Monday, I woke up early, 6 am, my body ready to get started on the to do list I had written the day before. Fearful of burning through my motivation too early, but unable to relax enough to return to my slumber, I compromised on taking a shower. Afterward, hopefully more relaxed, I could lay back in bed.
So, that's what I did. I showered, I rested, and then I got up in time for my TMS appointment.
Sometimes, I worry I talk too much there. I wonder what the staff think of me and my "mood swings". Somedays, I am great, energetic, and friendly. Others, like today, Tuesday, I am a black hole: sluggish, gloomy, drawing attention in the opposite social direction. I'm not bipolar, just borderline, and my mood changes as quickly as the midwestern weather. The jerky back and forthness of my mood swings give me emotional whiplash. I wonder if others around me get whiplash as well. Who's driving this thing?? It becomes a question of identity, which I now see is ironically also borderline. Who am I if I'm not the same each day, each hour? Which Arielle - Arielle the Great or Arielle the Black Hole - is the real one?
Sometimes the taps of TMS lull me into a calmer state. As I sat in the chair Monday and the first rounds hit me, I was anxious. What if I became too tired to do anything between after this and before work? What if my whole day was wasted? Woah. Slow down. Take a breath. In...Out...
You are receiving TMS, Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation, because you are severely depressed. This treatment is not for the lightly ill. You've tried exercise, structure, responsibilities, a healthier diet, more social time, using the DBT skills. When it starts to feel like the harder you work towards feeling better that something is pushing against your efforts, that is your depression. Your brain is actively working against you; it's like "naw bruh". (I'm tired and maybe should not write this late). This is why you need electrical and chemical help in the form of meds and TMS.
Depression is a valid reason to need rest. TMS, where your brain goes through more activity than usual like an electrical exercise class, is a valid reason to need rest. Yes, the need for rest may itself be tiring. It is tiring being unable to do what you want to be doing with your life. But, you are alive. You survived another season of intense "mortal enemy" attacks. Rest is okay. We are human beings, you are sick, and you'll have your fair amount of time to work. And, rest can have a productive side to it, if it must. You are practicing self compassion, another mental workout (and another layer of tiring.) Rest = Lazy is an oversimplification. I digress.
Monday, after returning home from TMS, I tackled my to do list. (Not literally, again, it is too late for me to write with seriousness. Sarcasm/silliness warning. Like a tornado siren but not on the first Wednesday of the month at noon). I picked up my room, I walked Hobbes, I made myself a late breakfast. As I sat down to watch tv, I thought about writing. And then I turned my head and looked at my bed. I looked at the time. I looked at my to do list. I rearranged the items in reverse chronological order. When I add up time backwards like this, I realize how little time I really have. So, I made a choice. I decided to take a nap because I wanted to be able to show up as the best version of me for work that evening.
I slept for two hours. I rode my one-wheel to work. I worked hard.
And then I spent the late evening worrying about my relationship with my therapist, as one does.
Okay, Tuesday.
Tuesday hit me like a bus.
(It's okay to chuckle). I woke up to my body and head aching. I felt so heavy. "Do I really have to go to TMS today? Ah, shoot, stupid bpd bunch facebook accountability group doing it's accountability thing. I don't want to be the weak link in need of pity. Okay, all I need to do is get up, throw on the easiest clothes, go, sit there, drive back, and then I can resume my state of immobility and unconsciousness."
I rolled up to the hospital looking like a mental patient: sandals, gray sweatpants, dark blue t-shirt, black hoodie with the hood up. I walked in, said hey to the receptionist, and took a seat. As I waited for the boy before me to finish his daily treatment, I thought about the stark contrast in my persona between yesterday and today. I thought about overthinking, about judging myself for not being more in control/predictable; but I was still half asleep. Instead, I internally critiqued the Good Morning America show airing on the lobby tv.
This is the annoying thing: once my brain is awake, it's AWAKE. I have so many thoughts all the time. Instagram scrolling is great at directing my thoughts away from existential crises. I also checked my email a few times to see if my therapist had responded before the technician called me back for my session. Putting my phone in my purse, I got up to follow her to the room. "How are you this morning?" Gosh, I hate this question. "Good, how are you?" "Good. I'm good." How awkward. I'm not good, CLEARLY, just look at my mental patient attire. I probably cracked a grin and rolled my eyes; my body is allergic to lying.
Entering the second door on the right, we began our dance. I set my hat and purse on the chair by the door. She went to stand next to the machine. I took a seat in the treatment chair. She raised it up to the right and laid it out, kinda like being at the dentist, although not as horizontal. She put tape across my forehead to line me up with the machine. "Hold on, let me tuck your hoodie for you...scoot back a little...perfect". I saw the red laser out of the corner of my left eye. My head positioned correctly, she turned the laser off. Next, she aligned the brace on my right temple. Then, she squished the magnetic coil up to my left temple. "Ready?" "Yep." I closed my eyes and clutched my hands together in my lap. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap... ding. Ouch. I knew it would hurt more with my headache. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap... ding. Deep breaths. The technician walked around to the light switch by the door. Turning the lights off, she handed me two stress balls: the purple one, a brain, and the red one, a boxer's glove. Unclenching my hands, I grabbed those, being careful not to move my head. "Thanks". I held one in each hand and rested my arms on the arm rests.
For the final step in my comfort regiment, she turned on the tv to where we left off in the movie Avatar. Each treatment is about 20 minutes. So far, we've watched The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, The Help, and half of Avatar. I think I want our final movie together to be Brother Bear, although I'll have to bring it from home. The hospital doesn't have that on DVD.
I end up closing my eyes, well my left eye, for most of the session. It tears up less this way. The fast action of the movie and my attempts to explore how it could be a metaphor for the relationship between the Americans and Native Americans help the time go by quickly. I focused on my breathing and tried to relax my muscles as my body got used to the tapping. I am calm. Today, this calm is comforting.
Our session came to an end. We reversed our dance of untangling me from the machine. I handed her back the stress balls and threw the tape in the trash.
"So, what do you have going on the rest of the day?" "I'll probably nap and then go to work." Another hard question for me to answer. I don't like committing to a feeling or a plan. We walked down the hallway to the security doors at the end. "Well, take care. I'll see you tomorrow." "Okay, bye, have a good day," I waved.
"Bye," I waved to the receptionist.
Ugh, what do they think of me?
My body is a bit tipsy after TMS. I have to readjust to being grounded in it. I walked over to where my mom was parked. I fell into the passenger seat. I groaned and stretched. Yawning, I said "Okay, let's go home".
I slept until noon. I resumed my todo list. It's not until I started to feel like passing out that I began to decide what to eat. I threw a pizza in the oven.
My kid brother ran off with the pizza cutter. I chased after him. After retrieving the much needed slicing instrument for my much needed food, I explained to him "when I am hungry is probably not the time to push my buttons via teasing". Be the teflon pan. Don't let his arguing push you over the edge. I took half the pizza up to my room and put on a movie: Minions - The Rise of Gru.
Thirty minutes later, I got ready for work. Again, I brought my best self to work. (Maybe this is the true Arielle?)
After we closed the store, I quickly picked out some clothes to purchase; I am going on a trip and had been thinking about which to buy as I was tidying the clothing area the last couple hours. I'm someone who wants to buy clothes that will make a regular rotation in my wardrobe, otherwise I feel sick about consumerism.
The energy of my work ethic, focus, and recent purchase cumulated in a spontaneous family group call. I loved the confusion it caused my mom, brother, sister in Florida, and grandpa.
My mom pulled up in the car with Hobbes in the backseat! Oh Hobbes!!
Upon arriving home, I tried on all my new clothes to make sure I felt good about spending money on them. I went around the house showing off my new outfit to each family member. Somehow, everyone ended up downstairs (probably for late night snacks). I left before the adrenaline left my body, knowing I wouldn't be able to get off the living room floor if it did.
...And that is how two days can go by without doing any writing for my book. I'm doing the best I can: more than I was before, and yet seemingly not enough. I'd have two or three extra hours if I didn't need to nap each day. No, the road block is bigger than that. I'm resistant. I don't want to do anything to rock the boat of my self compassion. If I write for my book, I have to face the facts. I have to re-experience unpleasant thoughts and emotions. I don't want to welcome anything that could lead to suicidal thoughts in the here and now.
It's sadness. I can name it. I am avoiding feeling sad like the elderly avoid day time grocery store trips.
Okay. Breathe in. Breathe out. I can handle sadness. I did so on Sunday, like a pro I might add. Sadness did not overtake me. I let it do it's thing, and I let it move on. Whew.
Will this insight help me write tomorrow for my book?
Stay tuned to find out. I am also curious as I also have no idea.
The Weather of Arielle.
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