Another 24 Hours.

I'm still here. Josh noted that when I am ill, my eyelids are smoother. This seems very strange, but I noticed it in the mirror. Are they swollen? Do I not open them normally? I don't know. 

I told Bruce that none of the seeds I'd planted over the previous twenty-four hours had seemed to do anything, but I'm still planting. Bruce said it will grow into something that can help me climb out of the way I'm feeling. I told him that most of what I did was really basic maintenance, what I have to do to be okay on a daily basis. I said I was looking for more I could do. So, I tried to do more. Intensive care.

• I asked Josh to make me Ramen instead of skipping dinner. It's not great nutrition, and I may have swallowed the noodles without chewing them, but I ate something.
• I hummed "Waltz for Eva and Che."
• I thought about the lyrics: "How can you be so short-sighted/to think no further than this week or next week/to have no impossible dream?" or something like that. It reminded me of the time I saw my thesis advisor at the college where I worked (he had come for a reading). I told him I was teaching full-time and I was pregnant, so all of my dreams had come true. He gave me a serious gaze and said, "Never."
• I sent my blog post to those three people again.
• I listened when Josh said that writing is who I am, and that to destroy my writing would deprive the world, and that this blog should be a book...even though I didn't believe it. 
• I asked Josh to rub my shoulders and talk to me.
• I grinned at my son and spoke sweetly to him, calling him by his little love names.
• I showed Josh the sticker books I ordered with Amazon Christmas money from my grandparents. Mermaids and pink and purple self-care.
• I drank Glacier Freeze Gatorade Zero.
• I cut my toenails even though I really didn't want to, and I hate the word toenails. But I also didn't want to see my uncut toenails.
• I took a shower and washed my hair with philosophy Pumpkin Icing gel. I could kind of smell it.
• I spent a few extra minutes in the shower, the water against my lower back, where I carry most of my tension.
• I opened a new deodorant instead of scraping my armpits with a nearly empty stick. I also hate the word armpit. 
• I fixed the blankets. This may not sound like much, but the blankets are heavy, one had fallen all the way to the floor, and I had to run around the bed a few times. But I can't stand messy blankets.
• I didn't make myself dry off (seriously? Too hard) after my shower; I just got in bed damp. Pajamas later.
• I started another blog post.
• I typed S into the tags space and saw so many topics I've written about on this blog.
• I looked again at the Studio Strand merch and filled a dream cart with bookstore shirts, magnets, stickers, keychains, and notebooks. Of course, I didn't check out.
• I reminded myself of the Studio Strand tote bag wedged between Josh's desk and the rainbow nonfiction bookcase. It holds my Christmas presents.
• I thought about the presents I will give Josh.
• I thought about our trip to New York City a couple of years ago. Josh described the memory, today in a long E-mail, as a magical cloak.
• I looked at the Cinderella print I love: Cinderella just transformed, still sparkling with magic against a dark blue night, on blue-and-white-striped matting in a white wooden frame above my dresser. I remembered that I found a tiny love note taped to the glass last week.
• I tried not to clench my teeth.
• I looked into my closet at all my pink tops and my three pairs of shorts with stars on them.
• I looked at my Madame Alexander Cisette doll Violette, who looks as if she just stepped out of the flagship Sephora on her way to a Broadway show. She probably has a swanky apartment. Her gray jacket is trimmed with faux fur and purple ribbon. Of course, she has a silver silk blouse and a gray brocade skirt underneath.
• I smiled (just a little) at the leaning tower of books, journals, and magazines by my bed, which Josh stacked in his attempt to vacuum my She Leaves a Little Sparkle Wherever She Goes rug. I'm messy, and a week ago, I had dreams.
• I did not feel like dumping all my pretty things in the foyer to gather dust.
• I remembered how Josh once said "The Perfect One" by Lit reminded him of me.
• I tried again not to clench my teeth. It's a real problem.
• I thought about Christmas. I'm still kind of looking forward to it, even if I'm still too physically sick to travel.
• I graded student journal entries, which didn't exactly put me in a good mood but was a good distraction.
• I took a bath--with Eucalyptus Spearmint bubbles this time.
• I messaged with Megan, who is also dealing with terrible illness and terrible timing. And she's hilarious and good at getting mad (or not, depending on my mood) on my behalf.
• I showed Josh a meme that made him say, "That's fantastic," which is one of my favorite things to hear. I ignored the fact that he was 90% asleep at the time.
• I took my night meds, NyQuil (I snore less), and Trazodone.
• I cleaned and wore my nightguard for the clenching.
• Though I could have done so much more, I turned off the light at 10:30.
• While I tried to fall asleep, I had a sad thought that wouldn't help me. I whispered, "I'm not going to think about that."
• I got up at 6 and sat with Josh. We rewatched my current favorite Key and Peele sketch. https://youtu.be/hhfHu6IHBiI?si=BIY_3Bw7bhzZZrA2
• I took ibuprofen, Sudafed, and my morning meds.
• I smiled, watching my cat, Starry, pawing Josh's leg for pets.
• I drank the iced peppermint mocha Josh brought home.
• I ate the last donut.
• I opened the shutters, positioned myself so the sun was in my face, and took a sunshine nap with Josh.
• I got a call back from my PA's admin and left an actual message for my PA.
• I watched the Key and Peele sketch again.
• I scribbled while Josh worked out.
• I showered before noon (this is a goal on my daily chart--remote worker stuff).
• I ate the turkey, gouda, and pesto sandwich Josh made me.
• I lay across Josh's lap while he tickled my back with both hands.
• I did marriage counseling with Josh.
• I spoke more than usual in marriage counseling. 
• I ate a Christmas tree cake and drank Dr. Pepper.
• I got back in bed with Josh and snuggled (Thursday has been our day together this semester).
• I set up an appointment with my PA for 10 a.m. tomorrow. 
• While Josh went to pick up Oliver, I lit three candles downstairs: Spiced Cinnamon Vanilla in the living room, Merry Cookie in the study, and Vanilla Bean Noel in the foyer, all so that the house would smell good when the boys got home.
• I scribbled in my Italian, black and gold, celestial journal while sitting on the pink velvet loveseat with Josh.
• I opened a new ink (#14--I'm actually on the right day!) from my Diamine Inkvent calendar: Rainbow's End, a chameleon ink that is purple with pink glitter.
• With Josh's help, I found 18 photos in which I'm truly happy (not just smiling for the camera--in some, I'm not smiling at all). They span the last 18 years. In many of them, I'm holding Oliver. In almost all of them, I'm smiling at Josh. He took every photo but one.
• Though my self-regard has not (yet) recovered, I haven't had any self-destructive impulses.

Today was better than yesterday. 

Other Ideations, Other Attempts

I'm not having suicidal thoughts. I'm just thinking about the nature of suicidal ideation. For me, it has come, at least on one occasion, completely unbidden. Just images that I couldn't shut out, images I didn't ask to see, images I didn't feel the need to see. That was the first time I went to the hospital. I was afraid the ideation might stop just being an intrusive thought. I was afraid it might become directive, as it did the second time I went.

I didn't hear physical voices. It wasn't psychosis...at least not that kind. I do believe that one has to be psychotic to attempt suicide. I think it's psychotic to hold your breath until you pass out. I believe every healthy thought reaches for light and life, even in grief or pain. Hope springs...unless it doesn't. Then, you need help. I needed help. A whisper in my mind--again, not like hearing voices but also not like myself--told me what steps to take and what to write. It soothed me, told me how much better the world, their worlds, their lives would be without me there. Such lies. 

I may be an inconvenience regularly to a lot of people. People may get tired of hearing/reading me.  My husband sometimes wants to get away from me, wants some other voice, some other face as comfort. I can be impatient or numb with my son. But my death would rip a hole in the world. Some people would say, "Oh, her? That's sad." Some people would hate me. I've felt that hate. Sometimes, I hate myself for those selfish, deluded minutes when I listened to what I can only guess was the persuasive voice of evil, of absolute darkness. Not beautiful, intriguing darkness, though it can appear that way at first. It promises a cessation, a rest, a nap, an eternal sleeping in. And even if it hurts others, you won't be there to feel guilty, to see the pain. Some people would grow from my loss. But I'd chop them down first, and they'd lose so much height. Better new growth from existing branches, I think.

But I'm not having suicidal thoughts. I haven't at all in the last few days. No coercion, no intrusion, no desperation. Those are the three forms, I think. I've written about intrusion and coercion. Desperation is more automatic, the feeling that comes when you feel shockingly horrible or horribly shocked, in need of instant (and eternal) escape. I haven't felt that lately either, though I did have some of that about a month ago, the discovery. The unbearable that feels like it will last, in this tenor and shade and angle, forever unless you do something to stop it. 

It doesn't last, not with that intensity. But if pain automatically leads to plans, that's a problem. A sickness. Even if they're positive plans. The first step of dealing with pain is feeling it, acknowledging that it has changed you forever. I think of the Evita lyrics:

I'm not that ill

Bad moments come

But then they go.

I think of this less in the context of feeling pain than in the context of suicidal ideation. We say, hey, everybody feels that way sometimes, which I think is probably true...though I can't imagine it for some people. But it is a problem, a kink in the wiring. Those thoughts shouldn't lurk at the edges, waiting for an in. It can get that way if you ever think about it, if you ever have, especially if you've done more than think. It creates a pathway. 

So what do you do about that?

I think you clear other paths and make them more inviting, more...in practice. More trodden, more traveled. Other ideation. Other attempts, as weak as they may sometimes be.

Today, I can't see a good path ahead of me, but I have my back to the one I created, probably as a young teenager, when I hated myself--really, a black hole, and not in a cool way.

I'm feeling in the dirt. I'm dropping seeds. They're tiny, and right now, I have no faith that they'll grow. It's a drought: no sun, no water. But maybe I can cultivate the edges of these paths. These trails. Maybe I can dig up some rocks. All I've written may be senseless, obsessive, or self-indulgent. I'm terribly self-indulgent in my writing. But it's not just Shakespeare's whirling words. Here's what I've done in the last 24 hours.

• I switched from an ugly ink in a skipping pen to a silver-blue ink in my best pen.
• I've written through every mood swing, my way of holding onto myself as I change forms, snake and bull.
• I took a shower.
• I took a bath when I was cold. I didn't use bubbles, but wouldn't that be expecting too much?
• I lay still in the dark of my son's room because I didn't feel that I could move. When I felt like I could move, I moved.
• I cuddled the blanket I've slept with since I was a baby, even as I left my journal downstairs and my phone on the bathroom floor (after the bath).
• I filled my pill boxes, mechanically, but it was necessary.
• I made Oliver's lunch even if I forgot to put more Gatorade in the fridge.
• I put marshmallows, cups, and cookies in Oliver's backpack for his hot chocolate party at school.
• I took a Xanax when the fizzing in my chest got intense, like hydrogen peroxide in a wound that's really dirty.
• I took my afternoon meds even though I was late. I took my night meds.
• I took NyQuil.
• I didn't vaguebook. I'm actually not sure if that's good or not--I kind of shut down to others.
• I wrote a blog post and shared it with three people who aren't on FB and don't check my blogs.
• I wrote on this blog, acknowledging the shift.
• I didn't unplug the fairy lights.
• I told Josh I had the impulse to take down all my art, and I didn't do it.
• I ate a doughnut. Josh had brought them home, and I hadn't eaten dinner.
• I ate another doughnut for breakfast. 
• I took my morning meds. And ibuprofen. And Mucinex.
• I retrieved my phone when the alarm went off.
• I read my text messages and responded to them even though I wanted to ghost everyone. 
• I stayed awake to see Josh.
• I gave some guidance.
• I read my journal aloud to Josh even though I knew some sentences would sting him. I wanted him to see the progression of my mood.
• I drove Josh to work. I listened to "Chandelier" on the way home.
• I ate a Christmas tree cake. 
• I resisted another day of hypergraphia. Too much may be too much.
• I graded one class's rough drafts with plenty of revision notes even though I didn't feel like I could.
• I sent out an announcement to guide my students through these last days of the semester.
• I plugged in the tree in our room. 
• I lit a candle even though I'm too congested to smell it.
• I opened the shutters and let in some sunlight.
• I told Josh I had the urge to carry all my journals down to the trash, to have bare shelves. I didn't do it, not even when he was at work.
• I forgave my belly.
• I wore my favorite coatigan.
• I ate a turkey, gouda, and pesto sandwich.
• I made myself an ice peppermint mocha with whipped cream.
• I took my afternoon meds on time.
• I opened the blinds in the study.
• I skipped a shower and donned a bejeweled beanie without guilt.
• I listened to my December playlist, the songs of which I realized express my thoughts and feelings toward myself...or used to.
• I listened to Josh's December playlist, which is much more positive than usual, and read the lyrics.
• I asked questions about the songs.
• I chatted with Oliver's teacher at pickup.
• I sent Bruce a funny photo.
• I opened two used books that came in the mail.
• I told Josh I had the impulse to delete my blogs. I didn't do it.
• I left a message for my PA even though I have an appointment next week.
• I didn't expect anything, which could be good or bad.
• I wrote another blog post.

I consciously thought through what small actions I could take, like a person who has lost their faith but still practices the rituals of Judaism...because maybe they do mean something.

From a Place of Mental Illness.

I haven't posted here in a long time. I've been operating from a place of recovery for almost three years. Even with all that's been going on, my mother says I've been operating from a place of strength.

I think that's over for now. Maybe I'll feel differently when I wake up tomorrow, but that's hard to imagine.

I'm writing this from my son's dark room. He has special needs, and even though he's twelve, he needs us to put him to bed.

I'm writing this from a place of sickness. I've been sick with layers of mono, strep, and a cold for over two months. I still have a fever almost every day. I tire so easily. My body aches, shakes, and sweats.

I am writing from a demolished room of a marriage. The floor has caved in, and I'm perched (still shaking) on two little hardwood boards. I can't see behind me or ahead. This present moment feels like darkness. I can't fix this. I don't even know who's here, but I feel alone.

And I'm writing from a place of mental illness. Days now of depression, agitated depression, and mania. I'm not psychotic, but my inner perceptions are warped or foggy. I worry that other symptoms are near. I haven't identified myself as mentally ill in a long time, but I have to use the term tonight.

I've put up a fight. I've written. I've composed a poem, and that was a lighter moment. I went to a writing workshop that I couldn't enjoy. I've reached out, to Josh, to Bruce, to my mom, to others. I don't feel like vaguebooking or seeking encouragement. I don't know what to request.

I have a lot to do this week, and so does everyone else. I need a rest, but so does Josh. There is no rest to be had.

My bones feel charred. Maybe everything has just caught up to me. It's a lot. I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease in August. It has a high chance of leading to ESRD. I spent the summer separated from my husband. I started teaching again. Mono may not really go away for months. I am tired, and my brain is giving up its fight.

I'm safe, my son is safe, and Josh will be home in an hour or two. I've taken Xanax to mute the intensity. Tonight, or maybe tomorrow, I'll sit up and finish this semester. Then, maybe I'll come back to myself. I may call my meds manager before then, take her up on the offer of a short course of lithium, my old poison. It makes me vomit and sleepwalk and pass out, but it does work.

This is something I have to face, and everything, including my physical health, comes second to my sanity. I'm still shaking, whether from illness or fear, I don't know.

I often despise my body's weakness, but looking at my mind, I have to say, 'This is too much for anyone." I can't always be strong.

3-5 Things.

 "The world, she knew in her madness, was littered with shiny bits and precious pieces...She pressed, reached, picked, and gathered."

~Kelly Barnhill, The Girl Who Drank the Moon 143

Josh and I have each struggled with depression since we were teenagers if not before that. I've been having a good month with no depressed days so far. Josh has been having a harder time. We've been trying to get more time together and more rest. We took a week-long break from news and social media. And I suggested that we start telling each other about good little things about each day. I said I'd tell five and he could tell three. We've been doing that every day (and sometimes the next morning). 

At a time when I was rather insane (likely a manic period) many years ago, I started my blog Sparkle Scribbles to force myself to notice the good in each day. This had a major impact on me, so I wanted to share that with Josh. I don't know if it's helped him, but I know it's been good for me. I make a space for the list in my journal each day. It's one more little light against the dark.

Mood Tracking.

I have an old planner, red with gold hearts, in which I wrote a couple of sentences about my moods and symptoms each day. It's strange to read because at that time, I was having hallucinations and other psychotic symptoms. I was also working full time. 

I don't have such bizarre symptoms to track now, but I still see the value of tracking my moods. Last February, I started using Silk and Sonder planners. Each planner covers one month and includes a mood tracking page with six mood options. At first, I thought six moods were too few, and I didn't think I could give each day just one mood. 

However, I decided to try it. I have since settled on these moods:

• Joyful
• Passionate
• Hopeful
• Depressed
• Exhausted
• Anxious

On Joyful days, I feel an actual bright happiness. On Passionate days, I'm deeply involved in my life, often reading or writing with great focus. On Hopeful days, I don't feel wonderful, but I feel okay and at least somewhat positive. 

On Depressed days, I feel down or miserable. On Exhausted Days, I may be weary of everything, I may be physically worn out, or I may be sick. On Anxious Days, I may be manic, irritable, or worried. 

These six moods basically cover the range of my typical feelings. I choose a mood based on my primary, dominant, or overarching feelings for the day. I often journal about how I'm going to track a day.

December was a great month. I had several joyful days, which included my trip to New York. I had lots of hopeful days and some passionate days. I had some anxious days, one exhausted day, and amazingly, no depressed days! 

My mood tracking since has been more erratic and has included more negative emotions. January was a difficult month. February is a little more positive and consistent.

Mood tracking is a great way for me to get an idea of my mood trends, especially as they connect to certain seasons, months, events, and medication changes. Mood tracking can also give me an idea of my mood cycles or mood consistency, which makes reporting to my psychiatrist and therapist a lot easier. I've found it to be quite worthwhile, and it only takes a few seconds each day. I use stickers or colored pencils to mark my moods each month. These stickers are from MegBMakes on etsy. 

How to Survive a Night (or Two) in the Psych ER.

The psych ER can be a miserable place, and almost anyone with suicidal thoughts or intentions ends up there for a night before going home or transferring to the psych ward. During my first hospital stay, I was in the psych ER for two nights. I didn't have access to anything; I had nothing of my own. Here is what I learned to do:

• Stretch. I did this a lot, and it really soothed my tense body as it gave me something to do. Try all kinds of stretches. 
• Use the phone. Usually, one is available if you ask. I had to talk on the phone while standing in the hallway. Hearing a loved one's voice is grounding. I brought a list of phone numbers with me to the hospital, and the nurses let me keep it, so try that or memorize numbers.
• Try to tune out. Since everyone is talking to doctors and using the phone, you may hear some disturbing things. Try not to think about it.
• Watch TV. A psych ER bay usually has a TV. Watch it. Ask the nurse to change the channel. I don't typically watch TV or find much comfort in it, but the silly sitcoms on the Disney Channel helped the time pass.
• Walk. If you have space in your bay to walk a few steps back and forth or around your bed, do it. You won't be allowed to walk in the hallway. 
• Sleep. As much as possible, close your eyes and sink into sleeping. No one is going to judge you for it, and you literally have nothing more important to do. Sleep until the next meal, the next check-in with the doctor, the next time you have to go find the bathroom.
• Remember. Carefully retrace anything you've memorized, such as poems or scriptures or even song lyrics. Take yourself step-by-step through a dear memory. 

It seems endless, but it will end. Once you get to the psych ward, you'll have more space, you might have your own clothes, and you'll be able to talk to other people. You'll feel more like yourself. 

Your Hospital Bag.

 You can find plenty of articles and posts about what to pack in a hospital bag if you're expecting a baby. But a bag for psychiatric hospitalization is just as important. Having belongings you've chosen is a great comfort in a behavioral health ward. 

Remember that at first, you won't have your belongings. A hospitalization begins in the ER. The psych ER is locked down, and patients don't get to keep anything. If you think of it, leave your jewelry at home. You'll get a hospital gown. You won't even keep your underwear. But the staff will store your bag and bring it to the ward when you transfer. The psych ER is a real bummer, but the last time I went, I wasn't even there for 24 hours.

Buy or set aside items for your bag. Assume that you won't have the chance to pack anything before you leave for the hospital. Have everything ready. After I was diagnosed, I went to Target and bought everything for my bag. Everything in your bag should be extras.

Pack in threes. In my experience, a psych ward will allow you to have three changes of clothes, so don't bother bringing more than that. You'll be able to do laundry if you need to. 

Don't bring toiletries or cosmetics. You probably won't be allowed to have them. The staff will provide you with a toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, shampoo, body wash, deodorant, and lotion.

What to Pack

1. Underwear (3). Choose comfortable extra underwear for your bag. If you need a bra, pack two or three sports bras. Underwires and other hardware usually aren't allowed.

2. Pants (3). A lot of psych wards won't allow drawstrings or zippers. I bought three pairs of identical black leggings. 

3. Tops (3). Go for soft, short-sleeved T-shirts (in case the ward is hot). Choose colors you like. 

4. Cardigan (1). Remember to avoid jackets with zippers or drawstrings. An open cardigan is best. That will keep you comfortable if the ward is cold.

5. Socks (3). They just need to be comfortable and extra.

6. Shoes (1). Most wards won't allow shoelaces, so buy an inexpensive pair of slip-on sneakers.

7. Slippers (1). You may prefer to shuffle around in slippers. I bought pink ones with polka dots to cheer me up. 

8. Pads or period underwear. If you menstruate, bring what you need. Remember that health changes can alter cycles, so be prepared. Tampons may not be allowed. Having the pads you prefer will be so much better than using the bulky hospital pads. The staff will probably give you several pads at a time and keep the rest locked up, so you can just ask when you need more.

9. Journal or notebook. Avoid spirals. Even if you don't usually like to write, it can be quite soothing at the hospital.

10. Crayons. These are likely the only writing utensil you'll be able to use without supervision. Make sure they're new and sharpened, but don't bring a set with a sharpener. 

11. Paperback book. Hardcovers are usually not allowed. I pack two large paperbacks that I've already read and liked. This way, the books are comforting instead of unsettling.

If you have an unusual prescription medication, you may want to bring it with you in case the hospital pharmacy doesn't have it. This happened to me with Seasonale birth control.

Some wards will allow you to have other items such as blankets or pillows from home, but wait and ask when you get there. Your visitor can bring these to you if they're allowed. 

Pack your bag now. I thought I'd never use mine, but I've used it twice. It will give you peace of mind.