Posts Tagged ‘Antidepressants’

Honestly, NOBODY could be any worse. That “Weakest Link” woman would make a more supportive ear.

Friday, June 4th, 2010

For some reason every time I cut or paste anything into Word recently, it adds “A FAIR AND EQUITABLE DISABILITY TAX CREDIT” to the top of whatever I’ve inserted.  Just like that, in all-caps.  I can’t recall ever adding that phrase to my clipboard, but it is apparently something my computer feels strongly about.

More power to you, computer.  More power to you.

…Just not too much at once.  That’s what the surge protection power bar is for.

So my psychiatrist is still an asswipe.  I was not as firm in my conviction after the previous appointment as you all were.  I make a lot of excuses and allowances for other people, and do a lot of analyzing over any potential biases or misperceptions on my part.  Nope.  Definitely an asswipe.

Perhaps a well-intentioned asswipe, but an asswipe nonetheless.

Beyond the priceless “Meh, just continue to take the disruptive and ineffective medication forever” comment from last time, I’ve added a whole new level of wrong from the most recent appointment.  Like, seriously, unbelievably, kick-in-the-teeth wrong.  A wrong so sparkling clear that even I can’t justify it away.  …Which is probably a good thing, since it’s given me the certainty to ramp up the timeline on looking for a replacement.

I went into my last appointment with a pretty good idea of the direction I was hoping to take with things.  The way I figured, if I do manage to successfully finish getting clear of the Luvox, I am never, ever, ever going to want to go near another SSRI again.  …Which is probably okay all things considered, since even ignoring the side effects most of them seemed to make me much worse rather than any better.  Still, though, if I was going to give anything along those lines a shot, this would be the time to do it.

The only time that I’ve noted a significant improvement while on medications was over a year ago, when for a brief period I was taking Cipralex and Wellbutrin.  I was also meditating and taking good care of myself, and in quality therapy, so it’s hard to say what was the defining factor in the improvement, but if it’s possible medication has helped me, that would be the time.  The Wellbutrin by itself this time around has been…different.  I think it’s making at least a small positive difference, but it hasn’t been nearly the dramatic experience of those few weeks last time.  So if the medication was responsible for the improvement, it was either a difference in my reaction to the particular generic brand I was taking that time (which the doctors seem to think is impossible, but I have heard from others has been their experience too.  I had way different and harsher side effects last time too, which I find odd if there is apparently no difference in how the body reacts to them), or it was the combination of Wellbutrin and Cipralex together (the Cipralex by itself gave me nothing but side effects).  This seems possible.  One of the major random changes at that time was that I didn’t give a crap what anybody else thought of me, and Cipralex is often prescribed for social anxiety too.  So if I was going to give something a try, it seemed to make sense to try out that combination again now that I’m on a version of Wellbutrin that doesn’t give me hives.  …Right?

I’ve also now amassed an unfortunate quantity of evidence that “average” doses of these medications are WAY too much for my particular chemistry.  I’ve also come across a number of cases in my research in which too high of a dose of antidepressants has had a huge negative effect on a patient’s mood, while a lower dose actually helps them quite a bit.  So I’m thinking, since we’ve reached the stage of “throw random pills at it in case something happens” anyway, why not try a smaller-than-conventional dosage of an SSRI?  And since I’m on the Wellbutrin anyway now, and the Cipralex might have been helpful in combination, why not try that?  Add a little dose of Cipralex.  If it works, great.  If it doesn’t, I haven’t lost much, and I can just wean off that one instead.

…Except this is how the appointment went down.

-First thing, P-doc asks how things are going as he usually does, and I mention noticing abnormal and dramatic anxiety (almost certainly a side effect of the corresponding doubling of my Wellbutrin dosage). He asks for details and examples.  I explain my barbeque meltdown.  He proceeds to spend ten minutes or so telling me why my reaction to that situation was illogical (and not in a “change your thinking about the event or reframing” kind of way, but in a “that’s dumb.  You make no sense” kind of way).  I tell him that, yes, I recognize that.  That’s why I’m calling it “abnormal” and “dramatic” and am thinking that it needs to be fixed.  He continues to tell me why it’s silly that it upset me at the time.  I grit my teeth and try again to tell him that I realize that.  If I was anxious because there was a bear in my house, I would not have mentioned it as a problem.  He again tells me why my reaction makes no sense.

-P-doc asks me what I plan to do from here.  I ask for clarification of the question.  He seems to be talking about work.  I tell him that depends on what kind of a difference there is in things once the depression in under control.  I’ve likely been depressed the whole time I’ve been in my career, so it’s hard to say what difficulties are a result of the job and which are a result of the depression.  I say that obviously I wouldn’t be able to handle it now, but that I hope it might be different once I get into some treatment that’s working for me.  He looks confused and gruffly says “what do I mean I couldn’t work now?”  Um…that I’ve been curled up on my sofa the last several weeks, so nauseous I was afraid to move?  That just before that I was sitting in a parking lot literally for hours, crying so hard that I couldn’t drive myself home?  That until recently I haven’t been able to stay conscious for a consecutive six hours during the work day?  …And that’s if you ignore that whole “depression” thing that they pulled me off of work for in the first place.  You  know, the part where envisioning killing myself was calming?  We’ve talked about this…  He brushes me off.  He asks me why I would want to change my job.  I detail all of the ways that it feeds into my biggest problems and stressors, and how I end up working myself to the bone.  He says clearly I need to change my job.  What did I like about my job?  I detail the thinks I really liked and found fulfilling.  He says I love my job.  I say…um…refer to previous list.  I alternately love and hate my job.  He asks me what I dislike about my job.  I repeat my previous list.  He brushes me off by telling me every job is stressful.  I try to tell him that I thrive on some types of stress and give some examples, but that the particular stresses of my current situation aren’t good for me.  He brushes me off by telling me every job is stressful.

-In addition to the anticonvulsant he has now prescribed for the sleeplessness that was a side effect of the Wellbutrin, p-doc now wants to prescribe an antipsychotic medication as well, because it sometimes has heavy sedative effects and might counter my anxiety.  I tell him that the anxiety was so strong only since the increased dose of Wellbutrin, so since he has agreed to lower the dose back down, I don’t think I need more medications to deal with the side effects of other medications.  He tells me to take the antipsychotic.  I tell him I am not really comfortable adding another medication unless absolutely necessary since my body seems to be so sensitive to side effects.  He tells me to take the antipsychotic.  I tell him I am not sure I want to add another medication to the mix while my dose of Luvox is still not stable, since it’s still having a significant effect on my physical and emotional situation, and I wouldn’t be able to distinguish whether problems or benefits I noticed were related to the changes in Luvox, or to the addition of the new drug.  He tells me to take the antipsychotic.  Then he tells me the effects of the Luvox are all in my head.  I remind him that we did not one, but TWO double blind trials which he had previously agreed determined beyond reasonable doubt that I was sincerely reacting to the Luvox and not imagining things or creating them for myself.  He brushes me off.  He taps his index finger to his temple with a condescending knowing look.

-I explain the reasoning I outlined above, and ask if it would be possible to try a very small dose of Cipralex.  He asks me if I want to try a full dose of Zoloft.  I repeat my reasoning about Cipralex in particular, and smaller doses in general.  He asks me if I want to try a full dose of Zoloft.  I say no, but that if I was going to explore the Cipralex option, I would like to do that before I go to all the work of getting off the Luvox completely, because it has been unpleasant to say the least.  He taps his temple.  All in my head.

And my very, absolute favourite,…

-When I begin to get frustrated that he is not in any way listening to what I am saying, or addressing my clear level of discomfort with the treatment he is suggesting, he tells me in the most patronizing way possible and with a “pat pat” hand gesture that I should take the antipsychotics because they will “calm me down.”  I am in no way hysterical or anything.  I just have some concerns that he has not yet addressed.  I continue to present very rational points that I would like addressed before we proceed.  He gives me the condescending knowing look of “see, you’re agitated” and tells me again in that placating way to “take the antipsychotics.”  I continue to try to ask about concerns.  He cuts me off and tells me to “take the antipsychotics.”  I explain to him that the levels of uncomfortable anxiety I’ve had have come from the Prozac and the Wellbutrin, and are not an intrinsic part of my personality without those drugs in my system.  He cuts me off and tells me to “take the antipsychotics”.  He did this several more times, all with that look on his face that said clearly I was irrationally anxious and not REALLY FUCKING FRUSTRATED because the outcome of all of this is kind of important to me and he was being an insensitive douchebag and would not even HEAR OUT WHAT I WAS SAYING.  I swear that man didn’t register one thing I said the whole hour.  Not that he heard me and disagreed, but just simply didn’t listen.

-Then he tells me that he’s going on vacation for a little over a month.

I am not sure that I have ever been so frustrated.  Not being listened to, especially about something important, is one of the very few things that can get me truly irate.  This is the kind of thing that I have nightmares about.  Nightmares in which I bite off people’s faces.

So in conclusion, I will be asking for a referral to see someone else, and in the meantime am hoping that my family doctor will be willing to support me in making a change and take over my medications for a while.  I’ve also started daily meditation again, which I think was crazy helpful last time.  Ideally I think I’d like to just focus on that for a while and give myself time to get off the Luvox before adding any more craziness to the mix.  I don’t even know what I’m like anymore without side effects.

At any rate, there is stands.  And I would very much like to take the antipsychotics, and shove them somewhere very unpleasant for him.

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.

And they play it on my radio station all the time. That’s a lot of crazy hair.

Wednesday, March 31st, 2010

Every time I hear that “Tick Tock” song on the radio, I mishear one of the lyrics in the chorus as “party on top.”  …And it makes me think of a reverse mullet every time.

And no, that statement has no bearing on the rest of this post whatsoever.

Trying to pin down and compare emotional responses and perspectives is a difficult thing.  Am I better on the Wellbutrin than I was before I started trying medications?  Hard to say.  It is better than the Prozac.  Better than the Luvox.  More consistent than the Ritalin.  Much better than the Cipralex, and eons ahead of the Effexor.  But down to subtle details?  That’s tough.

Because in the moment, things always seem to make perfect sense to me.  When I’m having terrible PMS, I often recognize that I am overreacting to something.  When I’m having a sudden and intense emotional period because of a change in medications, I can tell that isn’t really me.  But in the day to day?  The “normal” state of things at any given time?  It all seems to make sense given the circumstances.  I am sad because my relationship is more distant.  I am not doing much because everything is boring.  I don’t want to make phone calls because the thought of them gives me a headache.  And nothing seems “so bad,” or like a concern that’s really valid enough that I need help.

And then after the fact, my medication changes, and my world takes on a different set of complications, and I have a What the Hell Was I Thinking moment or two.   And I boggle at how I could have found things to be normal, or that I didn’t fully recognize just how bad things had been.  It’s amazing what can seem perfectly natural and justified at the time.

So I’ve been trying to keep track, in those moments, of the things that I realize are a vivid sign of being unwell.  So that when the meds change again and I’m back in that place I will know without doubt that if that feature is present there is still something wrong.  So I don’t have to wonder if a particular medication is working or not, or if I should be feeling guilty for not being back at work. I’m sure that the list is woefully incomplete, but I can only identify the ones that have at least temporarily cleared up, or that were medication-induced in the first place.  There are a lot of features in the description of depression that I have never yet had a break from (Do some people truly not feel guilty or inferior all the time?), so for now, they remain just an unremarkable and stable part of me.

Features I now use to identify when I am having problems:

1) Lying on the floor out of a lack of seemingly better options as an activity.

2) Frequent thoughts of death, or heightened awareness of all the ways in which I could end my life (swerving into traffic, turning on the gas, etc.).

3) Finding picturing my own suicide “comforting,” even if the thought is not accompanied by any actual desire to act on the image.

4) Arriving at every appointment 45 – 60 minutes early, because I “wanted to make absolutely sure I wasn’t late.” (this was a part of my Prozac Anxiety phase)

5) Finding the duty of changing my cat’s water bowl every morning an overwhelming responsibility, and one that I sometimes need to build up to.

6) Sobbing.  Not crying, but sobbing.  Over something that is itself totally inconsequential.

At least 2, 3, and 6 I had before I started all this, to varying degrees.  Number 5 was not an issue, and number 1 was totally a new one on me.  With the Wellbutrin, I am doing better with these (though I still register highly on the other features of depression).  I still cry a lot, and rarely for justified reasons, but I can feed my cats without needing any elaborate self-talk.

Of course, rather than making me feel hopeful, the improvement just makes me feel like I must be cured now then, and guilty about being off work.  Because feeding my cats for one minute every morning equates somehow to being able to face down a stressful ten hour day.  Because I am depressed still.  And I feel guilty about things like that.

What’s so funny?

Friday, March 19th, 2010

So the need for coffee in my life has clearly won out over the desire to change medications during the withdrawal process.  Unfortunately the new quarter dose of Luvox is starting to make me sleepy again.  The brain-zapping seems to have mostly petered out for the moment, though, so I can start weaning off again.  I think this time I’m going to crush the pills and do the dissolving-in-juice thing so that I can taper off in extra minuscule amounts.

Not feeling especially inspired to write at the moment.  I’ve been doing better.  My therapist has had me working on tending to and eliminating ANY feeling of sadness/anxiety/upset that comes up.  In trying to cope for so long on my own, I’ve become a master of distraction, and shoving things down, and ignoring them until they fade away a little.  If I don’t actually resolve them, they stick around forever, though.  Just in subtle, insidious ways.  They wear away at my self-image, or provide ammunition for internal voices that I don’t want getting any stronger.  It just always seemed like there were SO many little upsets in the course of each day that I couldn’t possibly be expected to take the time to get myself feeling peachy about them all.  Apparently I could.  And I am.  So I’ll try.

Seriously though, fully identifying and resolving every little tight feeling in my stomach is a bit of a tall order.  Sometimes a disproportionately lengthy process too.  Worth it, though, if it’s actually possible to live without daily feelings of anxiety or worry or sadness that are anything more than brief or transient.

And of course, like everything else that’s tasked to me, I feel compelled to fully master this as quickly as possible, and come back next week an entirely new person able to instantly identify and eliminate any potentially unpleasant emotions.  Because I’m like that.  This is why my therapist laughs at me.

Don’t anyone dare give me flack about correct and incorrect usage of “irony.” I will eat you.

Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010

Sometimes I feel like I’m doing okay with all of this, considering.

Sometimes not.

Today has been a day in which I am vividly aware of the struggle.  It is a day where I can intellectually recognize that this emotional drowning was not an unforeseen side effect of reducing my dose of Luvox, but in which that recognition doesn’t change my current reality.  It is a day in which I am acutely aware of the irony of suffering so greatly from the loss of a medication that did not make me feel any better at all while it was there. It is a day in which I feel trapped by my own chemistry, and numbed out, and a little like I wouldn’t consider actually taking my own life but that it really wouldn’t be ALL bad if I happened to be lying somewhere with no responsibilities.

It is a day in which I will go through the motions.

Because I have no other choice.

For the love of God, NO, I DO NOT want everything indented. Again.

Sunday, February 28th, 2010

If Micosoft and/or WordPress subject me to “contageous formatting” one more time today, I am going to scream.  Again.  Loudly.

In somewhat related news, I have finally posted that pile of information on antidepressants that I wrote up last week.  As mentioned, not in any way what I initially set out to create, but hopefully it will be useful to someone.  I do keep getting hits on my blog looking for this type of thing and feel guilty about it every time.  I KNOW HOW TO HELP YOU!  Come back!  Leave your contact info!

Of course,  following that logic, I also need a lot more info on “ninjas” and “adjectives describing umbrellas.”  They’re quiet!  They’re sneaky! They wear black!  Come back!!  I’ve got this, I know it!

And many ellipses. Don’t forget the ellipses (the punctuation kind, not the geometry kind. …Though I am fond of those too).

Wednesday, February 10th, 2010

Hello again.  I still exist.

I think.

…I’m reasonably sure, anyway.

So Prozac increases anxiety.  Didn’t know I had anxiety.  My difficulties in dialing the phone the past few months due to uncontrollably shaking hands would suggest otherwise.  Also the great, great difficulty in posting here once my stats suggested that a small but regular group of people were actually reading what I had to say (despite how simultaneously lovely that made me feel).  I am off the Prozac now.

Have learned that the level of side effects I’ve been experiencing is extremely, EXTREMELY rare (Note those caps there.  Caps are rare.  Apparently.).  Have learned that they are not necessarily something that I need to accept and tolerate.  Am a little bit angry at medical professionals who suggested otherwise.   Have been advised that things like “sweating” or “mild sexual side effects” are enough to indicate that a particular medication is likely not a good fit for the long term.  I cannot imagine how happy I would be if my only side effects were sweating and sexual dysfunction (both of which I have had, and are so low on the priority list that I almost wouldn’t bother mentioning them.  They go right before “yawning.”  …Which I did an unexpectedly large amount of for a while.)

Am learning to be a louder advocate for myself.

Am learning that when you try to hard to “be positive,” people sometimes don’t realize how actually shitty things are.

Have also realized that having stopped my writings here has made it much more difficult to track the nuances of how I’ve been feeling, and how particular medications have compared in their effects on my mood.

So for the moment, I think I might try to get back to this, if partly just to help compensate for my now-shrunken long term memory.

Perhaps if you are still checking here once in a blue moon, and your memory is somewhat less shrunken, you might remember me.

I’m the one with the excessive quotation marks.

“Apparently.”

Happy Birthday to Me

Friday, September 25th, 2009

Haven’t been very good about getting things down here lately.  The process of weaning off the Effexor has be kind of a brutal one at times, and I haven’t been all that great about sitting upright for extended periods of time.  Holy crap, can I see why addicts end up bailing on their attempts to get clean and taking a hit.  This sucks.  A lot.

Mostly, I’ve been having extreme nausea again.  The last two days I couldn’t really do anything, I was so sick.  I alternated between lying on the couch moaning to myself, and sitting with my head between my knees moaning to myself (for variety).

I’ve also been experiencing what the internet as a whole seems to have dubbed “brain shivers,” or “electric brain thingies,” or “zapping sensations,” or “holy crap this sucks why did I ever agree to take Effexor in the first place.”  I’m not sure I could have believed it if I wasn’t experiencing it.  It’s truly the most freaking strange sensation I’ve ever had, and I am the undisputed queen of random pains and injuries around here.  Basically, I hear this little metallic twanging sound, sort of like a spring, or the lighting of a lighter, or a cricket (not the lighting of a cricket.  Back off, Ambiguous Grammar Squad).  Then there’s this moment of being removed from space-time.  It’s like one moment I’m in one location, and then the next I’m a few centimeters away, but I DID NOT PASS THROUGH SPACE.  My husband has not yet mentioned me strobing in and out of existence, but it would not surprise me to learn that I had.  It takes a moment for my brain to adjust, as it gets very confused as to why the visual data I am now processing does not match what it thinks I should be.  And at the same time, or just after, I get this little ripple sensation down the length of my body, most intensely from about brain to stomach level usually, or sometimes from stomach up to brain.  Very disorienting, and the resulting dizziness isn’t doing much to help with the nausea.

I think it’s the little metallic robot sound that weirds me out the most.  Took me a while to be sure that I was actually hearing what I thought I was hearing, and that it was actually coming from inside me.  Freaking strange.

So I have not been writing here.  This hasn’t been a stellar period in my life to be honest.  But I’m off the pills for now, and if I can hang on, hopefully can stay off them and try something that does not produce clicking sounds in my brain.  It is my birthday today.  I will be spending it traveling to see my doctor.  I hope.

I think disorientation is probably bad for driving.  Don’t tell.

Of Violence and Baked Goods

Sunday, September 6th, 2009

So, pardon the lack of communication lately, but as mentioned I’ve been weaning off of the Effexor since it seemed to make things so much worse, and OH MY LORD is the Effexor withdrawl making me crazy.   And I had thought the consistent dosage was problematic!

I was in the grocery store today, with my cart parked in an open area while my husband and I were deciding on something or other, and some woman pushed by me with the bitchiest, most insulting, most accusatory, exasperated “excuse me” I have ever heard.  And sweet heavens, did I want to PUNCH HER IN THE FACE.  One has to understand that I am all of 5’3” tall, size 2, and an absolute heartfelt pacifist.  I quite literally apologize to bugs when I squish them in my house rather than taking them outside.  And then I feel guilty about it.  But damned if I didn’t want to jump her in the laundry aisle.  I’m fairly sure that had she come back to get in my face, I quite sincerely would have started a produce-area brawl.  …Just a bit out of character for me.

(normally I only brawl near the frozen foods)

My poor husband had the luxury of being with me all day today and joining me on the crazybus.  I’ve been ferociously irritable, and very, very mentally vacant (which mostly means that I know I’m really mad. …I’m just not sure why).   We split up for a moment during the grocery excursion, and I literally had to go back and ask him what one of the TWO whole items I had gone to get was.  …Then proceeded to forget what the other one had been by the time I got to the appropriate area.  I eventually remembered, since I knew it had to be something nearby, but it was frigging difficult, let me tell you.  In the span of about an hour my mental faculties went from reasonably strong to sea cucumber.  Except at least sea cucumbers seem to know what they’re doing down there.  I’m being BEATEN OUT by sea cucumbers.

Oh…and the cravings.  I want to eat.  Anything.  Everything.  And I don’t just want to eat, I want to OVEReat.  Until I’m bursting.  I want to eat until I physically cannot stuff anything else in my stomach, and then start looking sideways at my ears and nostrils, like maybe something edible would fit in there… We passed by the bakery section today to get some tortillas, and I literally stopped dead in front of a package of double chocolate cookies.  Two dozen double chocolate cookies.  And I wanted to eat every single one.  Right there.  I know that this is not good for me.  I realize that rationally I have worked very hard to get myself down to my current weight, and do not want to lose all of that progress in one or two months of sweet, sweet indulgence.  But I also REALLY, REALLY want to eat those cookies.  I was trying to explain my dilemma to my husband (who was trying to be supportive, but really just wanted to exit the store now.  …Preferably without a wife suddenly 24 cookies larger).

“Something is seriously messed up with me right now.  I just really, REALLY badly want to eat that whole package of cookies and punch somebody.”

A moment later, still standing in front of the cookies, as my will is strong enough not to have put them in my cart or mouth, but not quite strong enough to leave them, I am asking with pleading tones if it wouldn’t be justifiable to get the cookies, since I was so good and didn’t punch anyone.

No,…I didn’t really think so either.

(I did not get the cookies.  …But I still want them.  A lot.  Distractingly so, really.)

So life, it seems, is going to be a bit of a roller coaster for a while.

And my husband may or may not come home from work next week to find me stuffing cookies in my ear.

With pineapple mango jam. …When did this actually turn into a blog about what I had for lunch??

Wednesday, July 29th, 2009

I wish sometimes that human beings came with a little view screen that displayed what’s really going on in there.

“Oh – I don’t really want these nachos, I’m just lonely”

Or

“Oh – I’m cleaning this floor so intently to avoid dealing with those incomplete forms on my desk”

Or
”Oh – it’s the Flintstones theme song”

Sometimes I think I know what’s going on in my head, but at other times I’m totally lost.  And my head lies.  Frequently.  And well.

I’ve been feeling lately like I didn’t really have time to write here (or to do much of anything else, really) because I’m trying to get the house in order after our move, and am eager to have things in some vague level of livability.  I think that’s part of it, but I also think that I have been MUCH more stressed out about other life events than I’ve fully realized.  I wonder if my workaholic nature is often affected this way.

There’s been a lot of financial stress lately on this end.  Since the allergic reaction to my meds, the prognosis for my return to work has changed dramatically.  The financial situation was not entirely rosy to begin with having just purchased our first house, and the extra costs associated with trying to get me better so far had significantly chewed through any reserves we may have had.  So now we’re up to our eyeballs in debt, and weighing significantly any purchase of items for the house.  Do we really need a lawn mower?  Could we cut each blade by hand?  Maybe we could get a goat…

If I can’t go back to work as intended, that will leave me without pay for a period of time before long term disability insurance benefits would kick in.  That’s thousands of dollars difference in our income for that time, and still a significant difference after even once the insurance payments start (provided all goes smoothly and I’m quickly approved).  Thank goodness that I even have that, is all that I can say.  I can’t imagine working through something like this without that safety net.  We’d lose our house, our car,…just about everything but each other.

At any rate, as thinly stretched as we are, the extra strain is going to be significant.  I think in part I’ve been trying to be strong for my husband.  I know that the possibility of my being off work longer stresses him RIGHT THE FUCK OUT.  He’s had a couple of mini-meltdowns because of it, and I can’t help but feeling on some level like it’s all my fault.  I’ve been trying to be the voice of optimism, and focus externally on how we’ll get through it and everything will be okay.  It could be much worse.  If nothing else comes up, it will be very survivable.

I just spoke with the Disability Services Manager (or something like that) from my employer, though, and when she told me about another financial hit, I turned into a wet, tearful mess on the phone.  I’ve acknowledged that I’ve been putting off filling out the disability forms and making that particular phone call, but I hadn’t quite realized how much the whole thing was still eating at me.  I think in my attempts at previous survival, I’ve gotten quite adept at shoving things aside and burying them as quickly as possible.  Not so good for the long term benefit.

So I’m going to eat a peanut butter sandwich now (because finances are tight), and sit down for a minute to do something that isn’t work related to try to pull myself together (because finances are tight and that stresses me RIGHT THE FUCK OUT).

In an hour and a half I have to face down the contractor who’s trying to get out of fixing the damage his workers have done to our house and belongings.

Because I’m the together one right now.

And that stresses me right the fuck out.