Adventures in Medicating

Skip this post if you're not interested in my ongoing medication/therapy/mental health roller coaster. THERE. You've been warned.

A little over a year ago, I started a new medication. It's one commonly used to treat bipolar disorder, but in my case it was being used for, as my doctor put it, "treatment-resistant depression." At first, this drug seemed to be doing the trick. I don't remember if I updated later, nor do I currently have the energy to look, but in any case the initial high that I seem to get with any new anti-depressant once again didn't last. I stayed on it, and felt like maybe I was just able to cope better than before, and thus it was certainly helpful, right?

At some point, my company switched insurance companies and the doctor who prescribed this medication didn't take the new stuff. Figures. I found a new place where they use nurse practitioners for the medication part of mental health wellness, and once again went through the intake process. She asked me questions about feeling manic, but since my answers were all negative, I didn't think anything of it. I didn't like this nurse much, so when she transferred offices and I was assigned someone new, I was happy. I did sort of a mini-intake with the new nurse, since she had the notes from the previous woman, and when she made mention of bipolar now and then, I simply thought she was being general or thorough about what this medication was for and could do - I didn't realize right away that she inferred by the prescription itself that someone, somewhere, had actually diagnosed me as bipolar.

Several months ago, we tried weaning me off the medication, but I had a bit of a breakdown so that decision was reversed. I went back on, but at a lower dosage, and added in anti-anxiety pills. By now, there's a girl at my pharmacy who knows me by sight. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that, although I suppose it's kind of nice not to have to spell my last name every time anymore. If any of the other employees now recognize me and remember my name, they at least hide it.

Between these 2 drugs, I once again felt like I was, at least, capable of handling stress. It was better than before. But, sidebar, let's talk about my cat's health for a minute. This last year he was diagnosed with IBD, which is actually kind of a funny thing to say a cat is "diagnosed" with, because the loose translation of IBD in cats is "we don't actually know what's wrong, but it's definitely something with his digestive system." The treatment is quite similar to that of mental health treatment for people: try these drugs... see how it goes... maybe try these drugs with those drugs... how's that? no? okay, let's try these and maybe some of that... It goes on like this until you find the right cocktail. Guess and check.

When I Try To Sleep

Going to a therapist to try to redeem your self-esteem means having someone ask you when it all started. When did you start disliking yourself? When did you start hating yourself? What happened to you? What was your childhood like, your parents like, your whole fucking life like?

But I don't remember. I don't remember most of it. I'm not blocking traumatic events; I have an older brother and I feel like we were close growing up and he remembers loads more than I do. If something traumatic happened, he'd tell me. I just... have very few memories. There's one here, one there... my brain seems to have a knack for remembering the negative portions really well, the awkward moments, the punishments for being bad, the actual being bad. The good stuff seems to have gotten lost in that haze somehow. Is that genetic? Chemical? To have a brain that clings only to what makes me feel like shit, and discard freely anything that might remind me that things were okay? That I'm okay?

It's all too easy to blame having a military father. "My dad wasn't around when I was growing up," I can say flippantly, and people make their assumptions. Well, of course I'm messed up! Of course I've always sought affection from male figures in my life! My dad wasn't there! But you know, he wrote me letters. Lots of them. I remember that when I stop to think. He called me by cute nicknames (which I remember), he hugged me a lot when he was home, he told me he loved me all the time - I'm sure he did, even if my brain isn't letting me remember it specifically. I remember counting down with Mom until Dad would come home. I remember waiting at the dock (the pier?) with the other families and being excited. I remember wanting him to be the one who brushed my ridiculously long hair because he was more gentle than Mom. I remember having a night shirt that said "Daddy's Little Girl."

Am I Still Breathing?

I feel really lost lately. There are some times of okay-ness, but mostly? Lost. The cause of this isn't my subject... it's something I only feel comfortable talking about with 3 people at this point. Maybe 4, though only a couple of this already small group really fully understand and support - oddly, people I wasn't close to before; one I only recently met. It's a rough spot to be in, but I at least I have them.

This feeling makes it difficult to think of funny stories to tell. I feel this blog is dying... or died long ago. I never wrote about divorce, really, but lately I've been hearing a lot of stories about divorces, or people who "stayed for the kids," or various other unhappy situations. I've also heard some stories of people who are grateful to have gotten divorced, who have found love and happiness that they didn't think they'd ever have again.

All this to say, lately I've realized once again just how fortunate I am to have married a kind man (obviously it would have been better to not have married at all, but the way we were both raised simply led to that). Not the right man for me, nor I the right woman for him, but still - he is kind. I'm grateful we didn't own property together (a futon, TV, and DVDs don't count). Grateful we didn't have children (just pets) or a lot of financial tie-ups, being we were in our early 20s and still in that post-college struggling phase. Grateful our divorce was easy, amicable, inexpensive (I think? I didn't pay for it, but there weren't lawyers or anything). And most of all, grateful that after some time had passed, we are friends again. Not close friends - geographically or emotionally - but I think if either of our lives simply collapsed, he'd be there for me and I for him. We have a certain bond and I hope we always will. I'm fortunate that he is the sort of guy who treasures old friendships, maintains connections with all of his exes, and has (I hope) forgiven me for my part in our troubles as I have long since forgiven him.

Gah, I can't seem to be funny today. Have I told the story of the creepy airport employee who hit on me in October? Maybe the story of that awful night I spent at a speed dating event, thanks to a then-friend I was very close to twisting my arm to go along with her? The guy at the bar who actually attempted to use the line "didn't we go to high school together?" Help me out here, my handful of readers!

Sunshine and Rainbow Farts

I keep trying to write here, but I'm having trouble thinking of funny dating/sex stories from my past. I know I said I would write about divorce, but every time I try, I get all worked up and pissed off and that just sucks.

Part of the problem is that this is a really hard time of year for me. As a perpetually single woman, I often get really sad about that fact. The holidays make being single that much rougher, not to mention the shitty weather here (and knowing the shitty weather has another 4 or 5 months to go), the fact that I hate the cold (but I love sweaters. Except hand washing them. I'M SO TORN), and oh yeah - fucking Valentine's Day crap already in the stores and that shit looming in the near future. AND as we all know I'm predisposed to some pretty awful bouts of depression anyway, which makes everything SO MUCH MORE FUN.

SO

my point is it's been hard to update this damn thing. But today! TODAY! an update! Right now I'm picturing the scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail where there was much rejoicing (yaaaay). I'm still a bit rusty on the writing, though, so I'm copping out and giving you a chat log from this morning.

Brain Drugs Rule

The new medication I've been taking for a while now is pretty much amazing. I'm hoping it holds up - in the past I've tried anti-depressants, and they seemed to help for the first month or so, only to give up and become pointless. Much like many of the men I date. *rimshot*

I still have (often very strong) anti-social tendencies for sure (I'm still an introvert at heart, after all), but they seem less frequent. At work I'm definitely friendlier and more willing to engage with coworkers, whereas before I often tried my best to avoid interaction whenever possible. And I recently had a situation very similar to Asshat, with a couple of notable exceptions. First, we were friends for quite a while before anything happened. For a brief moment, I considered him a close friend and confidant. Another exception is that this time, when I realized I was being used and minimized, I called him on his bullshit and walked out. Done, finished, over. No looking back, no blaming myself (even though he tried to blame me), and no agonizing. To be fair to myself, this is definitely not entirely due to chemicals - I'm in a much better and stronger place emotionally than I was 3 years ago.

I was a little sad that I'd once again been used when I thought I was actually someone of worth to this person, and I was angry as all hell for a few days, but then... I was fine. My only real mistake was caring about someone and believing he might mean the things he said to me, and what's the fault in that?

I've been rocking socks at work, although that's led to many late nights at the office lately, but I'm totally okay with that. I no longer feel exhausted from being around people all day and need to scamper home at 5 on the dot just to regain my sanity.

There's still some depression, anxiety, feelings of self-doubt, jealousy. This is not a magical solution that will solve all my problems. It is, however, thus far giving me the energy to deal with those issues when they crop up, and seems to be keeping things from dipping quite so low when they dip.

So yay! I know this isn't a fascinating or funny post, but hey, they can't all be amazing, right? Then you'd hate me for being so incredible! Or something..

On Suicide and Shame

I swear I'm not trying to take the easy way out and just give you guys links to things instead of writing actual content, but I have more links for you. I'm gonna write about 'em, though! So this is like a combination post. Hooray!

First link is this book I'm reading with one of those ridiculously long titles involving a colon that lets you know right up front it's kind of a self-help book: I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn't): Making the Journey from "What Will People Think?" to "I Am Enough". There is no way to refer to that book that isn't cumbersome (god I hate that song), but I'm giving it a chance anyway.

Normally, I have zero interest in self-help books. They're usually doofy and written by someone who is just pulling pyscho-pop babble out of their ass to make money off sad people. I used to work at a bookstore, and would just boggle at the nutty titles of these things when straightening that section. Really? Some old frosted-blonde lady with 3-inch French tip fingernails is going to tell me how to land a man? Because we're all the same, you know, we women. And men, of course, are all the same, too. There's a formula to finding love/happiness/transcendence/Waldo. Just, um, don't look at that book right next to this one, which gives you a totally different formula, because THIS IS THE ONE. BUY ME.

This one is by an author recommended by Jenny Lawson, a.k.a. The Bloggess. I'm a huge Bloggess fan because she's a great writer who is open about her struggles with anxiety and depression, and approaches the topics with the best sense of humor. She makes these problems accessible to people who don't suffer, while bringing a sense of community and hope to those who do. It's damn awesome, and her book made me laugh so hard I couldn't eat while reading it, so I should probably go ahead and recommend that, too. She's hugely popular right now for this Traveling Red Dress thing she's started, and she also likes to emphasize the idea "depression lies." If you've never suffered from depression, then A. are you old enough to be reading this blog? and B. you probably don't get it. But if you have, even temporary post-sad-event depression, you probably realize that it's SO TRUE. Depression's an asshole that gets all up in your brain bits and lies to you about who you are and what you're worth.

My First Suicide (Attempt)

I'm feeling pretty warm and fuzzy right now, and that seems like a good time to write about my suicide attempt, as mentioned at the end of my last entry. That sounds depressing, but considering I'm sitting here alive and well and actually feeling pretty good about myself almost 9 years later, I think it's kind of a funny story. Plus I'm a firm believer in sharing my shit so that other people who have been through similar shit can feel comfortable knowing it's okay. They're not alone, it's not a reason for anyone to think less of them, and in my experience it gives you a feeling of power over whatever plagued you to be able to tell the story and laugh about it.

Back when this all went down, I was on Celexa, an anti-depressant. For those who care about my mental issues/medication progress, I'm just finishing up week 3 of Lamictal, and so far I'm really quite liking it. I have so much fucking energy, and today I found out I'd fucked up pretty huge at work - something that would have sent me into a dark spiral of self-doubt, wondering how I'd make ends meet when I was inevitably fired and forced to work at McDonald's - and I just groaned, grumbled, and went about helping to remedy the problems (at which point I fucked up something else, but okay. it's all good because I have the best boss in the world). I know no medication is going to "fix" me, but goddamn do I feel more capable of working on my issues now.

Feeling capable is not something I felt so much back in January of 2004. Quick recap: unemployed, broke as hell, facing divorce, and boyfriend had moved out while I was at work. Got it? Okay.

Dealing with the Dizzies

I don't know how many of you have experience with being on anti-psychotics (the broad term for all that Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, Wellbutrin, etc family of drugs), but they are a whole barrel of fun.

(EDIT: thanks to naughtsauce for pointing out that anti-depressants != anti-psychotics. Every anti-dep I've been on has been of the SSRI class, which is different. Thanks, and yay for having smart friends!)

First, you start taking one. There's no telling if it will positively impact you until you've been on it for a few weeks or even months. If you then discover that either it doesn't do a damn thing for you, or worse, it makes everything even more horrible, then you get to go through the fun of easing off that medication so you can repeat the whole process with a new one (complete with new side effects!).

In college, My First Time was on Paxil. I had been mega-depressed for weeks and just didn't really know what to do about it. Finally I went to a trusted professor and said to her, so this stuff we're doing in class about Keats? His poem where he wants to die and such? Yeah, um, I TOTALLY GET IT. She marched me right over to the health center and volunteered herself to be my emergency contact and we both signed some sort of weird document saying I promised if I felt suicidal and was on the verge of Juliet-ing myself, I would call her instead.

The head of the counseling center there talked to me for all of 5 minutes before sending me to the campus doc for anti-depressants. The campus doc interrogated me about my weight -

Dr: "Do you have an eating disorder?"
Me: "No."
Dr: *suspicious peer* "No issues with food? (etc etc)"
Me: "None. I eat a lot, and all the time."
Dr: *puts on sympathetic face and Looks Me In The Eyes* "Now... I'm your doctor. You can trust me. You have to be honest with me."
Me: "Holy crap, ask my roommate if you want to! I just have a fast metabolism!"

Finally he prescribed Paxil - conveniently forgetting to mention to me that a common side effect is weight gain, and also that you cannot simply stop taking one of these meds cold turkey.