I am so glad that it is a Friday.
There are a multitude of reasons why this past week was so terrible. Some of them biological- like not have a medication, and then going on Lunesta (turns out, it is even worse than Ambien for me), and then my reactions to my various failures of the week.
I think I finally understand my frustration with therapy. They have been trying to get me to be more resilient, so that I won't react so much when I lose things because I am disorganized, when I can't get my paperwork done, when I run out of medications. I want fewer things to be reacting to. I want to get more order in my life. I want a different brain. But that isn't coming. And mine, according to neuropsychological testing (that I just had to find again to bring to my psychiatrist)- my brain is fucked up.
I remember when I was in graduate school. I felt like I was getting depressed- and hoped to avoid a med change. So I dutifully hauled myself off to a CBT therapist- supposedly someone very good. I remember trying to explain my frustration to her about not being able to find a shoe- how I had a fit after being unable to find it for 15 minutes. I lived in 1 room at the time! And she kept telling me that this was normal. And it was not, so many of the things that I told her were not. (Like scheduling my awake time during the few hours of the night when I was the least depressed to do my studying- when I couldn't call anyone to find out what the homework was- which I had invariably lost). But I think she either thought I was exaggerating- or she meant that the feelings were normal, not the situation.
It didn't work out so well. I got worse. I quit therapy, as it got too hard to get there on top of trying to study. The homework assignments did not prove helpful, but I think the fault was mine. I was too attached to outcomes- and still am. If I could have told myself- whatever happens, either you will be okay, or you will be dead (in which case nothing matters), then maybe I would have had a chance. Then maybe I could get through it being 2am and not knowing what the homework is and not feeling like killing myself. But I wasn't there then, and I am not there now. Whether the thoughts were logical or not- it all depended upon your assumptions. Whether they were useful or not- another question- but not one that I found very interesting at the time. I wanted to know what was true. I really didn't like CBT. It seemed to tell me that even my thoughts are wrong. It is not enough to criticize my behavior, now you have to go after my thoughts.
Anyway, running out the birth control pill is bad news. Losing my thyroid hormone pills for a couple of days and not taking it- bad news. Accidentally taking my PM meds instead of my AM meds, and winding up with a double dose of Zyprexa- bad news. And taking Lunesta for 8 nights, thinking it would get better- really bad news.
So even if there had been nothing going on in my life beyond the biological, I would probably be pretty messed up this week. And I really have been.
I found myself thinking today. We call people who feign illness malingerers. What do we call people who feign being well? I suppose we call them normal. At least if they are successful. And I was certainly doing a lot of anti-malingering this week! I'm surprised that psychiatry hasn't come up with a label for this yet, they have for everything else. I'm sure the next version of the DSM will remedy that.