I can’t wait until this current bout of depression lifts. I know it’s going to pass but I hate the waiting and not knowing how long it will be before I can resume my regularly scheduled emotional life.
I can understand why you would be anxious about speaking to a new doctor after having been wrongly dismissed in the past and it’s very brave that you’re seeking help now. It definitely sounds like you’ve got something going on in terms of dermatillomania or trichotillomania that is worth seeing a doctor about (the two tend to coexist quite frequently). I think it might be helpful to bring them some information about trichotillomania and dermatillomania so that they can familiarize themselves. Here’s a link to one resource for doctors.
A psychologist might be better equipped to treat you in the longer term. These conditions tend to respond well to cognitive behavioral therapy. Perhaps you could ask your doctor for your referral to a psychiatrist or psychologist. If you look into seeing someone who deals with OCD and anxiety disorders, you might find someone with a better understanding. Anxiety and compulsive picking/pulling disorders should definitely not be disregarded by anyone. I’m sorry that it’s taken so long for you to get some help for this. If your doctor doesn’t listen, I hope you can reach out to another professional like a psychologist or psychiatrist. One doctor’s information doesn’t have to prevent you from getting the help you need. I really doubt that they will discount you because it sounds like things are becoming pretty severe. They may be able to give you some creams to prevent infection on the areas that are bad right now, but you need more than just physical support.
Just so you know, I suffered from dermatillomania and trichotillomania pretty severely when I was younger and I am basically free of it entirely at this point, so it’s certainly something that is treatable. Don’t let anyone discount you— you can beat this.
Best wishes <3
It’s so interesting that so many other people have had this experience also! For me, anxiety meds like klonopin did nothing but propranolol, which is a beta blocker that I take for my heart, seems to make a huge improvement in how often it happens.
People mainly think I’m cold and try to give me their jackets -_-
I get these pretty noticeable tremors, even if it’s an intense conversation that I’m enjoying or don’t feel anxious about. Anyone else experience this? It seems like a physical reaction to intense social interaction?
I need to get my swirling vortex of emotions under control so I stop myself before I ruin every relationship in my life. I need help. And self control.
I definitely understand feeling this way. It’s always hard to bring everything back out for a new person, no matter if they’re a different therapist or just a new member of your treatment team. It can seem overwhelming and unpleasant to bring these things back up. To start, you don’t have to get through everything in the first session. I find that it’s helpful to first establish a timeline for someone. I’ll actually write down my story in bullet form from “beginning” to now in order. This gets my thoughts in order before the appointment and helps me get through it without becoming too emotionally involved. You can think of this first visit as the beginning of an outline; one that you’ll be filling in with this new therapist for a long time in the future. You also don’t need to get too much into the emotional stuff if you don’t want to. If you’d prefer to outline things in a more matter-of-fact way and then get to the hard feelings later, that’s perfectly okay. It’s impossible to convey the complexity of your experiences in a session or a few sessions. However, working with someone new can help you to reframe a lot of your past experiences in a new way, which can be very helpful.
You can also tell your new therapist about how you’re feeling. Some people won’t want you to retell all your details right away. You can start with where you’re at right now and go from there as you’re comfortable. If you have the opportunity, you can have someone else, like your old therapist or someone who has treated you, provide this therapist with a history so you won’t have to re-tell so much.
Hope this helps and best wishes with the new therapist!
I absolutely don’t think that you’re a bad person. People who say those sort of things lack an understanding of what it means to have a mental illness. I know it’s hard to let what they say flow in one ear and out the other, but they are underinformed and find it really hard to understand how someone might feel that way. It might also make them feel scared and angry to hear, but those responses are related to their own emotions rather than being about you. They have no jurisdiction to say what kind of a person you are.
I am so sorry to hear that you were in so much pain that you felt that you needed to do that. I hope you can find compassion for the former self, who was hurting so much, rather than judgement. I’m so proud of you for the work you’ve done in recovery. Your suffering doesn’t make you a bad person. You were trying to cope the best way that you knew how, even if you would handle it a different way now. Taking care of yourself means being gentle with your pain and gentle with your past.
Last night I thought I kissed the loneliness from out your belly button. I thought I did, but later you sat up, all bones and restless hands, and told me there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo. I never know what to say to these things. “It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.” “Please don’t go away again.” Sometimes you are gone for days at a time and it is all I can do not to call the police, file a missing person’s report, even though you are right there, still sleeping next to me in bed. But your eyes are like an empty house in winter: lights left on to scare away intruders. Except in this case I am the intruder and you are already locked up so tight that no one could possibly jimmy their way in. Last night I thought I gave you a reason not to be so sad when I held your body like a high note and we both trembled from the effort.
Some people, though, are sad against all reason, all sensibility, all love. I know better now. I know what to say to the things you admit to me in the dark, all bones and restless hands. “It’s okay.” “You can stay in bed.” “Please come back to me again."
This is so sad and incredibly relavant.
Reblogging for B.
Not rude at all! It is a disorder where you compulsively pick at your skin either with fingers or other items and it usually causes damage to the skin and tissue. It’s related to OCD and is frequently seen in people who have anxiety disorders and BDD. I tend to get really focused in on my skin and imperfections in it. For me, it’s partly a response similar to self harm in anxiety management and partly just something that I find myself doing accidently. I can use different coping skills to deal with the first part, and I avoid situations where I am likely to accidentally pick to deal with the second part. For example, I always wear long PJ pants when I’m home alone and going to bed because seeing my legs when I’m in bed about to go to sleep can trigger the picking. Overall, it’s not something that tends to get in the way of my life or cause physical damage anymore. When I was younger, I would do it literally for hours without realizing the time had gone by and I seriously damaged my skin/caused infections.
I have been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder since I was about 11, then dermatillomania and trichotillomania about the same age. I struggle with the last two MUCH less now. I also have several “specific phobias” which apparently often come along with general anxiety disorder. For years I was diagnosed with depression, but last year my doctor decided that bipolar 2 was probably my actual diagnosis. I feel like everything is pretty related, rather than being entirely separate in causation. Like, the same things have manifested differently in terms of symptoms over time.
My sleep report for last night
My psychiatrist told me that getting good quality sleep was going to be very important for managing my mood, and that my lamictal can interfere with my sleeping. I just downloaded the Sleep Cycle app for my iPhone, which monitors your movements during sleep to determine your cycles into deep sleep and the overall quality of sleep that you’re getting.
It will develop graphs over time, and you can add categories like “did yoga before bed” or “took a melatonin supplement” to the Sleep Notes category and use a graph to compare the sleep you get with and without those conditions. You can also chart your mood when you wake up.
It will also keep track over time of how much sleep you’re getting per night, and seeing changes in your sleep pattern can be a cue that you might be cycling into hypomania or depression.
The alarm function is pretty cool too. You give it a range of time in which it can wake you up— from like 10-30 mins, and it will wake you up at the most gentle part of your sleep cycle at some point during that period.
It’s something that my psychiatrist brought up as probably true, but isn’t really pursuing making it “official.” It’s on my chart, so I guess that’s kind of confirmed? She doesn’t think it’s important to my treatment outside of finding a medication that will treat the depressive parts because she doesn’t see the hypomania as an issue and I’m scared to lose it, to be honest. In terms of other treatment, my therapist has always been very flexible and open to different types of treatment, so the possibility of bipolar opened up new types of therapy that we could try. I’m not sure why the people treating me are so content with it being this “probably” sort of thing because I think it would help me understand myself if I knew for sure. I’m really not sure what range of emotions is considered “normal,” and that scares me. The medication I am currently on is used to treat the depression part of bipolar, not clinical depression, and it’s certainly the only thing that’s worked before.
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day."
The other night I fell asleep with B on the sofa and we ended up sleeping there until 4:30 AM, so I’d been asleep for a while when we woke up to go upstairs. I woke up really confused and upset, absolutely CONVINCED that I had been on the couch, sleepily having a conversation with B that was super upsetting. I woke up convinced that he had said some really hurtful things and that I was upset with him. Then I had a meltdown because I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t real, and ended up curled up on the floor of the laundry room crying, before eventually being basically carried up to bed.
Lamictal fucks up my dreams and klonopin knocks me out. Sometimes it’s a really messy combination.