Tag Archives: Depression

That inner voice.

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Well this post is thanks to my wonderful therapist.  She has spent the last 2 1/2 years with me on this roller coaster of life.  She has seen me at my absolute lowest of lows and has been riding the waves every week on my journey of healing.

Today we spent a lot of time challenging my inner voice. I’m not talking about the one that guides you well. You know – the OTHER one – that negates everything good, by pointing out the bad.    Some call it the dog or man on their shoulder.  Michelle from the Cedric Centre  calls it “the drill sergeant,” in her book Food is Not the Problem.  http://www.cedriccentre.com/books/

Honestly, no matter what you call that voice – its annoying to hear. That incessant chirping in my head never shuts up. I referred to that voice today as “psycho bitch”.  I can’t give myself accurate credit for ANYTHING without my psycho bitch telling me how it isn’t good enough, or I didn’t do x,y or z, I “should” have done better. When the voice was called The Drill Sergeant, I could accept it, but I didn’t really feel a direct association to her. But Wow, when I called her a “psycho bitch”, that upset me. I DO associate myself with that voice.  So suddenly I was calling myself a psycho bitch, and I was hurting yet again.

I don’t want to be a psycho bitch.  I don’t want to BE that voice.  And yet I’m guided or rather “mis”guided constantly by her.  I don’t get how she’s “protecting me” or “helping me get thru anything”.  She’s pushing and shoving and knocking me down every time I try and make a single step.  She’s my storm wrecking my beach, and hiding my shells.  She’s breaking up the shells and leaving jagged edges for me to cut my feet on.  And I’m fed up.

I don’t want to be this negative, this jaded, this distrustful.  I don’t want to be lazy or useless.  I don’t want to be fat, or diabetic.  I don’t want to be mentally unstable and depressed.  And yet it feels like EVERY single time I make a step in the direction of something “better”, or “healthier” or more balanced, good ole psycho bitch is there to make sure I end up back on my ass on the ground. And THEN points, laughs and tells me how useless and crappy I am.  That I’ll never be better or successful and that I’m a FAILURE.

It has happened so often that that feels normal. So I’ve just come to accept that I’m a failure.  That I AM this psycho bitch who can’t do anything right.  And that makes me sad, so I cry on the inside, and often those tears leak out. So now I’m a blubbering psycho bitch.  GREAAAT.  Just what i wanted.  How attractive. NOT!!!!

My counselor says that the role of the drill sergeant has value and a purpose, but needs to let my other parts – the ones that see the good things – have more time and space.  Ok.  So we made a list of things I’m proud of doing.  Not monumental life changing things – everyday stuff.  And EVERY time I wrote something down, my psycho bitch was pestering me with the “yeah but you didn’t do….” or “Yeah but you SHOULD be doing…”.   SHUT UP!!! Just SHUT THE FUCK UP!!  I don ‘t want to hear it anymore.  I’ve HEARD you long enough.  JUST SHUT UP!!! PLEASE!

There isn’t enough room for that attitude.  She’s hogging all the space.  She’s controlling every move and every thought.  I want to be able to sit in my LR right at this moment and see the 4 piles of folded towels and linens and think “good job – you did the laundry”  But instead I’m hearing “lazy lazy lazy you STILL haven’t put those away.  Are you EVER gonna get off your ass and do it?”

Instead of looking at the pile of mail, bills and flyers beside me and thinking “Geez I’m a slob – those need to be put away and/or in the garbage” I WANT to be able to think “Yeah – you sorted all the mail, and paid the bills. Great job”   But I just CAN’T.

And even though the thoughts are bringing me down, and it would take all of 5 minutes to get the towels put away, or the mail into the recycle bin.  I can’t do that either! It’s like I WANT to be stuck – so the psycho bitch can be right and at least then I can have something to believe that’s true.  YUP I’m a lazy useless no good failure.  Psycho Bitch has known it all along and now I can see she is right.

I can’t seem to find that switch to change my thinking.  I feel so stuck and I’m so frustrated.  If you don’t live with an overbearing inner voice, I can’t explain it.  Just imagine your worst enemy following you around NON-STOP nitpicking at EVERY single thing you do. Relentlessly trying to push you into an abyss from which there is no return. Until finally you just fall into it and say “there” “you got me”.

I guess its the same thing as parents and teachers being told “don’t label kids with negative associations, or they may just achieve them ”  Is that what happened to me?  Was I told “you are so smart, you can do better”  “Nothing lower than a B is acceptable” too often, and now I can’t be happy with average?

Everyone has inner voices, just like everyone wear’s underwear.  (OR should!!).  But our voices seem to have different sizes.  Some drill sergeants are small and don’t occupy much space – like wearing a thong I guess!  My drill sergeant’s voice is like my panties – OVERSIZED and dominant.  But unlike my granny panties which are comfortable, my inner voice is NOT comforting.  So I’m going to keep working at hearing her comments and telling her to step aside and let others speak.  That I’m NOT INTERESTED in her feedback THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

And that’s me! GP

 

Death

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Being out of town and on the road for a month gave me lots of time to think.  I also got to see many of my very closest friends; had many heart to hearts, shed tears, and got some rest. Several times during the month I’d think about a blog post, but  I like posting in solitude with no distractions.  In a tiny trailer with 2 kids, there isn’t true private time.  I often shed tears while writing, and certainly didn’t want to have to explain that to my kids. So now I’m home with several “ideas” to write about.

Over the years, I’ve had many long term bouts with depression.  I’m on medications and trying to get control.  But because of that, drs often have to ask “have you thought about dying” (they are actually asking “are you gonna off yourself”).  Well the answer to have I THOUGHT ABOUT IT is YES.  Will I off myself – NO. Am I suicidal right now NO.  Do any of you reading this need to get worried. NO!!!! So relax and keep reading.

The truth is I’ve had many thoughts about dying and killing myself and disappearing etc.  At times I’ve had more serious thoughts.  As a teen, twice I took too many Tylenol.  Or thought I had.  When the dose is 1 pill, 9 seemed like a lot!  I had the intent to kill myself. Part of me wanted to die.  But there was another part that I guess stopped me from taking more and more.  Granted – that was the last 9 in the bottle.  Who knows.  I didn’t even pass out.  Nobody even really knew about it.

In university I was bulimic.  I was so desperate to be thin, but I just needed to eat.  I had to eat.  I’d try and not eat but by the end of the day I’d scarf down whatever.  Then I’d feel guilty so I’d puke.  I got good at it.  I didn’t really care if it would harm my throat etc.  I wanted to lose weight.  And I did.  And I got compliments.  It was great.  Until I passed out at the toilet one night.  SCARY.  I realized I had to change my ways.  So I began eating, and occasionally puked.  I stopped myself from puking.  Eventually I just gained weight and tried to accept it.  But by then I had my DH (my dear husband) and I wasn’t as worried about being THIN to be accepted.  DH loved me.  I didn’t want to hinder my health or die, so I vowed never to induce my vomiting again.  I’ve stayed true to that vow.  Unfortunately the binge eating still exists.  Another battle, another blog.

For years my dad has said he isn’t afraid of dying. He said, he didn’t WANT to die, but wasn’t afraid of it.  I always found that statement very unsettling and upsetting.  How can you NOT be afraid of dying?  its DEATH!  I couldn’t comprehend how ANYONE, young or old, healthy or terminal could accept death peacefully.  I just found the whole idea SCARY.

On TV I’ve seen plot lines where someone has died and the loved one touches the body or lies with it etc.  I distinctly remember the Grey’s anatomy character Izzy lying in bed with just died Denny and I thought EWWW.  How can you touch a dead body? Isn’t that gross?

Then DH died. I was so grief stricken.  I immediately crawled into his hospital bed. I had waited 3 weeks to lie with him.  Now I was never going to again.  I wasn’t concerned about the dead body.  I was just with my DH.  I didn’t ever want to leave him.  I had to be dragged away.  At his viewing I kissed him. I touched him.  it wasn’t gross or morbid. These were going to be my last moments EVER with him. I loved him.  Suddenly Death was something different.

In the time since he’s gone I’ve had a couple of psychic messages from him.  He is existing in a realm outside of our understanding.  Suddenly I don’t fear death at all.

I don’t WANT to die.  I’ve thought about it.  There have been some very troubled moments.  I even have a plan.  Heck I’ve had more than one plan.  But a plan doesn’t mean action. It merely indicates that I’m a methodical, organized, over thinker of things.  But knowing that I’ll see DH again, puts me at peace about dying.  I’m not scared of it.  I get what my dad says now.  He’s not ready, but he is prepared.

In the past year I refused to take a lot of my medications.  I’m diabetic. I NEED to take these meds.  So my one therapist told my I was “passive suicidal”.  I didn’t care. My response was “ok sure, whatever”  I was too depressed to care.  I didn’t really enjoy living. I knew I had to live for my kids. At times that seemed like a small concession when if I actually died I could be with DH and NOT deal with all the crap being dished out at me in the here and now. But I kept living. Probably slowly killing myself with poor health.  But I didn’t want to die. So I changed.  I started to care.  I started to take my meds again. I’m working on improving.

Each day I’m working on living.  I’m trying to lose weight so I’ll need smaller granny panties.  But I’m startled to realize that I don’t fear or even dread death.  It really doesn’t scare me at all anymore.  It’s no longer a black ominous void.  So although I’m not yet ready to die, I am at peace with the idea.

And that’s me.

 

 

So unfair.

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Life is just so unfair.  And nobody said life would be fair, but seriously?! Some people seem to roll along with minor blips and bumps and others get major shit, time after time.  Its not fair.  Its not right.

And one person’s crisis is a bump to another. And vice versa.  Honestly, I’m tired of it all.

So finally my beautiful daughter is on medication and calmer. And able to cope better. So that should be good right?  But the meds are causing her to gain weight FAST.  She is getting fatter.  She is 2 sizes larger than she was just a few months ago.  She can tell.  She can see it.  So my once, tiny, athletic SKINNY girl is now definitely chubby.  And just in time for puberty and when looks count for so much.  As we sat together in her room going thru her clothes and getting rid of the small stuff, she broke down and cried.  “I’m getting fat Mummy”   It broke my heart.  I was the fat kid.  I carry the scars of self hatred and the teasing to this day.  Food is my comfort and enemy.  And now here she is, 9 years old and suddenly in a size 14 pant when she could wear size 10 at Christmas.  Seeing it, feeling it and hating it.  And we know her meds are a big part of the problem.  But she MUST take the meds.  She is a picky eater, so finding food she likes is an issue too. Sigh.  It’s not fair.  Sooo unfair.

Hasn’t she suffered enough losing her dad?  And having a mental disorder that causes her extreme rage and anxiety?  And having to see therapists and doctors? and having her brother hate her and tell her so repeatedly? and having a weak ankle causing her to give up gymnastics which she liked? and her anxiety disorder causing her to have fear of heights so she had to give up diving? and now she is getting fat?  ENOUGH!  This girl is only NINE!  So unfair.

It just makes me cry.  I feel so helpless.  I can’t do much for her.  I can suggest healthy options (which she hates) I can encourage exercise. I can support her tears.  But I can’t take away any of the pain.  And I know the pain first hand.  And I live the pain daily.  I want it to go away.  For me and her.  Its just so unfair.

and that’s me today.  GP.