Mother Effer and, Ultimately, Classic Frustration

After a string of days blogging, the keyboard has gone silent for too long.  I do this to myself all the time, you know.  Process through things via this blog, then hit some sort of roadblock, stop blogging for some inane reason, and then just sit in silence and curse those issues under my breath.  When I’m in not-blogging mode, I still read all of the blogs I am following religiously.  I generally know I need to get back on the proverbial horse again when I find myself getting jealous or envious of the emotions that people I follow are having.  That’s right.  You’re having an emotion, and I’m jealous.

I am in that spot in bipolar disorder that is marked with a lack of sparkle for everyday activities.  Now don’t get me wrong, I still like going to my little itty-bitty part-time job and dishing up worms.  I still love my boyfriend and family, still play with my dogs, and still can’t wait to get in the swimming pool (DSB gave me one for my birthday!) at the end of the day.  But there are other things going on, and not going on.

I continue to be plagued by severe anxiety.  I am taking Klonopin PRN’s frequently (although not more than they are prescribed by my pdoc) and find myself unable to cope with day-to-day stressors.  When I am not feeling anxious, I am feeling somewhat flat.  I read other people’s blogs and they have this passion for life, about life, even about hating life.  That’s right, I am jealous of you for having a passion for not wanting to live.  It just doesn’t make any sense.  I was telling DSB last night that it seemed like we had a pretty good life.  It’s like I was just struck by it all of a sudden.

I have a pretty good life.  I have a roof over my head, food on the table, great family and boyfriend, loyal dogs.  There is no serious trouble in my life, I am not having to struggle to survive.  But I feel flat.  I feel alternatingly anxious and flat.  And there are times where I feel just fine, too, of course.  Because it wouldn’t be my life if it wasn’t full of contradiction.  Ultimately, I just feel frustrated.

I wonder if I will ever feel “better” or free of some of this anxiety.  I wonder if I will ever be filled with joy and contentment and serenity (as a blogging friend put it).  Is that even possible?  Am I ever going to accomplish more with my life, or should I just be happy with what I have?  I think a lot of the reason my last therapist was so frustrated with me was because she wanted me to make some giant leap into something that would make me “happy” and I just didn’t know what that would be and wasn’t very open, because I feel like I am still working on current issues.

Due to schedules and timing and suckiness, I don’t get to see my new therapist until next Tuesday, even though I have been referred to her for over two weeks now.  I am nervous about doing trauma work, but I know I will never be able to get over insecurities and anxiousness and flashbacks and nightmares without it.  And I SO want to be over those things.  I am also worried about whether or not she will let me address anything besides trauma, or if that is the only thing we can talk about.  Because there is other stuff going on in my life that I need to talk about.  I am very hopeful that I will like this new therapist, and she comes with a good recommendation from Goddess of Mindfulness, so I am even more hopeful.  It would be nice to have a therapist again that I feel understands, empathizes, and acts in my best interest.

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4 thoughts on “Mother Effer and, Ultimately, Classic Frustration

  1. It’s just my opinion, but recovery and serenity don’t come in an instant. I have what I call serenity, and it took me many years of anxiety and darkness to get there. Am I happy? Could my attitude improve? I can only answer yes to both those questions.

    One great lesson I learned was to do one nice thing for me each day. I try to keep that very simple. I like writing, so I write in my blog. I like reading, so I do that a little, too. In my dark days, one simple, nice thing was brushing my teeth, and then I’d crawl back in bed.

    I hope your appointment with your new therapist goes well. You deserve a good, caring person to help you.

    In the meantime, don’t forget to breathe.

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  2. ” I think a lot of the reason my last therapist was so frustrated with me was because she wanted me to make some giant leap into something that would make me ‘happy’ ”

    I can relate to this. When I was way beyond finding the right medications for me, my pdoc asked “so, what do you plan to do about working? You need to get out and get a job.”

    I couldn’t even put two words together, how the hell did he expect me to get a job? I went for one more visit and was done with him. 5 years later I have a pdoc I love and a therapist I love. Both have told me recently that I am still unable to work. The irony is that I want to go back to work now. My friends and family tell me my doctors are right and so, I’m still not working.

    It’s unfathomable to think there are psychiatrists out there who think you should just get over it.

    Like

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