Sunday, 13 December 2015

What is wrong with me? Maybe sensory overload?

I have spent over a decade consciously trying to figure out why my mood suddenly plummets in these emotional crashes that keep.

This weekend when talking about my latest crash with my wife, S, we started zooming in on sensory processing as a candidate. Where I saw myself as an insufferable selfish brat who'd throw a tantrum when I didn't get what I wanted (no mustard on our salmon in this case), she thought it was a pretty obvious case of my being vastly overloaded by the Christmas market crowd around us and then triggered to a meltdown by this one thing going astray.

...

So, sensory overload?
I know it can be a problem for me - going to the Las Vegas strip was awful.
I also remembered reading a fair bit from the autism community about meltdown vs tantrums.

Now that the idea of thinking of myself in these terms has shown up, it starts resonating. Not only that, but it is concrete, it is actionable, and it hints at a possibility of removing the self-shaming inherent in thinking of my crashes as tantrums (and therefore egotistical etc etc).

So today I've actually managed several times to
1. Identify emotional instability
2. REMOVE MYSELF before I crash
3. Not crash.
Sure, I still feel emotional and exhausted and on edge. But I HAVE NOT crashed out.

...

Maybe there is something to this.
Maybe I can actually derive strategies and stability improvements from this.

Friday, 11 December 2015

When does SSRI removal stop and other reasons begin?

I've been working on my medications with my psychiatrist lately - the last year or so actually. We stepped me off of SSRI when first I started with him, started lamictal, added Wellbutrin.

Things have been ok-but-not-great, and things have been not-very-good.

So, late summer - since I was still getting anxiety and sudden mood crashes - we added a new SSRI back in, to try to help that.
Didn't really help that much
So we decided to stop that one.

If you've never been on an SSRI, they're often not very comfortable. Side effects can be really annoying and disturb your life - I get some apathy, and a lot of decreased sexual interest and ability from them.
As uncomfortable being on them can be, weaning yourself is a famously (in mental health patient communities) bad experience. The first time I did, I lost a month. Gone. I had something like daily crying jags and sudden mood crashes, and got NOTHING done of any sort. Repercussions of that on my work schedules were still noticeable in August.

This time around was also pretty bad.

Is.

And this - my hesitation on grammatical tense is what I really wanted to write about today.

I know that I should expect an anxiety wave because of the weaning. But when does it stop? Will I even be able to tell?

I've had great days since I started weaning three weeks ago. One, maybe three. And it is sorely tempting to think once a good day rolls around that this is it - now I'm out of it.

Once I start thinking that, any subsequent crash is no longer because of my weaning off of SSRI, but because of ... I should say "my illness", but what I end up saying instead is "me, my laziness and general unforgivable character flaws".

...

And this is where I am now.
I have had good days, so I'm tempted to think I'm done with the SSRI removal crashes.
But I am really not good now. I break for the tiniest things - today I had a big collapse over a Christmas market vendor putting a mustard sauce on our salmon. Hiding under a tree and shuddering from having sobs levels of collapse.

And I can't tell.
Is it because I'm still not in balance after my SSRI?
Is it because our increase in Wellbutrin is really not helping? Or even hurting?
Is this my baseline that I've forgotten because we've been actively trying to treat me for three years running now?

I can't tell.
I don't know how.

Travelling = Anxiety (3)

I have an easy day today. I did my pitch for funding yesterday (well actually my colleague did it but I sat there looking on).

Today I can skip the morning meeting and indeed have planned to so I can get a lunchtime - 12.30 -  flight home.

So all I have to do today is get myself home.  Once I get to Edinburgh I have to get myself across the Forth Rail Bridge because the Road Bridge is closed, but that should be ok.

Yesterday I travelled here and it was surprisingly easy.  My flight landed at 9.40am and by 10.30am I was in my hotel room (and yes I could check in that early).

Which means I have nothing to worry about, since it's a quick trip to the airport and that was using public transport - if I was running late I could get a taxi right there.

So I am having a bath before getting up, saying goodbye to my colleagues not skipping the morning, check out, and go.

I woke up with a slight headache but the bath is warm and I am listening to an audio book - "Agent to the Stars" by John Scalzi, read by Wil Wheaton.  It is very relaxing and the headache is gone or at least I'm not noticing it (is that the same thing with something like a headache?)

I look at my watch.  It's about 8.45. Bang. Anxiety hits me like a runaway train.  I know that's not a good simile but I'm too anxious to think about a better one.

Everything is a worry now. Finding my pyjamas, getting everything packed including my teddy bear. Have I put something sharp in bag by mistake?  And is it really ok that at airside shop I bought my headphones at yesterday they had a pair of sharp scissors to open it, which could presumably be stolen by somebody and taken on a flight?  Should I even mention that in a blog post like this? Can I get anxious about anything at all?  Why yes I can.

It makes no sense. It is utterly ludicrous, in my ever so humble opinion.  But I guess that is the point of anxiety as an illness, as opposed to the everyday meaning of anxiety about things like global warming.

It's now an hour later and I am sitting at the hotel writing this.  I'll post this and then get myself on the way to the airport. I know it will be easy.

Why does something so easy feel so incredibly hard?

Monday, 7 December 2015

Taking Time Off (cross post)

Update 18 Dec 2015. Dan is going to blog about his recovery at roughrecovery.com. Please do read and follow his progress there. And great blog title, by the way!


The following is a cross post of a beautiful post - at his request - by Dan Rough.  Dan is a PhD student in Computer Science at St Andrews University in Scotland. To read more of his writings please visit his blog, PhD (please help Daniel)

I don't write much. Any writing I do is purely for others (Facebook messages, Christmas cards, love letters to Nigella Lawson, the like). So I really didn't really expect to be writing this, and yet, it's been a long time coming.

I don't know who'll read it, if anyone, but it feels important to me to get it out of my head, and onto paper. Well, the monitor, whatever. For my own good as much as anyone else's, but with a small hope that someone else will identify.

I'm now on a temporary leave of absence from my PhD, currently scheduled for 3 months but extendible as needs be. It's not been an easy decision, and even now my mind's a bit all over the place, but the more I think about it the more certain it becomes.

Prior to the PhD I had recovered from a struggle with anorexia. Somehow, through the strength and support of everyone around me, I made a full recovery within a year and was back to a healthy weight and mindset.

Since beginning, these past couple of years have seen me in and out of relapsing almost constantly. After returning from a great conference in the US just over a month ago, my weight's plummeted again through the stress of travel, presenting my research to the pros of the field, returning and trying to catch up on work, figuring out where I'm going with the research question, and above all trying to shun the demons telling me that I'm totally incapable of doing it.

The PhD isn't the root cause of the disorder, but right now, attempting to recover from this nadir while also trying to stay above board with research are two conflicting goals. My ill health means that I can't focus properly, which means work falls behind, which causes additional stress and subsequent ill-health. It's a Catch-22 that needs to be broken.

Everyone told me so, but I pressed on regardless, convinced that I was coping. In fact, the PhD ended up being a distraction; an excuse for not eating properly, for being reclusive, and for generally encouraging all my bad ED behaviours.

I've been blessed to have the full support of family, supervisor, friends, doctor and Student Services. They've reassured me throughout the whole process that this is the right decision; that taking time off to focus on physical and mental recovery from anorexia is necessary. It's got to the point that health can't take a back seat any more.

It's not a failing to admit that I need help.

Success isn't two letters at the start of my name; it's two fingers to the demons trying to take it all away from me, and two hands on the reins to take control of my life again

Tuesday, 1 December 2015

What is anxiety?

It was just over a year ago I was diagnosed with anxiety.

So what is it?

You know that feeling when you turn the steering wheel of your car and nothing happens, and you are on a direct line for a signpost?

That happened to me about 5 years ago driving in the snow. Fortunately I got steering back just before I hit the lamppost and it was fine. And we were not moving fast so nobody would have been hurt (but the lamppost and car would have been a bit crotchety).

Oddly I don't remember how I felt during those couple of seconds. So why do I mention it?

Because it's reasonable to imagine that I was pretty anxious, quickly running through my head what I should do, what might happen, what is the worst that could happen. Maybe I felt my heart start to beat faster. And I also felt that I would be criticised for my driving badly in the conditions.  I mean I had children in the car. And maybe reassuring myself that we would all survive and even be unhurt, but at that precise moment that's not a great reassurance because of all the things that can go wrong.

I think those kind of feelings could be described as being anxious.  And they are quite easy to imagine, I think for somebody with or without anxiety.

Now fast forward to today.

I have a dentist appointment. I am a few minutes early (so as not to get anxious about being late). I get to the door. The door doesn't open. I can see the receptionist through the glass. I push again, try the handle. Push again. Usually the door is just open, but I think this happened to me before, how did I solve the situation - I think somebody came past and let me in? I ring the doorbell - at my previous dentist there was a doorbell where you had to be buzzed in, have they changed to that system there? The receptionist doesn't respond. She doesn't look like she's on the phone but ok, maybe she's in the middle of something. I mean did I get the time wrong?  I did double check the piece of paper I have the appointment written down on before I came out (so as not to get anxious about coming at the wrong time). But maybe I got the hour wrong? The office is closed between 1 and 2 and this appointment was at 12.30. Am I completely convinced that the door is locked? If it's not locked I am going to look like a complete idiot if somebody has to come to open the door for me - did the person who let me in last time think I was an idiot? Did I just fail to turn the doorknob or something? I definitely feel my heart beating harder. Ok try again.  This time the knob turns and the door opens. I walk in. Say my name to the receptionist and sit down.

That's anxiety.

Edit: re-reading the above my point does not seem very obvious. So I will say it very explicitly. The point is that I got very anxious throughout this. That makes no sense really does it? That's what anxiety is about, being anxious when it makes no sense.

After a bit of a wait I had the root canal treatment I had come for. I didn't particularly enjoy it but then also I didn't feel anxious in the same way at all.

Meta-self-hate: feeling bad about feeling bad about feeling bad…

One of the core expressions of my mental health problems is a very high sensitivity to emotional input. In particular, my family members bypass any sort of firewall I have around, and my emotions kick off pretty much immediately.

I am also terrified of disappointing my family, of disagreeing with them.

So every time I have tried to articulate a contrary (emotionally sensitive) opinion to my wife, every time I have received criticism, has always always been accompanied by an emotional meltdown. And I can't let go of them — criticism I receive keeps on coming up for days and days after they were articulated, and I worry about disappointing my wife days after she stopped thinking about whatever the stimulus was.

So today, she said something along the lines of “But sweetie, you have to let these things go!!”

...

A few minutes later, I was all in tears because I am unable to let these kinds of things go, and thus my inability to not brood over things is a personal failure and feeds my self hate. After all, now I had received criticism for not being able to let things go, and there's no way I am able to let that go.

Monday, 30 November 2015

My own worst critic — internalized self hate

Some people say that noone else can tell them anything as bad as they do themselves — and that therefore, they are more impervious to verbal attacks.

I recognize about half of that in myself: I tell myself a whole slew of nasty things on a regular basis.
It doesn't grant me any extra strength, though — instead, someone else telling me the same thing confirms the nastiness to my mind, and breaks me down even further.

And it really doesn't matter that much about external reality or indicators either. Clearly, my own self-estimation is faaaar better than anyone elses, so whenever I get positive indicators from outside, they can safely be disregarded as clearly delusional and irrelevant.

This way I end up thinking…
…that I am lazy.
…that I am stupid.
…that I am ugly.
…that I am fat (and that this is bad).
…that I take up too much space.
…that I offend strangers around me.

After decades of this, with over one decade spent concretely aware of my suffering from a disorder (and thus this not actually being a normal state of affairs) I am slowly getting to the point where I can recognize that this happens, and can describe it with a tiny bit of distance — even be sarcastic about my internalized script. It doesn't make the self-hate go away, but I start seeing how it is a script that plays itself, rather than a completely objective assessment of reality.