sense of what specific words or actions would help, so my scouring is frantic. And the longer I scour, the more frantic I become…and being frantic definitely doesn’t help me to fall asleep.
But really -
What would make me feel better right now?
We see countless articles or images explaining How Not to Make Your Depressed Friend Feel Worse or 5 Ways to Comfort Your Anxious Buddy! I googled “what to say with a depressed person” and got nearly 74 million results.
These articles suggest you say things like
- You’re right, this sucks.
- I believe in you… You’re awesome!
- You’re not alone in this.
- When you want to give up, tell yourself you will hold on for just one more day, hour, minute — whatever you can manage.
- You are important to me. Your life is important to me.
- I love you!
I hesitate to judge whether suggestions are helpful or unhelpful – everyone’s experiences are different so surely what we find comforting will be different.
For instance, I read the Buzzfeed “21 Comics That Capture The Frustrations Of Depression” listiscle and thought, “Yep, this is pretty much it exactly.” But didn’t find it comforting, i.e. it’s not something I bookmarked and return to for solace.
It probably would have been comforting when I was seeking commiseration.
But I’ve been depressed for too long to seek commiseration. When you’re first depressed and you don’t really understand what’s happening, then you need those comics, those quotes, those essays. You need them so you can say, “Ok. I’m not alone in this.”
I’m passed that now. Now, I need the next step of “Ok, you get it…Now tell me what will make it better.” And that’s why I scour the internet.
But what am I really looking for? Distraction? Hope? Sympathy? Reassurance? Serenity?
I don’t really know. The only way I can describe it is “something that will make me feel better” but I can’t explain what “feeling better” means.
I posed the question on Facebook and got two responses:
- I just wish someone was there to listen to me ramble on about all the things that do make me happy.
- I just need to be with someone, do things to pass time, talk about it. Anxiety, well I usually just want to deal with it myself.
And those are great. To be able to verbalize specific needs is really great. Please feel free to comment with what makes you feel better.
In the absolute ideal world, what would help?
Do I want someone with me? Do I want to be alone? Do I want to talk? Do I not want to talk? Do I want to listen? Do I not want to listen? Do I want to be at home? Do I not want to be at home?
To what degree can I let my guard down?
I’ve been stewing on this post for a while because originally I wanted to create a list of things I find helpful.
I wanted to write a list of words I find comforting, schedule them as tweets, and let myself re-read them every night as I scour the internet.
But I failed to come up with any words. I have nothing.
I know that it’s frustrating for those who have tried to help because I’m terrible:
- I lie about whether or not I need help.
- The worse I feel, the less I talk.
- I don’t know what’s wrong.
- I won’t ask for help because it feels like weakness and
- don’t know how they can help/don’t think they can help.
- I feel bad all the time – there are maybe 20 days in a year where I am not miserable.
I’m this person.
And this is yet another post that reaches no real conclusion because the conclusion should be my realization of what would be comforting.
But this post is nothing. It’s nothing -
it’s a reflection on how the rest of my life feels -
It’s the emptiness that’s left. It’s like a despair, destroying this world.
Because all my energy is dedicated to dealing with my thoughts, I’ve been merely present everywhere: work, class, homework, headshrinking. I show up and do the minimal amount to get by.
I’m afraid of what will happen if I try to engage without energy.
There is a reserve, but it’s risky and unstable. I’m afraid that I’m going to freak out and yell, cry, faint, throw things, have a panic attack, or otherwise respond inappropriately to the situation.
Let’s say, for instance, that I panic-cry at work, an endlessly terrifying prospect.
- I would start weeping and not know how to control myself.
- Others wouldn’t know how to respond but would try anyway, which would make me feel worse because I don’t want their pity.
- Presumably, I’d stop crying at some point.
- Then I’d have to deal with the fallout – questions, concern, pity, etc.
- I’d be humiliated for days, weeks, months, years. I would think about it constantly. I’d never get over it. Unacceptable.
Into the Crevasse
Sometimes the way back up is down. Let me tell you a story.
It’s 1994. I went ice climbing, and I fell into a crevasse. I hurt my leg, and I couldn’t climb back up. So fighting every natural instinct, doing the thing that seemed most awful to me, I climbed down into the darkness. And that’s how I got out.
When I got back to base camp, I went and found my fellow climber, the one who had cut me loose after I fell. And I said, “Connie Chung, you did the right thing.” – Jack Donaghy, 30 Rock
Jokes aside, my mood cycle is just that – a cycle. The pattern proves that I have to feel worse before I can feel better. I know the pattern. I know how this works.
But existing in the red zone never gets less scary. Even rationally knowing that the red doesn’t last forever, that going into the crevasse is necessary, offers no comfort.
My thoughts are too fast and too furious. They’re too convincing. They focus too much on suicide. They drain all my energy.
I can’t push back. I can barely cope. I can exist.
I pledge my commitment to the Blog for Mental Health 2014 Project. I will blog about mental health topics not only for myself, but for others. By displaying this badge, I show my pride, dedication, and acceptance for mental health. I use this to promote mental health education in the struggle to erase stigma.
Part of the pledge is to “include in your post as little or as much as you would like about your experiences with mental health.” Last year, I wrote about why I write.
This year, I’m struggling to write something meaningful or inspirational because I feel neither of those things. Instead, I’m just going to share some things I’ve found impactful.
Andrew Solomon: Depression, the secret we share
Maria Bamford: Ask Me About My New God
The Fear Project
Once upon a time, I attended a college lecture on birth order. At the end of the lecture, the speaker said, “If you come talk to me afterward, I’ll ask your birth order and age differences between your siblings and tell you what careers might suit you.” As a person who likes jokes and had zero career aspirations, I approached the speaker.
I’m the middle child. I have two brothers. One three years older and one a year younger.
“Prison warden,” the lecturer replied.
I was skeptical about birth order before but “prison warden” sealed the deal.
This birth order article via Huffington Post circulated through my social media world recently. I won’t rehash the article – you can read the birth order descriptions, if you choose.
I think I throw a wrench in the birth order theories since I am a lady smushed between two brothers, which theoretically prevented the neglected middle child situation. It probably also skews things since my younger brother and I are so close in age.
Ultimately, I find birth order things funny because of my older brother-related strife. (I’m going to refer to him as Voldemort). None of the first born adjectives describe him. Instead of over-responsible, reliable, well-behaved, careful,” I substitute “irresponsible, unreliable, rude, smug.” We have never gotten along and our relationship worsens with age.
As kids, my younger brother and I had a life motto: “Don’t do what Voldemort does.”
- Voldemort got bad grades. We got good grades.
- Voldemort chose bad friends. We chose good friends.
- Voldemort didn’t excel in activities. We excelled in activities.
- Voldemort barely got into college. We easily got into college.
- Voldemort failed out of college. We easily graduated college.
- Voldemort can’t hold down a job. We easily hold down jobs.
Some of my anxiety stems from fearing that I’m like Voldemort. At my core, I think that I’m as lazy and stupid as he is, and I’m going to wind up a terrible, terrible failure.
The most maddening thing to me is that Voldemort is happy (and really smug about it). He found a woman to marry/care for him. He seems perfectly content to work menial jobs for little money. He has made some truly, objectively huge mistakes for which he shows no remorse. It’s maddening.
As a callback to the bridesmaidzilla post, “not comparing, but” it’s also maddening to barely keep myself together when he just floats. There is a Psychology Today article that says,
“sometimes the people whom the public assumes ‘should’ hate themselves do not. While the people whom the public assumes ‘should’ like themselves hate themselves.”
My inability to find compassion for Voldemort is a huge character flaw because I cannot find empathy for anyone who reminds me of him, including myself.
I fully understand that empathy and self-compassion are important aspects of mental well-being but can’t do it – I just get angry.
Perhaps there will be a time where compassion will be found on this route but, for now, I need long detour.
So I pose a question to the group – does your family fit the birth order mold? Why or why not? How do your sibling relationships factor into your mental health?
This is a bit of a departure from my normal topics.
I’m a bridesmaid for my brother’s impending wedding (not excited. not close to the brother or the fiancé. more obligation than anything) and one of the bridesmaids is a bridesmaidzilla.
One of her many, many emails includes
No offense but I have an almost 4 yr old on top of work and full time school. That’s more than you guys (not comparing but seriously).
First, I’m pretty sure that is comparing.
Second, how can a person use the phrases “no offense, but” and “not comparing, but” in a serious way?
Third, I may be overreacting because my mind has turned this into
My work/school/4-year-old is more difficult to deal with than your work/school/mental health issues.
For my mind to construe her comparing the child to my mental health issues is unreasonable, but my bloods are boiling nonetheless.
I’m reacting unreasonably because the people I choose to interact with never make such callous statements, so perhaps I’m more taken aback than angry.
Plus, if we factor in the joy derived from a four-year-old versus the joy derived from mental health issues, bridesmaidzilla wins. I don’t like to lose, especially to people like her. Blerg.
Perhaps this GraphJam depiction will ease the boiling blood -
I don’t understand people.
First, I started to feel weird, like I needed to claw off my skin.
It was Christmas so I chalked it up to leftover anxiety from the celebration.
After leaving my brother’s apartment, I went to see a movie, but the showing had been canceled. Normally this is only disappointing but, uncharacteristically, I felt rage that would only be quelled by punching everyone in the theater, Hulk Smash-style.
I left the theater feeling jittery, unsure what to do with myself for the remainder of the day. I biked for a while, went home, took some sleeping pills and passed out.
The next day I woke up feeling crazy. All my current Lithium side effects amplified exponentially and extra sensations surfaced. The worst was the agitated, restless energy – it kept building and nothing would lessen it. That day, and the next two, all blend together.
Here are the notes I kept for the various medical professionals:
- I’m so restless and agitated that I want to claw my skin off.
- I have endless, agitated energy that just keeps building. I can’t seem to do anything to deplete the energy.
- I can’t sit still.
- Despite being active all day and taking the sleeping pills, I’m not sleeping. There’s a layer deep beneath all the restless energy that is just exhausted.
- My mind is racing and I can’t concentrate.
- I’m both overheating and freezing simultaneously.
- My skin is extremely sensitive – having anything touch my skin is really uncomfortable.
- My brain is…simmering is only word that makes sense, like the liquid around my brain is simmering.
- The suicidal thoughts have increased.
I finally understood why people walk around pantless and muttering – being naked makes sense when your skin can’t touch anything and talking to yourself is logical when your restless energy causes your thoughts to spin out of control. It made sense to start wandering around, naked and muttering. (I didn’t.) I felt crazy.
For the next two days, I tried to do things that normally calm me down: movies, walking, photography. But the energy had other plans -
- I lofted my bed.
- Then, ten minutes later, decided I didn’t like it and unlofted it.
- Went shopping, which I normally have zero patience for.
- I still wanted to punch all the customers.
- Ran sprints and threw a ball against a wall.
- Halfway cleaned out my apartment, throwing away unnecessary items.
- Started labeling my stuff – earmarking it for people after I killed myself.
- Organized my books by color, then by size, then returned them to their normal, disorganized order.
- Bought whittling tools and started whittling – for seven hours continuously each day.
- Watched/Listened to all the American Masters.
At this point, I started to think that I wasn’t going to survive the next few days if this kept up – it was getting increasingly difficult to manage both restless energy and worsening suicidal thoughts. It’s hard to manage the suicidal thoughts on normal days, but excess energy plants the idea that I can (and might) actually take action.
My next psychiatrist appointment was less than a week away and I wanted to “tough it out” because I felt that my poor attitudes toward Lithium had caused the effects – it was my fault. I just needed to adjust and it would go away. It had only been about a month on the medication and may not even be at a therapeutic dose. Plus, the psychiatrist was on vacation and I really didn’t want to bother him.
So now, I need to thank everyone who gave thoughts and advice on Twitter and Reddit (especially DeeDee of Disorderly Chickadee, whose thoughts, in general, I value tremendously.)
With these thoughts and advice, I emailed the psychiatrist the list of symptoms. He quickly called back, explained what was likely happening, and told me to discontinue the Lithium.
The effects disappeared after about a day and a half.
When trying to learn more about Akathisia, I haven’t found much…so this is my experience with it. It was terrible. If this is currently happening to you, definitely contact someone. The end.
I have three draft posts that I can’t seem wrangle. It’s always the goal with each post is to draw grand insights but, more often, I wind up shouting fruitlessly into the canyon, i.e. the internet. This post is none of the three drafts – today I need to shout into the canyon.
The term “treatment resistant” was used – a term I’ve been anticipating but hoping wouldn’t be said outside my own head. To be treatment resistant is to be crazy; it means both that I’m hopelessly broken and that I didn’t try hard enough to fix myself. It means I’m resistant to treatment, consciously resistant.
A thought I often have is -
This is it for me. This is the best things are going to get. I’m done.
Today’s psychiatrist conversation solidified that because, yes, I am resistant. I will choose anxiety and depression over MAIOs or ECT. It’s easy and reasonable to ask, “Aren’t all treatment options worth trying in case they work?” but no. . . just no, though I can’t particularly articulate why.
Somewhere between the second and fifteenth medication I got lost – I let the anxiety and depression take over my life. They guide every thought, decision, and action. At any given moment, I’m adjusting to a new medication and/or coming down from one that didn’t work. I don’t know what “myself” feels like anymore. I don’t know if I’m even sick enough to warrant “treatment resistant” – maybe if I work harder I can make it all go away.
I’m just so tired. I watch all the amazing people around me grow and change: start businesses, get married, buy houses, get Ph.D.s, have kids, etc. and, though very proud, I’m letting myself get left behind. And yes, I know that everyone feels behind, but I’m left behind for what? Because I get nervous talking to people and sometimes it’s hard to get out of bed. It just doesn’t make sense.
Sorry if this is disjointed. I just needed to send these thoughts out into the void. Good night, dear void.
I haven’t socialized with anyone in over three weeks. It feels like longer.
The last time I socialized was Thanksgiving, which…does that even count? It was compulsory, not voluntary.
The upcoming Christmas holiday brings more compulsory socializing that, I hate to admit, I’d rather skip. Humbug.
Social anxiety makes human interaction difficult, but on top of it I create this unwinnable circle:
- I don’t feel understood
- but I’m not willing to explain my thoughts/feelings
- so I’m impossible to understand
So I isolate.
I don’t deserve human interaction.
- I’m a burden.
- I have nothing to offer.
I feel some version of anxious/depressed all the time. No one should have to put it up with that. The amount of time that I can authentically and meaningfully contribute to a relationship is nearly non-existent.
Most of the time, the only things I have to contribute are things like,
“So this Lithium is making me feel extremely sick but at least feeling terrible physically is enough to distract from the crippling suicidal thoughts. Amirite?!?! ha ha ha ha!”
As a wise woman once said,
Frankly, this has gone on long enough for anyone to put up with – beside that I can be a little funny, I have absolutely no idea why anyone would want to spend time with me. I don’t deserve human interaction, so it’s better to isolate and cut things off before they start.
My recent experiment with Nortriptyline did some damage (the medication actually worked but I had to stop taking it because it increased my heart rate to unsustainable levels) I’ve now tried 15 medications and Nortriptyline was the first time I understood what a medication “working” actually meant.
I got a real peek into mental well-being. It lasted long enough that I began to think of how I could actually get better.
But then it went away.
I had to stop the medication so the positive thoughts were replaced with things like, “You should start putting Post-Its on your stuff so they’ll know how to divide your belongings after you kill yourself.”
The takeaway: Nothing is ever going to work. I can keep trying medications but nothing will ever work.
Nobody and nothing can help.
I’m an unfixable burden and it only makes sense to isolate because it’s unfair to share that with anyone.
Even if I did share it, it’s not like anyone could possibly help. How can I expect anyone else to know how to make me feel better if I don’t know myself?
Since no one can help, I need keep it all to myself.