Who Will Move The Worms?

You might want to grab a cup of coffee while reading this post...it's likely going to be a long one...

It's no secret on this blog (or among my family and friends) that I cope with a myriad of mental illnesses - severe depression, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, general anxiety and the list goes on.  There's also a very good chance I suffer from Bipolar II with a slight chance it's actually Bipolar I, but I'll save that for a later post.

My OCD goes beyond the regular fear of contamination.  My particular strain involves being bombarded by violent or horrific thoughts/images and I'm unable to get them out of my head.  I can handle my depression and I can handle my OCD, but when the two of them collide, I am most often found on the floor of my bathroom struggling to not kill myself.  Brutal, right?

Since Mr. A was born, I've been experiencing higher than normal "episodes" (as I call them).  I could be having a regular day and then all of a sudden, BAM...one thought is all my effed-up brain needs to grab a hold and drag me into a downward spiral.  My psychiatrist has been amazing in trying to figure out a cocktail of pills to stop the thoughts.  On top of my regular anti-depressants, I now take an anti-psychotic at night.  That word "psychotic" absolutely terrified me, but I've come to realize it's just a label. The pills have a dual effect - they help combat the OCD thoughts and they are also a sedative  to guarantee I have a solid sleep.  I'm happy to report that they don't make me a complete zombie and I'm able to still wake up with Mr. A.  They give me quality of sleep, not necessarily quantity.

The next pill added to my regimen is a fast-acting anti-anxiety pill.  They are for the moments when I can feel the over-whelmingness starting to build.  They are to help stop the downward spiral before it starts.  Lastly, I've also been given a prescription for mood stabilizers, but I'm hesitant about taking them.  One of the side effects of the pill is a lethal rash.  Obviously I didn't hear the "lethal" part because I asked my psychiatrist whether the rash can leave permanent scarring.  Oops.  If I were to take this pill, I would need to have monthly blood work and monitoring done and that scares the crap out of me.  If this pill can potentially do damage to my internal organs or possibly kill me with a rash, is it really worth taking or do I have other options I can try first?

So besides this prescription cocktail that I'm on, the other thing I have is my "suicide safety plan".  Together, Mike and I have come up with a number of things I can do to hopefully bring myself out of that spiral.  Part of the plan involves Mike being in charge of my pills so that I can't access them in moments of altered desperation.  Each evening, Mike brings out the little lock box and I tell him what I need ("I'll take some of the yellow, a few of the orange and a couple of pink, please").  As he locks the box back up, we always end with, "It's been a pleasure doing business with you" and I pretend to slip him a twenty.  As serious as the situation is, we wouldn't be us if we didn't find the humour in the it.

The other part of my safety plan is my bathroom notes.  Because my bathroom is my go-to place to hide, I have started a collection of notes that I write during my good moments that I can access during my episodes.  The hope is that the words on these notes will remind me that life is worth living. (Allow me to sidetrack for one moment...for those of you who have never struggled with suicidal ideation, I know it must seem so simple. "Why don't you just remind yourself that your family and friends would miss you? Why isn't that enough to stop you?" is likely what you're asking.  Unfortunately, when depression has me in its tightest grip, nobody else matters.  I believe I'm worthless and no one would care.) The notes contain things that I would be taking away from myself and that I would miss.  Things like the taste of chocolate or being able to sit at the end of the dock and dip my feet in the lake.

A few weeks ago, these notes were not doing their job and I started to give in to the thoughts.  All the details aren't necessary, but some pills were taken and it was a long, scary night for both Mike and I (this happened pre-lock box).

The day after, I was at my wit's end...obviously.  I felt stupid and ashamed for what my brain did to me and I sat in disbelief at the previous evening's events.  During my good moments, the last thing I would ever do is take my own life, but when the OCD thoughts mix with my depression, suicide becomes the only option.  It's like being held hostage by my own mind.  I knew that I needed to step-up my safety plan, but I wasn't sure what else could be done.

Enter The Bloggess.  I'm not going to explain who she is...you can click the link and find out for yourself.  I emailed Jenny to ask for her help.  I asked her what things help bring her back out of her depressive episodes or whether there are any specific sayings she accesses during those dark moments.  Besides a few email exchanges, her main response to me was an entire post that contained my question.  Instead of a handful of ideas from just Jenny, I ended up with 500+ ideas from all of her readers.

I now have a wealth of notes to access while I'm sitting on my bathroom floor.  The sayings range from, "Just make it through the next ten minutes" to "Think of all the good books you have yet to read".  But my favourite one, by far, is "Who will move the worms?".  One commenter talked about how, after it rains, she makes sure to collect stranded worms that are about to be dried out in the sun if they don't make it back to the dirt.  Anyone who knows me well knows my love of animals and I do this very same thing.  I know that Mike couldn't care less about worms dying on the sidewalk, so this very important task falls on me.

I am beyond grateful for Jenny for being so open about her own struggles with mental illness.  She has provided a wonderful forum for people to openly talk about their own struggles.  I am hoping that the next time my depression tries to win, the note about worms will be enough to pull me back.

Who will move the worms, indeed.