Breaking the pattern

A few days ago, I asked Loki to break the things that are holding me back. He said to be careful what I wish for. Well, today, I am happy that I wished for it. I broke my pattern. It's not for all-time and it may not even be for this week, but just for today, I broke my pattern of lethargy. It started with a very intense dream in which I was transfiguring objects into beautiful sculptures. I was in the Harry Potter 'verse, and Professor McGonagall was helping me find my way at a wizarding college. She said I had dragon magic, and that I'd been a dragon in a past life. Anyway, none of that really matters. What matters is that I woke from the dream, got out of bed, didn't even check to see what time it was, got dressed, and went outside for something other than a cigarette. In fact, I didn't even bring my cigarettes with me. I went for a walk in the woods by our apartments, and took pictures. I found an easier way down to the creek than the one I'd been using, though it is a bit more covered in brush. I found otter tracks, which made me smile. I enjoyed the cool, morning air and the sweet of honeysuckle and bitter of walnut. I came back, and edited a couple of the pictures I took with my phone.

Started this entry, took a shower, finished this entry. I'm contemplating going back to bed. Even if I go back to bed now and don't get up for the rest of the day (which is unlikely), I will have accomplished more than I have in many of my "normal" days combined, and further, done something I haven't done in a very, very long time. (I don't even get up this early for conventions.)

I'm feeling pretty good right now. Here's hoping it lasts.

I love you too, Tom!

I had a lovely dream last night. Tom Hiddleston took me out to dinner. Then, we went back to his place, and cuddled on the couch watching clips of his really early acting career. We laughed, we made out, and he told me he loved me.

Then, people started coming into the apartment, one after another. All of them said they had a good reason to be there, and I didn't want to step on Tom's toes, so I said nothing. Then, Tom left. That's when I realized I was dreaming. I stood on top of the coffee table and yelled, "This is my dream! All of you, get the fuck out! Tom, get your ass back here!" And they did. And he did. The rest of the dream was, well, just what you'd expect.

It was my ridiculous fangirl-crush dream! How dare all these other people take it away? I think the random people that filled up Tom's apartment represented my fears and anxieties, and all the little thoughts that come up during periods of depression that destroy my will to do anything. Usually, I let those thoughts crowd out anything good. In this dream, I told them to fuck off. I think this lucid dream is a really good sign. I think it means that I just may be turning the corner on this bout of depression.

The details of the dream don't matter. What matters is that I realize that I have the capacity to take control of my own thoughts and not let them trample on my happiness. All of those random people are thoughts like, "It hurts to much. What if I get too tired? What if I have a panic attack? I can't go out today. It's too bright. It's too hot. It's too loud. There might be people I don't know." On and on and on. I need to realize in my conscious state that I have the power to tell all those thoughts to take a hike. I can enjoy my life. I can get what I want.

This is the second day in a row I've gotten out of the house. Matt is at therapy right now, and he dropped me off at Panera. I didn't have to come with him, but I decided to do so, and this is more than I could have done a week ago. Last night, Matt and I spent time with friends we rarely get to spend time with, and I was okay through the whole thing. I considered it an accomplishment. I think it helps that Matt helped me rearrange my room. I also smudged my room with sage, and re-dedicated my altar. I think it helped to get a lot of the stale energy out so that new stuff can come in.

Earlier in the day, I made an appointment with a new therapist at a cognitive behavioral therapy center. I know CBT has worked for me before, and I'm sure it will again. (Seriously, there is only so far inner child work can take me.)

[TMI] I also made an appointment to talk to my gynecologist about an IUD. It's clear to me, now, that the sudden urge to procreate was, in large part, a symptom of a manic episode. I hate admitting that, but it's true. However, I don't want to take the drastic measure of tubal ligation yet. I'm trying to strike a balance between the screeching of my biological clock and the practical considerations. It's true, I don't have a lot of time to consider it, but I'm still waiting to see the geneticist, and I obviously can't care for a child when I can't care for myself. Also, do I really want my breasts to get bigger? [/TMI]

I think I should start making lists of my daily accomplishments again, the way I did when my previous therapist used some CBT techniques with me. I also think that I will employ some of what my most recent former therapist impressed on me, and make lists of things I'm grateful for. Of course, I'm grateful for all my accomplishments, because it means that I had the strength to push through pain, depression, fatigue and anxiety to do something positive, so those lists might end up being very similar.

Maybe I should also make a list of things I'd like to accomplish, you know, beyond the normal daily tasks that just make me feel like a somewhat-functioning human being. One of the things on that list is to learn some form of martial art. With my body as screwed up as it is, I don't think I'll be doing Aikdo any time soon, but Tai Chi might be something to consider. I dunno. Just typing out whatever comes into my head for now. I'm not ready to start making hard-and-fast goals like that, yet. Most days, it's still an accomplishment for me to get out of bed, get dressed, and leave the house.

A note about meds: It really doesn't seem like Provigil is doing a damn thing either way. Though it's supposed to be a stimulant, I seem to be able to fall asleep during the day on it just as readily as without it. I don't know, I think I need a new psychiatrist as well. Starting fresh seems to be the theme of recent events in the Life of Morgan.

Anyway, brain, can I please have some more dreams like that? Because, damn.

He loves me.

People do things. I don't.

I watch TV. I see people doing things. I read blogs. I read about people doing things. I read comics. Even fictional people are doing things. I don't do anything. I am paralyzed. I am numb. I feel trapped in my own body. I feel stuck in my own thoughts. Some days, I don't even have the energy to go online and talk to friends, much less actually meet them in person. I strike up potential friendships, then never follow through. I pet my cats, a lot. They love me. I spend a lot of time with my husband. He loves me, but I know it hurts him to see me like this. It hurts me to see me like this. And all the pills, all the therapy sessions, right now, they seem like they do nothing to help. I just don't have the spark of energy to break through it. During the day, I wait for night. At night, I feel better, but I still don't do anything. What's wrong with me?

I want to do things. I want to go out with friends. I want to do yoga. I want to go out on my own, like I used to, spend hours at the coffee shop drawing or writing. I want to go to the mall, hike in the woods, or explore parts of town I've never been to. I want to go on midnight adventures with new friends. I want to draw more, and make things, and feel accomplished. I know I am the only thing standing in my way, and that is what hurts the most. I feel broken. I can't even make good on promises I've made to do work for friends, even with the prospect of pay. I am dreading the convention next week, even though it is normally something I look forward to all year long. I am dreading anything that takes me out of the safety of my home, and yet I can't stand being here.

It takes an enormous amount of effort to get up, to take a shower, to get dressed. I don't do any of those things every day. Some days, I don't get up at all. Some days, I am glued to the sofa. Like today. I managed to go out, for a little while. Matt bought me some "new to me" shirts at a thrift store, ones that fit, so I feel like I have some clothes I'm not uncomfortably stuffing myself into.

I was supposed to be with Matt in Pittsburgh today for a baby shower. I was supposed to be meeting new friends. I wanted to look forward to it. Instead, I dreaded it all week. Right now, on the other side of the wall, in the next apartment over, a couple are having a birthday party for their two-year-old daughter. A couple of months ago, this would have excited me. I'd have asked to join in. I wanted a baby, didn't I? I still want a baby. Or do I? I can't be sure. I think now that the whole "I want a baby" thing was some kind of manic episode, and I feel ashamed by it. I have gone back to thinking that I can't possibly take care of a child. Look at me. I can't even take care of myself. I am a mess. Again.

I need to call my gynecologist, to talk about an IUD. I need to start shopping around for a new therapist, because I can't go this alone, and it isn't fair to expect Matt to take on my illness by himself. I need to get that work done for my friend, but I just can't wrap my head around it, and I think I'm going to have to bail on him, because my brain just can't handle it. I need to reclaim my room, which is now littered with clothes, bed unmade, altar neglected. I feel like I want to rearrange everything. Clean everything out. Like I need to do spring cleaning in my head.

I look back at some of my entries, and it seems like I've made progress- yet, I am still fighting the same old battles. I still can't seem to get better for long. I'm backsliding, and I don't know what to do. I just want to be some kind of normal. Well, normal for me. I hate that even my good feelings are part of my pathology. "Oh, that burst of creativity you had? It was just manic. It wasn't real." Seems like the only thing that is "real" is my depression, and the manic stuff is always fleeting and unsustainable. Why can't it be the other way around? Why can't my depression be the part that isn't real?

I'm tired and I want to take a nap. Matt wants to help me clean my room, and I feel guilty for even asking, even though he is completely willing and able to help me. I feel like a little kid who needs constant supervision. "Clean your room and we'll go out for ice cream." Except, you know, I don't even want to go out.

Sick of this shit. So sick of it.

Reclaim my space. Get my physical belongings in order. Recreate a haven for myself. Maybe that will help. Now if I could just get off my ass.

I broke up with my therapist today.

I'll still be seeing her for marital sessions with Matt, but I told her today I felt I'd hit a wall in terms of what she can do for me. I think I made a decent amount of progress with her, but ... well. Now I can vent.

I feel like her methods centered almost entirely around inner child work are good for working through the past, but I really hated it when she applied it to the present. Any time I would present with any negative emotions, she would say, "See, you're in your child now," the connotation being that I was acting immature. She told me that my "real age" was somewhere in my early 20s, and she did not mean that flatteringly. Given the fact that I often feel shame for not having accomplished enough in my adult life, it never went over well. I tried to understand that she was only trying to get me to a place where I could be more functional, but the metaphor itself is triggers for me, and I need a fresh perspective.  I felt she relied far too much on the inner child stuff and didn't help me to implement real change in my life.

I may never find another therapist with whom I can talk freely about my spirituality. My spirituality isn't a problem, but it has become a huge part of who I am. I need a therapist who isn't going to assume that I am Christian or want to be Christian (I've run into that before.) I need to find one who is by-the-book enough to employ some discipline into my treatment, but not so rigid as to define me by my diagnoses. It's going to be a difficult path, I'm sure, but I need a fresh start.