reflecting.

I am so high-anxiety at work that I really can't bear it. I hate every minute of it. Every time I get a call that requires using the new call flow I am totally petrified, and I stammer and just try my best not to have the customer notice how nervous I am. Even on dental calls, which have remained the same, I find myself tongue-tied and struggling to find the right words. I know part of it is the meds (primarily my ever-increasing dose of lamotrigine), and that I'll level out eventually, but I feel so disappointed in myself for not being capable of the same perfectionism I used to strive for.

Part of me feels like I'm backsliding a little, but when I'm not working (like today, I have a 4 day Easter weekend!) I mostly feel okay. Work just makes me feel so awful about myself. I guess I need to work on not letting it get to me, which I have a feeling means practicing more mindfulness, so I can regulate my emotional responses to the job.

So, here are some ways I can hopefully practice mindfulness between calls:
1) Mindfully putting on lotion, noticing the feel and texture of the lotion on my hands, smelling its scent, staying in the moment and clearing my mind.
2) Standing for a few minutes, bending back to see the wall behind me. Just focus on seeing the wall and feeling the stretch in my spine.
3) Square breathing, focusing on maintaining the count and seeing the light come through the sheer curtains.

I'm going to try to do at least one of those next week.

As for today, I'm going out to scoop poop. I've been trying to do a chore a day lately... so on Wednesday it was a load of dishes, and yesterday I took out lots of trash (including an embarrassing number of pizza boxes). That way I feel like I've accomplished something each day. According to my DBT app, this is a skill called "building mastery", which helps with emotional regulation.

Before I head out back, I have been thinking back on the past few years of my life, and I think I can see a definite pattern of hypomania then crashing into depression. I started a period of major depression after graduating high school, in summer 2005, staying up all night and sleeping all day. That lasted until Spring 2006, when I went on Celexa, and I felt like I was on speed. I could do anything, slept no more than 4 hours a night, got A's. That feeling wore off by mid summer, so I switched to Effexor six months later. Then it was back to mania, and started recklessly spending money and having sex with people I didn't actually really WANT to have sex with. Next I moved to a new place and went back to being horribly depressed, went on Wellbutrin (with Celexa added back in) and then I was suddenly back to barely sleeping, always at the gym, lost a huge amount of weight, and kicked my meds altogether. I stayed in a prolonged hypomania pretty consistently then, and I was so reckless and irresponsible with every possible aspect of my life. I spent every dime I had, I drove to California and couch-surfed for close to six weeks, bailing on my debate team in Oregon and everyone who knew and supported me there, and then eventually moving to California and continuing my totally reckless habits until Nana and Frances died. And I crashed. I crashed epically. I stayed depressed from October 2008 until January 2012, when I had my hypo/mixed episode and had a psychiatrist smart enough to sort me out. When I look back at the past seven years of my life, I feel a lot of regret, but I also see now that my illness had a lot to do with it. I didn't know that being an irresponsible, feckless idiot was a symptom. Every time a doctor mentioned my pressured, rapid speech, I brushed it off as being a competitive debater. When I was in one my manic phases, I felt like I was doing everything right, like I was a success story, like I beat my depression and would never feel bad again, until I did. I always did.

I'm thankful to have a doctor now who was firm with me when I needed it, and who has suggested medications that ultimately helped me immensely. If I had stayed stubborn, convinced that I knew best and offended when anyone said "bipolar" to me, I would still be crashing and burning. I would probably be dead. That mixed episode that began in January had me close to suicide several times, and I'm glad I lived to see the end of it.