I did have a friend who is my only close friend around here that I ever actually see, who got concerned when I did not answer my phone last night, as it was turned off, and she called me six times, and then actually drove to my apartment to see if I was home, when I was out, because she said, "I thought after the way you were talking that you might be lying on a park bench somewhere unable to get home. Or in the hospital". I was bothered that she would freak out like this, because, although it is nice of her, I have a major, major fear about people calling the police on me because I am acting too "crazy" when I get like I am now, and I do not ever want that to happen, and I do not ever want people knocking on my door without notice because I am not really up for visitors.
I wish I could say that I was keeping up with college work. I did manage to write my paper last night, in the middle of the night. Then I was up all night, unable to sleep at all, but I did not manage to study today for my upcoming test. I sat in a library, for a couple of hours, staring at a page of paper and a page in the textbook - the study materials. I could not make sense of them at all. Not at all. I tried. I mean, I sat there, for hours, trying. And it did not work. Finally, I gave up telling myself that I might be able to study at home today. But that didn't work either.
One thing I have been able to read is some of my old blog posts here - which is something I never normally read. And I notice that a month ago I seem to have been doing quite well. I recall that I was able to study for hours. I could read. I could write easily for my classes. I could contribute in class without difficulty. I have really deteriorated in the past month. It has been about two months since I started taking Latuda, and while I can't necessarily blame the drug on my deterioration, and while it was myself who asked to be put on that medication in the first place, I know longer wish to take Latuda. So I will be going off that. I'm a very med-compliant consumer, but when it comes to something that I think is clearly not making me any better and may be making me worse, I have to make a decision to refuse to take it anymore. I could be wrong, of course. I am not a doctor, and I don't recommend that people pretend they are their own doctors. But you do have more knowledge of what is going on with you and your body all day long, every day, than the clinicians do who can only see you for a few minutes, so it is important that you take an active part in your treatment, I think. I learned this from experience.
One thing I noticed from looking through some of these old blog posts - which I was able to read somehow - was that I seem to come to this blog a lot when I'm not doing well, and I don't write that much when I am doing well, so I apologize about that. It is also possible that I really was that miserable, psychotic and suicidal that much of the time that it was important to write about it here, although I seem to overlook these things when I think about my life. I don't view at as being a constant string of symptoms, but more as episodes that come and go. These blog posts tell a different story, though. I know that the ones from 2008 are primarily negative, because that was a really bad year for me. And that was also the last time I was in the hospital - for feeling suicidal. They kept me for about two days. It didn't help. That same month, January 2008, I also quit my job, and then remained unemployed for eight months. It was not a good time. I am trying really hard right now to not allow myself to revert to a time like that, but it is very hard.
Just now I was standing in my kitchen, because I was going to eat something, or take medication, or stare at the overwhelming dishes, and I felt like I did not even know what to do or why I went in there. I stook looking at the wall. I said to myself, "You hung those pictures on the wall. You went to a store and bought that apron. You bought those matching oven mitts. You know how to do things. You can do things. Why can't you do anything now?" I took the meds, left the kitchen and decided to take a bath, although it took some thought as to why I would take a bath or whether or not there was any reason to do so. I knew I should be studying my useless, futile textbook, but that is not exactly working out. So....
In my post last night I mentioned talking to myself. Of all the symptoms I have written about on this blog, I think that was one I had probably never mentioned before at all. I don't normally tell anyone about that. But when you google "talking to yourself" and "not recognizing yourself in the mirror" (yes, I have resorted to googling such things), you get some information about Depersonalization. This is something I was not too familiar with, or if I was, I don't remember it. I seem to be exhibiting some depersonalization. But it is a familiar thing to me. It has happened before many times.
When I talk to myself, it's not that I'm completely delusional; I don't think that I'm talking to people who are not there. I talk out loud as if I am talking to another person, because somehow this helps me explain my thoughts to myself. It is something that I have actually done, intermittently, since I was about 12 years old. I remember sitting on a bathroom cabinet having a whole conversation with myself in the mirror then. I do not know why this started, but it was around this time that my depression started. I also wanted to mention that when I said I have caught myself starting to do this in public, it is only a few words here and there, and not an entire conversation, like I would do somewhere alone. It does make me feel very weird, and abnormal, so I don't like the fact that I do this. Also, I realize that I said in my last post I am experiencing psychosis and not just depression, but it is possible that the main problem is severe depression. I really don't know right now.
Anyway, having told you about this embarrassing aspect of my life, I wanted to explain that it is not a totally psychotic thing, because I do not think I am talking to hallucinated people. I am just actually talk to myself. I feel quite disconnected from myself, pretty much all the time right now, so that is probably why I am doing this a lot more than usual. Right now, I am talking to myself about why I am acting so odd, why my brain is not working, what might be wrong with my brain and myself, and why I cannot think, and why I am talking to myself. Generally, that is what it's about because these days my thoughts are ruminating about whatever is wrong with my brain, and I wish I could stop doing this and stop internalizing and start interacting with the world again, but I don't know how. I will go to work and class tomorrow and do my best to feign normalcy, or some semblance of it.
A while back I read an excellent memoir by Marya Hornbacher, called, Madness: A Bipolar Life. In it she talks about having talked to herself when she was manic. I know other people do this, so I wanted to share this excerpt with you so I don't sound quite so freakish that I do this myself. So here it is:
...."This strikes me as hilarious, and I note out loud, "Hilarious!" over the roar of the vacuum cleaner. I notice I am talking to myself, and turn off the vacuum cleaner so I can hear myself better. "I'm talking to myself!" I remark to myself, as if I am a mother remarking on a particularly endearing and/or cute thing I have done. "Is that odd?" Myself and I continue to converse while I put the vacuum away in the hall closet. "You really should clean this closet," I say, wandering into the thicket of ball gowns and suits as if I'm heading for Narnia. I pick my way over several suitcases and climb up a ladder and down the other side, having realized that it is important to find my bathing suit right now, but I trip on a broken television and land with a thud in a pile of boxes. "Oh, for God's sake, don't get me started," I shout, and crawl back out, finding my hiking boots on the way. I go down the hall to collect all my shoes. "The thing is, probably everyone talks to themselves now and then, don't they?" I sweep everything off the closet shelves and begin arranging my heels in order of color and height. "But perhaps they don't talk to themselves quite this much! Time to do the laundry!"Now, if only I had a little bit of that mania to help me get some things done. Just for a few days....it might help!
So my question for you readers is, do you talk to yourself? And how often? And when?