Are you finding yourself not enjoying things that normally bring you joy? Is your sadness deeper than usual?
Here are a few of my personal signs that the depression side of Bipolar Disorder has arrived for me.
Hopelessness: I feel like everything around me is hopeless, everything I do is hopeless, my future is hopeless.
Dread/Disinterest: I have this deep down dread of doing anything outside my home. I have no interest in doing things with my friends, no interest in going to gatherings, and no interest in doing things that I normally take part in.
Irritability: I am irritated. Different irritation than manic irritation. Everything is bothering me and playing on my last nerve and I usually hold it all in until I end up exploding over something and letting it all bubble to the surface.
Sleep: Normally I am sleeping more than normal, but there have been times when I have had the opposite effect and have slept less than normal. More often than not its the sleeping more.
Inadequate: I always feel like I am not enough. Not enough of a wife. Not enough of a mother. That I am not doing a good job at anything. I feel insignificant. Like a speck of dust.
Anxiety: Worry and anxiety over things I normally wouldn’t worry about.
Just a quick update. Bipolar Whispers blog is fully back up and running. As you can see I have changed the theme/layout, all blog posts have the updated signature, some have been edited and some have been deleted.
the depression is so bad you feel like you have failed everyone and everything and as much as you want to go to sleep and not wake up you have to keep on breathing.
Such was me a few weeks ago, me before coming off the Zoloft.
The Zoloft that made life worst. The Zoloft that made me feel crazy. The Zoloft that made me want to harm myself. The Zoloft that made me put the breaks on while driving because I thought someone was crossing the road and when I blinked no one was there (among other stories), The Zoloft that made me dream dreams that I thought were real, absolute. The Zoloft that did not mix well with alcohol. The Zoloft that did not let me sleep but yet made me feel like I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up. The Zoloft that made me paranoid. The Zoloft that changed me.
Now I am off the Zoloft, and in just a couple of weeks I already feel a ton better, not ‘normal me’ better, but not Zoloft crazy.
Back one one of my old faithful medications, Tegertol.
A time when pain was easily mistook for something different, a time when scars were internal not external, a time when I could explain the scars, but that time is long gone, that time has left, that time is no longer with me.
A time when I never had to wear long sleeved shirts to cover all the pain, pain that is trying to escape
But escaping through that cuts that appear on my arms
A time when I did not need to feel that touch of the cold blade, or see that crimson red that flows from the deepest pain inside…
A time when I never had to carry a blade with me all the time, just in case, just in case something happens and then that blade is there,
A time when I never needed to sit and hold that blade close to my skin
When I never had to sit and just stare off into space and wonder….
A time when pain was something easy to understand cause it was not trying to escape through open scars…
A time when I could understand the world around
But now suddenly that world has grown so cold…so heartless…..
Self Injury is defined as the intentional, direct injuring of body tissue most often done without suicidal intentions. It often includes cutting, self-mutilation, or self harm. It is an injurious attempt to cope with negative emotions such as extreme anger, anxiety and frustration. It is repetitive. Often people who injure themselves are survivors of traumatic events during childhood.
Self injury. It is a hard topic for people who deal with it, and an even harder topic for people who do not. It is hard to understand, it is hard to explain. For the most part, self injury is a taboo topic.
These are my personal experiences.
I was 13 years old the very first time I self injured. I continued to do so until just 2 weeks before finding out I was pregnant with our first child. Call it mothers intuition: I have no idea why I was able to stop then, I had tried over and over before but failed. I have had a handful of “one time slip ups” over the years. Until February of 2012 when I started self injury all over again and continued to do so for about 7 or 8 weeks. Since then, I have for the most part, been self injury free.
Do I still struggle with the urges? Yes. Do I act on them? No, I try very hard not to.
There is something I want you to know about someone who Self injures: It is not a cry for attention, it is not a suicide attempt. In fact, for me, I spent the entire time hiding it. I hid it from everyone.
For me it was a release, it was control. I had taken part in different types of self injury, but it always went back to cutting.
I had tried several different methods (all recommended by mental health professionals) to try to stop. Marking myself with red marker – did nothing for me. Writing when I felt like self injury – I did a lot of this, I wrote and wrote and wrote until I couldn’t anymore. Elastic bands on my wrist and snapping them when I felt the urge served no purpose for me, just bruised my wrists but I never got the release I was looking for.
Sometimes the frustrations built up inside me were so bad, I would be physically shaking. I felt like if I did not self injure I was going to physically and mentally blow up. The pressure was extreme. The pent up emotions were raging inside me and I needed to let them out. And the only way for me to get even minimal release was through self injury.
Sure I had other ways of expressing myself especially through writing. But the urges were so strong and I was so weak.
In the end I was cutting numerous times each ‘session’ on a near hourly basis.
My then boyfriend – now my husband. Was the only person other then my Psychiatrist and therapist who knew the extent of how bad it had gotten (only because it was kind of hard to hide it from him). He was afraid to sleep because he was afraid I would get up and do something. He was terrified that i was going to end up cutting too deep, or do something even more drastic. He slept (if you can call it that) with his foot/leg always touching or anchored over mine, so if I got up he would know and would be able to check on me. He had a key to the bathroom hidden away just in case I would lock myself in there.
I, in turn, had hid things too. I hid razors, I hid anything I could possibly cut with in places he would not suspect. I knew it had gotten extremely bad one particular day, I was sitting in a mall bathroom and was cutting. I began to shake, and cry.
It is hard for someone who has never dealt with self injury within themselves to even begin to understand the release that comes from it. It is also hard for me to explain where the release comes from. You probably wouldn’t understand. Trust me I have tried to explain it. I have written, I have talked to therapists, psychiatrists, doctors.
Sometimes as I struggle now the urges become so strong and the emotions are so pent up that I feel like the only way to get through it is to partake in more self injurious activities, it feels like that is the only way I will be able to release some of the pent up tension that is building just under the surface.
But I know that there are better coping methods. And I try each and every one of them until the urge subsides.
For me self injury was something I could control when so many aspects of my life – were uncontrollable. I felt like I could release the pent up feelings that my emotions were causing. I could control how often, how many times, what part of my body, how deep, how big, how small. Control. It was the one thing in my life that was constant and I thought I controlled it.
But the cutting had gotten so bad that it was out of control – I was out of control. The control that I tried so hard to exercise was completely gone. Things began getting worst, and fast. More pronounced, harsher and I was beginning to make mistakes. I had always cut where I could cover it with clothes. I began cutting everywhere on my body. I began cutting deeper. I have a scar on my arm, it would have needed stitches had I seen a doctor. That was part of my turning point. I was unable to stop myself, the control, that I thought I had, was gone.
Although self injury might feel like control, it might feel like release, it is only temporary. It is an unhealthy coping method. If you find yourself controlled by your self injury, please seek medical help. A doctor, therapist or psychiatrist will be able to lead you into some more healthy coping methods.
This is my story – I am not proud of it, but it is a part of who I am.