Archive for the ‘Struggles’ Category

My wellbeing is plaid.

Wednesday, September 8th, 2010

It amuses me a little that strawberry picking has become such a common family activity.  Why is it that manual labour becomes fun once you’re charged to do it?  Is this along the lines of Build-A-Bear stores, or the self-serve check-out that was always so packed when they first came out?  And I fall prey myself.  I would pick strawberries.  I will admit that there was some perverse sort of novel enjoyment in scanning my own groceries. …And I was a cashier for more than six years while I was in school!   Part of me wants to stuff things in a bear and choose its clothes.  I can’t help but feel like I should capitalize on this and have somebody come bring their kids to weed my garden for an hour.  I will gladly give them a basket of strawberries once they’re done.   Better yet, for a small extra fee they can rent a mop and enjoy the Family Cleaning Experience.  It builds character, I hear.

Things have been mostly good around these parts.  My negative moods really do seem to be concentrated now into pervasive sweeping unhappiness on certain days.  I’m trying to discern some sort of pattern.  There’s been huge progress in my overall state of being, which is fantastic (there are far more good days than bad now).  But I do feel occasionally a little like I’ve made it almost to the end of some unbearably long video game, and am sure that I’m just about to save the princess/world/marmot, except that I’ve talked to everyone I’m supposed to talk to, and collected everything I’m supposed to collect, and explored every scrap of terrain I can get to, and cannot f$@$ing figure out what I’m supposed to do next.  And everyone else seems to have completed it so easily they can’t remember how.  And there are no walkthroughs.  And my computer is really a hammer-head shark.

Currently my top bets are on some combination of blood sugar levels, general fatigue, social contact, and alcohol consumption.  Except that aside from the blood sugar (which generally balances out my mood as soon as it’s corrected anyway), these things seem to connect to my state of being indirectly as best.  Sometimes I’m tired on the days that are bad.  Sometimes I’m more tired, but I’m fine.  I feel perfectly normal (okay…maybe a little more flashy than normal) when I have a glass of wine with friends.  Sometimes the next day I’m a train wreck.  Sometimes not?  I’ll have to continue my research.  It sounds like getting smashed and staying up all night eating cupcakes would be a good start.

I’ll inform my husband.

Speaking of the husband, my Sappy Syrupy Warm Fuzziness Quotient requires that I mention that we apparently blew my therapist’s mind a little at my last session.  She had asked me as homework to have my husband and I come up with some 1 year and 5 year goals, separate of one another, and then compare, and discuss, and create some joint goals we could both work towards.  We’re already pretty good communicators and pretty aware of what we want from our lives and the changes we want to make to get there, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to get some things down on paper, and was curious to see where we might diverge.  So I made up my list during the day.  He did his at work and e-mailed it to me to print off so we could talk about it later.  We each came up with around 10-15 items.

…The same freaking 10-15 items.

Seriously.

We’re both very willful, independent people in our ways, so in joint ventures we will compromise with each other of course, but neither of us would bend our own individual goals just to be more like the other.  We just also happen to be willful people who are pretty perfectly matched.

His List – “lose more weight”

My List – “lose some weight”

His List – “exercise more”

My List – “more regular exercise”

His List – “continue to meditate”

My List – “continue with regular meditation”

His List – “reduce overall workload”

My List – “obtain a better balance of work and home life”

His List – “launch my own business / work independently”

My List – “start own business if I decide I’d like to try that”

His List – “don’t waste time”

My List – “find a way to keep our natural inclinations from interfering with our ability to do things that are fun, rich, and rewarding”  (which, upon discussion, means exactly the same thing)

Some of them (like paying off the debts) were even more identical, but also more obvious choices.  The only exceptions were that he placed exercise at the one year mark while I put it in the five (though he already exercises very regularly, so that’s probably an easier goal for him to get to), and that I also included getting myself back into some form of employment (which would be irrelevant to him) and deciding whether or not we want kids.

So my therapist reads over our lists, and looks at me with the most obscure expression on her face.

“Do you know how often this happens??” she asks me.  I am not 100% sure what she is referring to, and so am hesitant to comment.

“Never.  That’s how often.”

Apparently couples often have very contradictory goals (spend more time with my husband, spend more time out with the guys, etc.).  I think we broke her a little.  Really.  She sputtered for a while before collecting herself.   Perhaps she didn’t entirely believe what I had told her in the weeks before?  Are so many couples so different in what they want to accomplish in life?

There are many areas of my life in which I feel like I could have made better choices along the way.  My relationship is not one of them.  We have our challenges like everyone else does, but we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.

Plus, it’s a rare guy who will recognize one of the Bad Days and encouragingly walk his wife back and forth between two restaurants with no trace of impatience until she comes to a comfortable decision about what she wants to eat.  Because he knows that’s exactly what I needed right then.

Hulk no understand why internet not amuse Hulk

Tuesday, July 13th, 2010

The last few weeks I’ve been a little lax in writing here mostly due to spending a great deal of time sitting in dumbfounded wonder going “I don’t feel like crap.  …I don’t feel like crap!”  And then looking around in confusion about what to do with myself.  It’s been a while.  I amassed a whole list of brief tidbits and observations about completely inane and lighthearted things that I thought I might write about sometime.  When I felt like it.  Because who wants to waste time writing when one could be, like, breathing, or walking around or something.

…Which means that when, in the last week or so, I found myself suddenly surrounded by those dark grey clouds that follow around gloomy cartoon donkeys, it was a bit of an unexpected kick in the teeth.  I don’t know exactly what’s gone awry.  I don’t know if it was just such a relief to not be completely knocked flat that things felt temporarily better than they were.  I don’t know if the pressure and stress of What To Do Next started getting to me.  I don’t know if my chemistry was a little fried from the past year of medicinal craziness.   Am I getting enough sleep?  Enough sun?  Enough caffeine?  Am I getting too much natural sugar?  Not enough sugar?  Did I step on a crack?  That mother’s back thing always seemed a little suspicious if you ask me.

At any rate, the last few days in particular have kind of sucked.  Kind of sucked like a cute little all encompassing vortex of despair.  I’ve been a bit loathe to admit that here, to be honest.  I was so happy to be doing better, damn it.  Plus, putting it in writing makes it all somehow more real.  And it already feels deceptively permanent.  I would probably be a lot less disappointed a lot less often if I could sincerely take each day as it comes, but as it turns out I am less good at that, and more super super great at taking the feelings of the moment and projecting them over the next several months.  So those two days I was feeling super productive mean it’s time to plan for a return to work, and the last couple days of crapitude mean I’m doomed to another lasting stretch of boredom and hopelessness and bad T.V.

All in all, I just feel sort of lost at the moment.  I’m so eager to just GET ON WITH THINGS already.  Filling in a quick depression inventory scale gives numerical backing to the fact that yes, I am indeed feeling much like crap.  Except for the thoughts of self-harm (which inexplicably but thankfully seem to be missing), I’ve got every symptom off the charts again.  Fuck.  There are still things to be tried.  I am way too stubborn not to kick this thing eventually. …But sheesh.  How freaking long am I supposed to wrestle with this??  …And why did my brain just provide “moose canoe” as the appropriate profanity to follow that statement?   At least I know that while I may not be in any danger of recovering in the near future, I am also apparently in no danger of becoming normal.  Phew.

This time around has some new bits to it too.  I used to rate fairly minimally on the whole “irritability” side of things.  I’m more likely to burst into tears than to burst into a room through the wall.  Not so this time, apparently.  This time my husband gives me a dirty look for accidentally brushing his face with my foot in my attempt to get off the couch (from my admittedly unconventional positioning), and I go from “meh” to “KILL!!!” in ten seconds or less.  Except that I haven’t lost the other symptoms either, so now I’m crying and angry and the back of my mind is telling me that clearly we’ve lost all of our closeness and our relationship is doomed.  And I want to smash things.  And swear.  And swear about smashing things.   I’ve gotten pretty good now at telling the difference between sincere emotions and the bizarre parodies induced by chemical changes, and let’s just say these ones are having a little chemical parade.

So mostly I am just waiting things out for the moment.  I go through the motions of low-energy activities during the day, and try to roll as gracefully as I can with the waves of “Aaaaaaaah” that tend to hit me in the evening.   And try to keep in mind that this could all be dramatically different tomorrow.  It happens that fast.

On the plus side, this gives me time to do normally not-as-engaging things like sift through my older Google Analytics stats and learn that now in addition to the multitude of hugging animal searches, antidepressant questions, bits of random Russian, and quests for stick figures doing various (mostly dirty) things, I’ve now also welcomed in a not insignificant number of search hits from “hulk no understand” and several variations on “amuse me, internet!”  Love it.

“So we quite enjoyed your manuscript. Do you happen to look angsty in coffee shops? …Oh. Maybe next year.”

Thursday, June 24th, 2010

So I was thinking about flags the other day.  Specifically about how there are all sorts of crazy rules about things you can and can’t do with the American Flag, and what happens when they get worn out.  Isn’t there a commune somewhere or something where old flags go to retire?  Anyway, then I got thinking about religious items.  What happens to tapestries of Jesus when they get too ratty?  Could one throw a figurine of the Lord in the trash?  Burn him in effigy?  How does one dispose of religious items if one is a very religious person?

(…Unlike me, who doesn’t to my knowledge own anything I wouldn’t toss into the regular trash can.  Maybe the compost if it’s special.  In a baggie if it’s liquidy and thinking about escaping.  But that’s about as far as I go.)

Today, I’ve been realizing that weight is a very relative thing.   …And not in that “drop a feather and a brick” kind of way, but more in the sort of way of “drop me, and then a previous version of me.”  This time last year I was at my lowest adult weight.  …Which probably shouldn’t be an achievement, but I’m as much a victim of social pressures as anyone, and so it was.  It was exciting to be down that low.  It was a triumph over all the years of struggle and distortion and foolish undereducated attempts to kick those extra pounds in ways that actually made things worse.  It was a nice “up yours” to all of the stupid unnecessary stress since my beanpole frame tripled somewhere in my early high school years.

I’m not sure why the weight loss was so much easier this time, except that I stopped trying to be so crazy extreme about it.  I removed the immediate timelines and made it my goal to get there eventually.  However long that took.  I stopped making any changes that I didn’t think I could live with forever as a permanent lifestyle change.  I learned roughly how many calories are in the things I eat, but didn’t set any crazy low temporary targets like I have in the past.  I started eating a lot more during the day.  A lot more.  But that meant that I no longer got those cravings in the evening so bad that it was either find a piece of cake NOW, or gnaw off my hand.  I stopped keeping sweets and treats and indulgence foods in the house, because I discovered that if they’re there my brain CANNOT stop thinking about them.  And constant thoughts of chocolate don’t do much for staying away from it.  Before any indulgence, I weighed whether I really wanted it, and stopped beating myself up so much for it if I decided I did.  …Although I also corrected my tendency to think that somehow once I had crossed the line of unhealthy eating, it didn’t matter how much I did on the other side and might as well get my money’s worth while I was over there (Dang.  Shouldn’t have eaten that cookie. …Well, this day’s ruined.  Might as well have the whole bag now.  Why did that ever make sense??).  I learned that my body really does get sincerely addicted to certain foods, and that sometimes I needed to hold out long enough to detox.  I came to terms with the fact that I loathe intense exercise, and while I really do want to get my heart rate going eventually for long term health benefit, I was unlikely to stick to any sudden and intense workout plan for more than a month.  But I don’t mind walking.  So I walked most days.

I also started originally with the knowledge that I was getting married in a year.  And of thinking when I first tried on the dress I had purchased that I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not I fit into it.  That’s one heck of a motivator.

And who knew?  Being consistent with the little changes really did add up for me.  It was…completely surprising (I really had struggled for the fifteen previous years).   But nice.  …Except for the wedding dress part, which as it turns out when I was done needed to be altered smaller to within an inch of its life.

I say all of this because I need to remind myself of it.  See, coming off of most of my medications triggered cravings like you wouldn’t believe.  And when the only thing that brings any relief from one’s constant nausea is eating, one tends to eat rather continuously.  And apparently sleeping away several months of one’s life (except for mealtimes!), isn’t the greatest way to tone and condition.  Who knew?  At any rate, over the course of the past year I have lost almost all of the progress it took me the two previous years to gain. …Or technically gained what it took me two years to lose.  You get the point.  I am back where I started again.  And that sucks.

I’m not a big girl.  I have, at times, been a bit on the curvier side, but I don’t think people would have ever described me as a large person.  My body mass index is sometimes towards overweight, but that’s partly because I’m short and am carrying half my body weight in arm and leg muscles (I have no idea how that happened, by the way.  They’ve always been like that.  Clearly I missed a calling somewhere.  In…lifting things, I guess.  Should’ve been a Thing Lifter).  The battles I’ve had with weight have mostly been with the same 15 – 30 pounds.  But they’re my 15 pounds, and they make a big difference to me.

So it’s been kind of demoralizing to have lost so much ground.  More so because last year when my new weight seemed surprisingly stable, I intentionally shrunk all my clothes.  Seriously.  The only clothing I have that fits me now came with an elastic waistband.  Plus, since the medications make my stomach inflate like a balloon after eating (and they really do – I look at least seven months pregnant after meals), I’m limited in shirts to the couple of things I purchased in that year in which all new clothing looked like maternity wear.   I’ve had to pick up a couple of extra things to get me through, but we don’t have the budget for a whole new wardrobe, especially when I would ideally like this to be temporary.  So I have a few shorts, and a few shirts, and they all look pretty much as cheap as they were.

It’s tough feeling good when on some level my clothing now sends me the message that I’m not worth anything better (and even though rationally I know that’s not the reason, I think I’ve underestimated how much that’s seeping through).  It’s challenging to maintain a positive physical image of myself when every few weeks I pull out something I’m in need of to see if it fits yet and can’t get it past mid thigh.  I don’t think I would even mind so much being this size if I had clothing that fit me, but having a whole wardrobe of clothes that I’m too fat for just seems cruel.  Thankfully I couldn’t shrink my formal dresses, so in case of a black tie event I’m good to go.  Just don’t ask me to come to a barbeque.

Anyway, I am attempting today to recognize that it’s really only the comparison to how I was a year ago that’s getting me so down about my weight.  There is nothing really wrong with the way I am right now (aside from the sometimes-inflated stomach, but there’s nothing I can do about that).  If I had never been thinner, it wouldn’t be so bad.  So yes, I would like to get back there eventually, but I’m going to try not to torture myself so much.  I rearranged my closet today so that the things I can actually fit into are separate from the rest.  I debated packing away anything I can’t wear right now, but I think it would just look too sad.  Still, it’s a step in the right direction.  And if I’m still this size in a couple months, I’ve decided that I can accept that and invest in some more permanent clothes.  This is a change, but not a failure.

And at least for today, I actually believe that.

Also, I’ve discovered that sitting with my laptop and a mug of tea makes me feel like a writer.  That seems like the sort of writery thing writers do.  That, and look angsty in coffee shops or sit on porches tucked into the forest.  I guess that’s why I haven’t written any books yet.   I’m sure publishers ask about that sort of thing before they’ll take you on anyway.

Speak up. No, wait! Speak…More vowelly.

Thursday, June 17th, 2010

I have an odd reaction to distressing events sometimes, I think.  It’s like once they pass a certain threshold, my psyche just doesn’t know what to do with them anymore.  Someone could tell me that my faucet was leaking, and I’d be like “Gaaaaaaah!  Why me??  Why today???”  Someone could tell me my whole house had burnt down, and I’d be like “Oh.  …Do you have any Fritos?”  Some things are just too big and too unchangeable not to just be accepted more or less.

I got Fritos-grade news a couple of days ago.  I spent about a week a few months ago with this intense ringing in my ears, and I’ve had the sneaking suspicion since then that my hearing might be worse.  Or maybe not so much a sneaking suspicion as a very large and slightly drunk suspicion with geese on its feet.  There has been a lot of “huh?” and “what?” and “can you repeat that once I’m off the toilet?” around these parts.

Anyway, I went to see an audiologist on Tuesday, prepared to hear that there had been a slight drop in my hearing, and motivated to jump all over finding out what caused it.  To be honest, I was sort of hoping to hear something to that effect, as I was certain enough that it had to be either my hearing or my mind that I was losing.  And I still use my mind now and then.  What I was not prepared to hear was that I had around forty percent hearing loss, and lets talk about hearing aids, and look they come in pretty colours like Fuchsia and Bread Mold Green.

Forty percent??!  And I can still communicate relatively normally?  Did I have some extra unnecessary hearing I was carrying around?  Was I born with the window seat of hearing?  The freshly grated parmesan?   The little bow on the front of a bra in the world of listening to things?  Admittedly, I have a heck of a time watching TV these days.  I get the drift, but half the time when something funny or dramatic seems to happen I have to ask my husband what it was.  But still… You’d barely notice if you met me.  It’s not something it would occur to you to comment on.

Or you might, but I wouldn’t hear the comment anyway, so it hardly counts, now does it?

So…yes.  I have Moderate Hearing Loss.  Basically the parts of my ear that perceive volume and vowel sounds are perfectly fine, but some of the parts for distinguishing consonants are a bit lacking now.  …Which means I can’t tell you the lyrics to a song to save my life, but damned if I can’t do a good rendition like a retarded kid.

(Generally I try to avoid that type of statement.  That was low.  And potentially offensive.  But also true.)

Good points:  Apparently not all hearing aids look like those giant beige extra ears that I remember grandmothers wearing.

Low points:  My step-father now wants to ship up the giant beige extra ear that his now-deceased mother “almost never wore.”  Ummm…

(I tried to explain that ew, and that also she may not have needed the same kind of corrections I do.  He’s determined, though.  It was an easier-to-just-say-thank-you moment)

And as a nice little cherry on the fluffy badness, hearing aids to compensate for my problem should set me back around $2000-$5000 or more out of pocket.  ?!??  I should check the fine print on our insurance.  I’m sure there’s got to be something in there.  If I do end up getting some eventually, I bet it will totally be like those “there are leaves on trees??” moments that people who got glasses talk about.  I’m sure that my brain has learned to adjust and compensate in a lot of ways, but there’s got to be a lot out there that I’m not taking in fully.  Loudly, but not fully.

So I ate a lot of questionable McDonalds food products on Tuesday (which were kind of gross, by the way.  Damned improved eating habits have ruined my ability to gorge for comfort), and have since slipped into a sense of false apathy about the whole thing.  I can tell that it’s bothering me, as I’ve been extra grumpy, and extra bored, and extra apathetic about any number of other unrelated things.  I’m not quite ready to deal with it head on, though, I think.  I need some time to wrap my head around it.  And to try not to think about the fact that since they don’t know what caused it, there’s nothing really saying it couldn’t happen again.  I feel low, and kind of numb, and I don’t really want to do anything at all (which is why I kind of sort of haven’t written here yet this week. …Sorry).

Oh, and as the syrupy red nasty sugar goo around the cherry on the fluffy badness, my husband is going to be working crazy late hours for the next week or so (including the weekend), so I’m sort of on my own in working through all this.

In good news, I got my doctor to agree to refer me to a different psychiatrist.  On the down side, she said I need to keep seeing Dr. Douche until the new one pans out.  …And I’m not 100% sure that doesn’t mean that I now have to take the over-the-top medications he was insisting on or risk being reported as “non-compliant with recommended treatment” to my insurance.  Ugh.  I’m not sure how much diplomacy I have left in me either.  Do you think it would hurt my case for not needing sedatives if I sank my teeth into his nose?

And if so, how much?

Because if there’s a chance that I could get away with it, I may have to consider…

As a plus to all of this, I spent the remainder of Tuesday reading the Harry Potter book that was a prize from the lovely Sarah P.  No, I hadn’t read them yet.  Yes, I’m from Earth.  No, not a cave-like part.  I just…hadn’t gotten around to them.  It was fun.  I think I may pick up the others to devour over the coming days.  Many, many thanks to Sarah (who by the way drew a very appropriate and not at all penis-related stick figure drawing on the card).  Now that’s the kind of restraint I need.

Whoa Nellie

Friday, June 11th, 2010

So…yes.  It is definitely the withdrawal.

I wasn’t entirely sure at first.  It’s a tough thing to decide whether a particular period of increased emotion is the result of external circumstances, or chemical changes, or just a normal passing mood.  At least, it’s tough until it runs you over like a weepy freight train and then starts gleefully juggling your remains.  At that point, it’s pretty much easy to tell.

The day before yesterday I was so physically sensitive to sensations I was getting aroused by the feel of the keyboard under my fingers.  I couldn’t keep my hands off my husband.  I spend the better part of yesterday sobbing on the floor over a mixture of reactions to an e-mail from my boss, the ignorance of my psychiatrist, the frustration of dealing with these side effects, and any number of other things.  Truly, sincerely, heart-breakingly sobbing.  My eyes were so swollen last night that I could barely see.  Today, I have been touched so deeply I’ve been brought to tears roughly every ten minutes or so.  I have cried over people hugging, people winning prizes, animals requiring rehabilitation, television commercials,… You name it, I’ve cried about it.  Because it’s…*sniff*…just so…*sniff sniff*…sweet…that…*ugly snort*…the animals…they…got help…*reaching for yet another Kleenex*

I’m like an entire pregnancy condensed into a three day period.

I think I’m going to have a party when I finally get clear of these meds.  A big old extravagant “I Can Have Normal Reactions Again” party.  You’re all invited.  And wouldn’t that be a blast?  If I was independently wealthy, I would totally fly all of you out here if you’d come and we could hold the first annual Umbrellafest.  We could drink, and talk, and do interesting things, and totally not cry over t.v. spots.

…Except for those animal ones.  Because really, the people took them in and rehabilitated them.  And they’re animals.  Dude.

Have I mentioned that withdrawal sucks ass? Because it does.

Tuesday, May 18th, 2010

The last while has been…rough.  My stomach is alternately staging a rebellion and doing the Forbidden Dance.  I would give in to its demands, but I do not speak stomach, and Babel Fish is having difficulties with a translation (incidentally, when you type in ” Grrrrrark spluck gromma gromma,” it comes back with “Grrrrrark spluck gromma gromma.”  Go figure).

Anyway, if I’m incommunicado for a while, that is likely why.  We were supposed to go out of town for a few days to see friends this week too.  I will likely still make the attempt, but I’m not sure that isn’t asking for disaster.  One of my other friends is involved in Doctors Without Borders.  This means that I get to see him maybe once every two or three years, and the rest of the time he sends occasional e-mails asking if we can look up things like how to homogenize milk, or exactly how close one can get to an alligator before it will attack (seriously…I’ve Googled both of these).  He was in town Monday night and I was supposed to drive down for dinner to catch up.  Nope.  Thought I might turn green and try not to vomit instead.

I feel very helpless, and physically miserable, and completely unable to proceed with my life.  I am frustrated.  There may be some mental swearing involved.

I don’t know why some hours and days and weeks are so much worse than others.  I don’t know whether I need more frequent medication, or less frequent medication, or more food, or less food, or different food, or more fluids, or less fluids, or a prompt decapitation, as all of the above seem to just make things worse.  …Except the decapitation, which to be honest I haven’t tried yet.  But it’s next on my list.

In the meantime, I’ll write an original withdrawal haiku for the person with the best translation of “Grrrrrark spluck gromma gromma.”

Riveting

Monday, May 10th, 2010

Life continues to be challenging.  Not all that much becomes noteworthy when one is nauseous.  I could tell you this fabulous story about how I hugged a pillow.  Or maybe the highly entertaining one about sitting on the couch all weekend.  Or the harrowing tale of the Attempt To Eat Dinner.  That one is admittedly a bit of a page turner.

I actually thought that today was going to be pretty tolerable.  I’ve been trying to spread out my dosage even more throughout the day in case the daily ups and downs were partially responsible for some of the…less-than-stellar reactions my body’s been having.  This morning I woke up feeling almost normal.  And then slowly my skull began to shrink.  And it continued to shrink until the pressurized mass of my brain goo was displacing my stomach and thus moving its contents elsewhere.  Or trying to, anyway.  It is day after day of the Worst Hangover Ever.  …Except generally those come with something a little more entertaining beforehand.

So here I am again, confined to the sofa, with my pillow, trying to keep a steady supply of food going because from time to time that seems to distract my stomach momentarily, and the risk of upsetting it further is not something I want to contemplate.  And beyond that, because it’s difficult to tell when I’m actually hungry.  I feel hungry all the time.  And it rumbles.  A lot.  It is a bottomless void of rumbles and hunger and rice cakes and Kraft Dinner.  I am its slave.

I think at the end of all of this I am going to be such a titan that the depression itself will be nothing more than a speck of despondent dandruff that I brush away as an afterthought.  Either that, or I’ll be so completely drained that tiny flakes of sadness dandruff will pin me to the floor while I half-heartedly flail my arms and legs like an inverted sea turtle.  A pitious sea turtle.  With a pillow.

And speaking of animals that live near or in the water (does the smoothness of that segue not overwhelm you?), did you hear that a bunch of Albertan beavers got together and built something grander than the Hoover Dam?  It’s visible from space, they say.  Overachievers.

Probably not as bitter as I sound. …Or maybe more bitter. I’m not great with stuff like that yet.

Friday, May 7th, 2010

Holy fuck.  I feel like I’m going to vomit, my left eye won’t stop tearing up and dribbling down the side of my face, and as the cherry on top of a long and nauseating sundae, I am crying over Swiss Chalet delivery.  I’m not sure why I’m crying over Swiss Chalet delivery.  I don’t know whether I want some, or if I would rather just cook like we normally do.  I have no idea what it is about Swiss Chalet delivery that I am apparently finding so sad.

I’m currently using an eyedropper to remove tiny quantities to lower my dosage of the Luvox as gradually as I am able.  I have the feeling this withdrawal process is going to be a long, long road.

And fuck the Beatles song, a long and winding road is NOT what I’m looking for right now.

Reaching

Wednesday, April 28th, 2010

In research news, if you ever happen to meet me in person and I am determinedly reaching up and to the right, this is why.

Sometimes I cheat in writing here.  What comes out here is mostly the product of my best hours.  If I am feeling inspired and energized a little, I can write here easily.  If I know that it’s been a rougher stretch, I will most often try to find the best little window I can and force myself to write then.  I’m trying to get to it at least a few times a week. …But there are days, like today, when the self-imposed deadline is steamrollering towards me and I would like to politely decline its invitation to run me over.

Today was not a particularly happy day.  The last few haven’t been.  I have come to accept this as my current normal, but truth be told, I don’t think it’s even really coming from me.  I think it may have a lot more to do with the roller coaster of Luvox dosage I’ve been on recently.  I know the medication changes affect me like crazy.  So things are going to be a little rocky for a while.

It’s tough to write in these moments, though, because all I want to do is curl up somewhere protected and sit there until I feel better.  I want to lie on the couch, and pull a blanket over me, and hug my cat (who is very good at hugging).  Either that or hug my blanket and pull a cat over me.  That sounds good too.

The most comfortable place he could find right then, apparently.

I do not like my psychiatrist.  His solution to my super-sensitivity to the Luvox, by the way, is to just keep taking it forever.  This medication that makes me sleepy, and sometimes queasy, and makes my emotions volatile, and does not help things at all.  I told him I will be trying again to wean off.  Then we proceeded to his complete lack of understanding that sometimes it takes me a while to work myself up to taking care of stressful things (like the aforementioned paperwork), or that when I’ve extended myself to do them anyway, I sometimes need some stress-free time to recover.

The psychologist I used to work with was totally different.  I really felt like she understood where I was coming from, and had compassion for the challenges I was facing.  I had to write her this year to ask for a tax receipt.  I felt really bad about it because it would be extra work she wasn’t paid for, and had I known better I could have kept the original receipts she gave me.  I was nervous that she would be put out by my asking.  This is the first paragraph of what she wrote back to me:

You see, Mister Psychiatrist?  This makes me feel better.  Take notes.

My psychiatrist is…not like that.  We ended the session with him telling me that he will not agree to help me get the disability reimbursement I was hoping for, and making me feel (unintentionally, I’m sure) like a complete idiot for asking.  I was hesitant to ask, but apparently lots of people with extended depression are able to claim it.  The criteria do mention some crazy low-functioning examples, but also things like taking a really long time compared to regular people to make decisions, or follow through on goals.  It took me a freaking hour a few months ago just to change my cats’ water.  That sounds like a long time to me.  So I figured I was silly to be worrying that he would make me feel dumb for asking.  I figured it was one of those times like the e-mail to my psychologist.  Nope.  He sort of laughed at me.  I left the office in tears.

So no, today has not been a good day.  And I am not always great these days at shaking off the bad stuff to focus on the good.  It sort of clings to me like negative emotion plastic wrap.  But not the regular cling wrap stuff that only forms little negative emotion balls with itself.  The press and seal stuff, where you can turn dishes upside-down and all the sadness won’t fall out.  Like that.

I once read a quote from a book by Margaret Attwood that went

“’Good egg,’ he says. Small things like good eggs delight him, small things like bad eggs depress him. He’s easy to please, but difficult to protect.”

I feel like this sums me up pretty well.  I get really and truly pleased by small fortunes, and in a stress and judgment-free world, I would be the sunniest person you’d ever meet.  …But it is a very delicate, innocent, vulnerable happiness.  In a sensitive moment, it doesn’t take much for me to be totally derailed.  I am derailed at the moment.

Derailed to the left.