11 posts tagged “depression”
So, have I mentioned lately that I am going to Africa? Because I am. In 64 days, to be exact.
Anyway. I am feeling better. I tried upping the Wellbutrin when I remembered why I stopped the first time. My tinnitus gets really loud. Like wake me up loud. I didn't realize until I did some poking around that not everyone has tinnitus. I honestly thought everyone has some level of it. Ringing in the ears. I also learned it can be some really weird noises, so I'm glad mine is just ringing.
I have it all the time. For as long as I remember. Every day life just drowns it out and I don't normally notice it unless the room is quiet (like at night, in bed). But with the Wellbutrin, I could hear it while I was watching TV. And the volume I needed to drown it out was annoyingly loud. So I backed off.
We're having a step contest at work, so I've been walking a lot each day. I imagine even that little bit of exercise is helping. And I've come to acknowledge that some issues with a friendship contributed to the episode. But I decided if my friend needs space, I can give that to her. I just hope she comes back around some day.
About two years ago, I had a friend I hasn't seen in a while move to Austin. She'd been out-of-state for several years, so we made plans a couple times to get together, but I canceled. I didn't know how to explain what I felt, so when I tried it made things bad and we're not friends anymore.
Things are back on an upswing. I know that if this continues to happen, the low-lows, that I need to talk with my doctor about it. I've been well enough for long enough periods of time to know that I don't need to feel that way.
I've been struggling with my depression for a while now. I think I may need to see my therapist again. I'm going to wait a week or so more to see how I'm doing. In the meantime, I'm going to up one of my meds (don't worry, it's a level I tried before with doctor supervision, but the tinnitus drove me nuts) to see if that helps. I'll get a white noise machine if I need to this time.
Last Wednesday, as Gigi and I came back to the house after our evening walk, we met a guy walking toward us on the other side of the street. He asked me if she was my dog (um, on a leash dude) and called her to come to him. We were right at the house, so I didn't really think of him as anything more than a guy I passed walking and went inside.
But then he walked back and forth in front of my house a couple times and stood on the corner (I'm second house from corner). After about 15 minutes of walking and standing, I called the non-emergency police line and within minutes they had a squad car driving down the street. Another minute or two and there was another on the side street. I didn't see if they chatted with him, or what, but that night I was really freaked out. I couldn't get past the way he asked about Gigi and called her to cross the street to him (she didn't, thank God, she'll usually go to anyone).
I don't freak out easily. The night of the robbery I slept here with the broken window. But that night I felt afraid. I couldn't sleep until I finally decided I would stay home the next day. I felt so much anxiety about leaving her alone. I know that I overreacted. But even Friday morning I asked if I could leave her with mom on my way to work.
I visited the local police substation, but unless they arrested him there will be no report. If I'd left my name and number, the responding officer would've called me back. They didn't ask for my info when I called and I didn't really think about it.
Anyway, just an example of setting my anxiety haywire (yes, I know there is a necessary level of just being on my guard to the story). People not talking to me. The tone in someone's voice. I know that overall I'm not responding to things like my normal self. My normal, medicated self, anyway.
The book was written from Alice's perspective. She starts out like we all do. Misplacing our keys. A temporary moment of, "Now, where am I?" Her slide is pretty quick over the course of the book. Along the way she sees how her husband handles the situation. Or doesn't. How her children, who may or may not have the gene, take care of her.
It's lovely. The writing style. The story itself scares the shit out of me. I wonder about how I will die. I wonder if the time will come when I no longer know who I am. Or who you are.
I joke that I'm nice to my Godson and his sister so they will come visit me in the old folk's home. But the reality is, who will take care of me if or when I can no longer speak for myself?
I'll be the first to admit I have control issues. As in, I must be in control, issues. What will happen when I don't? Will I be like the character and just move sunnily along, first fighting the disease and then forgetting all about it?
Who do I give that responsibility to? When it's not really fair to expect someone to take it on at all?
This past week I've been feeling a real sense of loss-of-control. I mean, my eating. One of the things I can control. And I wasn't. I've been thinking, thinking, thinking. Trying to figure out what set me off. Then, today, it hit me. This book. My sense of not being able to control something. Behaving so that maybe someone will take over for me.
And now I am calm. Back to feeling like everything is going to be ok. Tonight I made brown rice and veggies. It tastes wonderful. Much better than the baked lays and onion dip that left a nasty taste in my mouth last night. And the night before.
I feel a sense of relief. Thank God for that.
This morning I stopped at Starbucks on my way to read. I had a tall Skinny Vanilla Latte and it was good.
Three weeks in and I am done. The valuable lesson is that I do eat out too much. But instead of it being about the ease of eating out, it helped me see those meals are essentially my social life.
For the last three weeks, I have eaten nearly every meal alone and it was really starting to affect my attitude. And not for the better.
I've been getting crankier, which has kept me keeping pretty quiet (as to not offend folks more than normal), which in turn isolated me even more. A few days ago, a close friend called me out on it:
I really wish you'd call a halt to the eating out ban. I don't think that is healthy for anyone. Life is way too short. I wish you'd go to Starbucks and order your fav and enjoy.
It made me smile that she cared enough to say something. And it made me think, "She's right. This is stupid." It got me to thinking about how isolating it'd been and freed me to break up with the idea.
I did good for 20 days, but it's over. Sorry Suze.
Well, yes, I suppose I am. But, really, what is age? And when someone is in need of comfort, does it really matter who or what provides it?
I've slept with Schlep for about seven years. I got him when I was in the depths of my depression. I just felt like I needed something to hold. A security blanket of sorts.
Trust me, I felt a little silly. But Schlep got me through some really rough nights.
And now? He's more of a habit. An arm pillow of sorts.
Gigi was very threatened by him for a long time. Now she knows she's alpha dog around here, so even she sleeps on him sometimes. It makes me smile.
This week was the office Christmas party. It was totally not fun and I'm not sure if that's because of the locale or the fact that I didn't have any adult beverages.
I've known since the day-after last year's drunken debacle, that I wouldn't be doing that again this year. And I didn't have a single drop of an adult beverage on Wednesday.
Thing is, it seems I can't drink anymore. Once I added atenolol to my repertoire, I feel sick when I drink. Not like nauseated, just sick. It made me think that it must be what someone taking a drug to not drink feels like when they do.
So, I've not had a single drop of anything since July. I am parched. Parched.
I do have some beverages that I could try at home to see how I feel now that its been a while, but it seems funny to intentionally do something to make yourself feel bad.
My friend went home today after they took out her staples. Her older daughter is going to stay with her, but I'm pretty sure she will get the boot over the weekend. Her mother definitely likes her privacy.
So, how did this start you ask?
Well, with just feeling a little puny. She would feel exhausted after mowing her front yard (not large) and wouldn't be able to do the back yard till the next day. When she really pushed herself she would have a cramp in her lower abdomen.
They determined she was very anemic and put her on iron, which started to correct the fatigue issue. Then when the cramping didn't go away, they did an MRI, which led to a colonoscopy. During the colonoscopy they found a tumor. The results from that came while I was in Orlando. It was 10 days between cancer results and the visit with the surgeon. That was last Tuesday and Friday she had the surgery.
She seems to be doing really well. Her spirits are good and she was laughing with mom and I last night (which hurt, of course!). She is very direct like I am, so we communicate well in that sense. I asked a few questions last night that she asked of the oncologist today (who has come to see her every day, good sign). She's not decided about the experimental stuff yet. At home she'll be able to do some Internet research to help with that decision process.
And how I am, you wonder?
My mom told me yesterday that I sounded down and asked if I was ok. I wanted to say, Well, der, why do you think I'm down? But instead I said, I'm fine. "Really?" Yes, I'm fine.
And I am. Fine. But it's a given that anytime anyone thinks I'm not fine based on my writing, feel free to point it out. I'm good with that.
I really do have a lot of things I think to write about. And then I sit in front of my computer and start playing games. Because being mindless is way easier than putting together thoughts and complete sentences. Not that I am always good at that complete sentence part.
I have been down this week. It's the stupid family stuff. I have not exercised. I nap when I come home. Play Alchemy or Bejeweled 2 until it's time to go to bed. I haven't even been watching my shows this week.
I guess part of me thinks I am good at separating the heart stuff from my brain. Guess not. Did that even make sense? Guess not.
I made the mistake of falling in love with that baby. I heard myself say in my head, You know, it's really not too late. Course my immediate response was Yes, it is. (What? Like you don't talk to yourself that way?) It's really about that baby and the lost chances with my own niece and nephew.
I don't see my niece changing her heart towards mom and I. It's not that she's not cordial (although not chatty), but there is no warmth there at all. We could be complete stangers bearing gifts. I totally feel her wall, and trust me, I can throw up a wall with the best of them.
So I think it's that sense of loss that hurts the most. I know that with time and absence I'll get back to the place where I don't think about it daily. Dammit, I'm tearing up.
Maybe it's the loss of family. Because once mom is gone I am alone. Alone.
Yes, I have friends that are like family. Hell, better than my own family.
I don't know. Maybe I just need to call my therapist.
I hid my denial a little better this time. I knew by Friday, based on my tummy, that I was nervous about the trip. To meet our newest family member. I thought I was doing better, but I guess not. Especially since I took a five hour nap today. I am so screwed for sleeping tonight.
He is beautiful. Perfect in every little way. And I'm not sure what to do about that. I'd love to see him all the time, but I don't know how to do that. I mean, really, it literally makes me sick to my stomach just for a one-day visit. Throws my system into such a tizzy that I sleep till 10a, lay down to take a nap at noon and get up again about 4:45p. I've basically been awake four hours today. Not good.
My niece actually spoke a little more than normal. I felt like I was doing really well till mid afternoon. When she showed me the scrapbook she'd put together for the wedding. It was really well done. And it had not one picture of me. Mom, yes. Me, no.
My nephew joined us for lunch. That kid has been in so many car accidents. Bad ones. When he goes, that will be how. And no, they are never his fault.
Friday night I was laying in bed remembering back to my depression. Just over five years ago, I hit rock bottom. I look back now and I'm surprised it wasn't suggested I take a nice little vacation at this nice little facility where I could wear this nice little white jacket.
I remembered how I used to go to sleep back then. I would literally feel darkness around me. Like those bad souls in the Ghost movie? So I would visualize four angels coming into my room (small, like imagined fairy size). They would have this covering -- sheer like netting -- that they would drap over my bed. It was lit, a light gold shade. It would wrap around my bed and seal me in (not tight, draped like mosquito net). I could visualize all the darkness around me and see the gold and the angels protecting me from all of that.
That's an example of what it took to get me through at the time. I thank God my mind was still there enough to do that. I look back now and see how really very ill I was.
So I worry on days like today when I sleep too much. I worry about the avoidence or denial or whatever it is my brain is working through. But I've got to remember to "be gentle" with myself (as my therapist used to tell me). That it's ok to have a day like today. Just not days like today. Or weeks like today.
I'm always amazed how we are so alike, yet we all seem to think we're the only ones going through a situation or feeling. I mentioned my holiday drama on a forum I belong to and almost half the group concurred that they just wanted to make it through the next few weeks too.
Frankly, I think the commercialization of the holiday has a lot to do with the Holiday Blues. We’ve lost sight of the "reason for the season" and have gotten caught up into a buying frenzy that seems to fuel the despair so many feel.
I don’t decorate for the holidays. A) I am too lazy. B) I have a cat that will knock down, pull off, push over anything that looks like it might move. Every day I pick up something that Cory has batted off a table or mantle or chest of drawers. And if I don’t find it before Gigi does, well . . .
And I did misspeak in that earlier post. I do have kids in my life. Well, at 11- and 14-years-old they are really young adults now. I feel so fortunate that over the years their mom has given me some top picks from their wish lists. Many times over I’ve seen their faces fill with anticipation only to be replaced by pure joy at seeing the gift they most wanted. It warms my heart and fills my soul. If it weren’t for those two, I’d really be a bah-humbug.
I think my point was going to be that the Holiday Blues seem to run rampant. And maybe if we’d all just talk to each other about it, it would lessen our own burden.