shiz.ca

Schmupdate, Part the third

So I'm seeing a psychiatrist now.

Shmupdate, part two

Tonight I cut an avocado in half and went blank.

Update, Shmupdate

A little while ago I eluded to having some health issues to do with my meds.

Frustrated

I've been waiting since February 13th to see a psychiatrist to help me come off my meds. Come July I learned that my doctor never put in a request for me to see one, and since then I've been waiting and calling, waiting and calling. Oh, and losing my mind.

I may have to head out to the ER one of these days.

The Procedure

So I had a gastroscopy. (Also called a esophagogastroduodenoscopy, but who had the time to say all that?) It's the test where a camera goes down one's throat. I had it without a sedative. I thought it would be all right. It was horrid.

You get about four squirts of Very Nasty Stuff which you are told to swallow, which is VERY VERY nasty. It numbs the throat. Then the doctor puts a mouth guard on you and you feel like some sort of Frankenstein. Then one nurse holds your arms and one holds your head and everyone keeps saying "Good girl," or "Very goooood," like you're a five year old getting a needle. Instead a hard tube comes down your throat. This is not a pleasant experience for the body, which rejects the tube, gagging, while everyone around you says, "GOOD. VERY GOOD." The doctor, who's had four of these himself (many also without a sedative), has told you over and over that this whole thing is a piece of cake.

Allow me to tell you, it ain't no cake.

And then they blow up your stomach like a balloon and are told to not belch, to hold it in, which is not easy but I tried. When you do belch, which is inevitable, it is by far the LOUDEST belch you've ever made. It sounded like a belching whale.

The whole procedure goes on forEVER, which in doctor time is about 3 minutes.

I lived to tell the tale, but the worst was my not-eating headache and subsequent nausea. That was when I was sort of wishing I were dead. I could have done without that.

All in all, maaaany people have had gatroscopies and lived to tell the tale. I only hope this is my last. It may be, too, as I've been given a clean bill of health. Yippie!

Mind over Crazy

So last night when I went to bed I saw my shoes underneath the coffee table. Very lazy. The husband does not leave shoes below the coffee table, instead he leaves 3 or 4 pairs by the front door.

Ok, sometimes five.

But I went to bed, and this morning while I was up I saw them again and thought to move them, went to move them, and somehow half an hour later I had no idea where they were. I could not find them.

No, the shoes were not underneath the coffee table. Thanks for playing! Even my husband helped me look for them. So I wore different shoes.

Later this morning I received an email from my hubby: "shoes were on kitchen counter. guess they were hungry."

Hungry, indeed.

I have no recollection of picking up my shoes, but I know I intended to, and I have no idea why I would have gone into the kitchen this morning. I ate at work.

Personally, my money's on this being another antidepressant side-effect. I've had several short-term memory losses lately, but I'm almost off my drugs and maybe a year from now I'll see a wicked impovement in my mad remembering skillz.

But seriously, the kitchen counter?

On Lurching and Leeches

REWRITE:

My husband is in Addis Ababa, so I spent the weekend with friends in British Columbia’s Fraser Valley, and on Sunday evening, when it was time to return home, they drove me to the King George Skytrain station.

Vancouver's Skytrain is an ALRT, an Alert Light Rapid Transit system. I remember this because in 1986 the transit company sent representatives into the school system to explain how the Skytrain worked. Our representative explained that the trains are run by computers, not people, and that in spite of this the train is very safe.

The other thing that he told us was not to fall onto the train tracks because you could be electrocuted.

So Sunday I was on the train, tired. I'd taken the train a million times. I was used to the rhythm of it. I was used to the three-toned hum the trains make when they leave a station, to the swishing and the rocking, and to the sound of pulsing wind when a train traveling the other direction passes yours.

But this time the train lurched and braked violently. We were thrown; about half of the passengers gasped loudly.

We were stopped above a Safeway store. It was getting dark. I wanted to be outside, to be on the ground. We were trapped; how long would we be trapped?

There's a rumor among transit-takers that train delays are caused by suicides, and that is all I could think of: someone had just died. Was he hit? Or did she get electrocuted?

I told myself to relax. Maybe a teddy bear had fallen onto the tracks.

But I couldn’t relax with that thought; I imagined a panicked mother, clamoring after her track-bound, teddy-bear-retrieving daughter. What an awful feeling.

The train ws mostly full, but we all sat silently for a few minutes. No one knew anything. My body kept remembering the lurching feeling, the break-neck stopping.

It was nearing nine o'clock and I wanted to be at home. I wanted to return to my cat-children and take off my shoes. I wanted to have a glass of water, put on sweatpants, and hold my pet-children in turn -- first Brie, the one who hates to be held but purrs while you do it, then Willow, a people-friendly cat that constantly squirms. I would grab the nearest cat and flop onto the bed with her. Maybe I would fall asleep like that. It would be good to sleep like that.

The train was full of garbage; I'd never seen it like that before. We started moving.

I was thrown like that when my Nissan was rear-ended. I had been stopped at an intersection, waiting to turn. And then I started screaming, and afterwards it dawned on me that I had been hit from behind, hit so hard that my fully-stopped vehicle was thrown an entire car-length and had to be written off. I spent three months taking Advil and massaging my temples.

I was also thrown like that in 1993, when a bus I was on abruptly stopped. A woman across the aisle from me began to shriek, and I remember thinking that she was panicked for no reason, until I learned that the bus in front of us had hit a child. We all sat in the windows, staring out at a freaked-out little boy, covered in a veil of orange blood.

In hindsight, my life has felt a lurch like that every time I've had severe depression, which was so often and for such long periods that I don’t know when one episode ended and another one began. I felt a lurch when my friends Bethany and Jill died, both very young, or when my grandfather died of lung cancer. My life lurched when I was falsely accused and almost fired, and another time when I was mistreated at work and actually fired. My life lurched when I had depression again, this time as a married woman, and the world stopped again. But the world doesn't really stop, it goes on and you stop. It's like getting hit by a car. You scream, a few come to help, maybe somebody watches; most others keep driving.

Last night I dreamed that a friend killed himself and that my husband and I were forbidden from telling his family. We had to wait until they found out some other way, probably by finding his body. It was another lurch. I woke up upset, terrified and angry and shocked. It was midnight. I touched the cats; they are my touchstones. They had not had the same dream. Their good vibes would quiver along their furs, touch my hands, and shoot like good electricity into my bones, veins and heart. I would be revived.

It didn't work as I had hoped. I was left with the nightmare imprinted in my mind and the soft feel of fur on my fingertips. Each cat acknowledged her stroke with a sleepy half-gesture. They selfishly retained their good vibes.

I felt another lurch in a dream when I was first getting counseling for depression. In the dream I was driving and a bright orange roadblock appeared out of nowhere. I gasped and braked and it woke me.

Things have been going so well for me that I subsequently worry that the Worst Thing Ever is just about to happen. Perhaps I'm a fatalist, though I've never thought of myself that way before. I'm still jarred by things that happened seven years ago, or seventeen, or twenty-seven, and sometimes I feel that I'm living my life as a person in shock, that life is one wreck after another, and the only reason we try to recover is to brace ourselves for the next pileup. Maybe I'm so used to coping that I can't imagine life being good and staying that way. I know that hard times will come no matter what I do and there’s no need to lure them in sooner with my moods, but it seems like there's an emotional-spiritual kink in my neck that's a throwback to old whiplash, reminding me of whiplashes to come, of heartbreaks and pains and soul-sucking days. And I rub that kink like an old, silvery scar.

I have a scar from a routine mole-removal. The doctor who did it chose to cauterize the area, and now the scar is of burnt tissue, smooth and watery and flat, and it occasionally itches. One time I unknowingly scratched it so hard that I drew blood. And that’s a good comparison for me, me and my kink in my neck, my spiritual scar, reminding me of the wounds, of the lurching and surprises and the hard times. Sometimes that scar itches, and if I scratch it could bleed.

And then I have to breathe.

I tell myself to enjoy life, to enjoy what I have, and to do what I feel is right. I can't ward off depression or sickness or heartache or death. These things will happen -- or not happen -- independently of what I think. Pretending that the Worst Thing Ever is just around the corner does not keep it away; it only causes undue stress.

My husband is in Addis Ababa. I know that he is safe. He is going to Awassa, too, and will be safe. He is going to Entebbe and Kigali and Gisenyi, and will be safe. I know to my roots that he'll be safe.

But I still have that scar, so I miss him fondly and pray.

Sad

Eighteen months of treating depression with chiropractic, and I've come to learn what makes me sad.

For instance, I got sad just now, and I know that it's my body's reaction to my big adjustment today, flushing out toxins. And knowing what is going on helps. I may be sad, but I can tell myself the cause, and that it won't last too long. And that I'll be ok.

Time for an epsom soak.

Damn, would my chiro be proud of me right now.

Six of Twelve

I went to a small American college for a year and a half in the late 90s and met some wonderful women. I keep in touch with 11 of them still.

And SIX of us twelve have depression, and have experienced at least one of the following:

Time off work
Antidepressants
Hospitalization
Prolonged dark times
Counseling
Other treatments

Seems so odd to me that so many of us have had it so bad, when only 10% of us will experience depression in our lives. Seriously, was there something in the water?

I'm eager to protect my friends, but I do want to point out that more than half of us six have been temporarily hospitalized. Such a whopping percentage. What is up?

Day 10

Day 10 of 18 of the husband's trip away.

It is one o'clock.

I am officially depressed.

Why now? I was doing so well.

fuct

8:54 AM:

So depressed/sad/angry/mad/confused/sad/hurty/bad I want to CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND NEVER COME OUT, EVER. Not even for FOOD. Or KITTIES. Or SEX.

Ok, maybe the kitties can cuddle me in the deep, dark hole.

9:59 AM:

I'm SO HAPPY! SO FUCKING HAPPY! My eyes even have a TWINKLE in them. I'm all TWINKLY!

CONCLUSION:

The body, it be fuct.

When I get down, I remember these words

In my life I've seen a thousand dreams
Through the threshers all torn to pieces
And the land lay bare
Someone turned a profit there
And a good son lost his life in a strip pit

When the sun went down we would all leave town
And light our fires in Egypt Bottom
And the reservoir was just as good for Joni
'Cause we knew we would
Dream outloud in the night air

**

Put your elbows on the table
I'll listen long as I am able
There's nowhere I'd rather be

Secret fears, the supernatural
Thank God for this new laughter
Thank God the joke's on me

We've seen the landfill rainbow
We've seen the junkyard of love
Baby it's no place for you and me

I was born to laugh
I learned to laugh through my tears
I was born to love
I'm gonna learn to love without fear

**

I thought that we'd be
Further along by now
I can't remember how
We stumbled to this place

I loved you like a long lost brother
On a bad day maybe I thought why bother
I've seldom seen so much anger
In a face

I wanna do better
I wanna try harder
I wanna believe
Down to the letter

Jesus and Mary
Can you carry us
Across this ocean
Into the arms of forgiveness?

**

Walking out in the freezing rain
I feel nothing 'cause I numbed the pain
I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back
On this day

Prayed last night
Dear God please no
But I was never good at letting go
I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back
On this day

Good news can be so unkind
When it's everything you have to
leave behind
I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back
On this day

In the taillights
So much hindsight
Telling me what I already know
I know

Another one for the books

The work thing? Hard right now. The looking for, the thinking about, the strategizing, the going to work -- all very hard.

So.Very. Hard.

Let's talk about drugs

Here at shiz.ca, I tend to not conceal my experiences with depression nor the fact that I am taking drugs for my condition. I take Celexa. Citalopram. I take it every day. I have been on it close to 5 years now. Five years of meds, the retail cost of which probably could cover the cost of a new Apple G5 computer. And here's to the medical insurance that covered most of that.

D & I spent the weekend dog- and house-sitting for friends, in a burb about an hour from us where D used to live when we were dating, and our friends loaned us a car to get around. So like a smart girl, I forgot my drugs at home and Friday night in bed I went, "Oh Shhhhhhhhhiiiiiit."

I decided I would drive home Saturday morning and get them; I'd be taking my anti-depressant late but not too late so I'd be just fine. So on the way I stopped at IKEA to get drinking glasses because we'd broken many--and hey, why not have them all match if we can?--and I went in, shopped, bought coffee, and took my shopping cart to the room-sized elevators down to the lower parking.

I left IKEA. And I went blank. Totally blank. I knew I had not parked far from the same exit doors I was walking out of; I'd intentionally gone in the back doors by the checkouts. I knew I wanted a silver KIA with a green decal on the window. And I was utterly and totally blank like I have never been before in my life. Was I to the left? Possibly. I didn't know. Was I to the right? Well, maybe, it didn't seem right but nothing seemed right. Was I straght ahead? Behind me? That didn't seem right. In fact, none of it seemed right. I looked. I walked in one direction, hoping to jog my memory. And I felt very lost. And I felt confused. And I thought, no it can't be this way, this doesn't feel right, so I walked the other way and the same thing happened and so on and so on and so on.

You know how sometimes you draw a blank but then, after a moment it comes to you? I waited and paced, but it still didn't come to me.

I was dumbfounded. And every time I hit the teeniest bump my coffee would sloosh out over my hand, face, cart, whatever (The coffee, it was posessed. I am certain). It really seemed like the memory of parking and walking into the store had been erased. There was nothing there.

And I was not finding the car. And I felt frustrated and sick and confused. But I also felt totally sane, coherent, sharp, even. But not. I would point the clicker in one direction and hit "unlock" and look to see if any cars responded with flashing lights. Then another direction. Nothing.

Then I tried to backtrack to the entrance I'd driven in. I remembered which enterance I'd taken to get into the lot, but now it didn't seem to be there any more. So I went to the next entrance, and by now I'm out of the parkade cover and it's misty out and I'm getting wet in the rain. And still I cannot remember. I can't remember anything. I was sure that wasn't the way I'd come in, so I backtracked again, and finally, finally found the entrance where I'd driven in. A few meters in I would have had to have turned left or right. Which way had I turned? Had I turned left there? Or right? Total. Blank.

This is now a 20 to 30 minute blank. I cannot find the car. And what's more, I cannot find any memory of anything between turning off the road and arriving upstairs in IKEA. That was the most troubling part of it all. I was fairly certain I hadn't parked very far from the exit doors which is what made it even more confusing, because I'd narrowed down their HUGE parking lot to what was basically a half-block radius and even THEN I could not find the car.

I wandered one way from the left/right turn I *may* have taken and saw nothing familiar, no silver KIA, turned another way and saw nothing, turned another way and - then - I thought I might be looking at it. So I clicked "unlock" and the headlights flashed. It was the car. I was parked directly in front of the IKEA exit, SIX. SPACES. from the entrance. THIRTY. MINUTES. after I began to look for it.

Hold me.

Seeing it did not jog my memory. It was a very odd experience. The experience could have been caused by any number of things like age or tiredness or a brief metal lapse but my gut says it was missing my meds that did it. Because I felt so odd. So weird. But totally normal, too. And about an hour after I took my pills that feeling went away.

When I first started taking Celexa I forgot to take them more frequently, and the result was either that I felt no different or I'd cry if my day went a certain way. I've never had such an odd reaction to my drug or to *not* taking my drug. And it's coming on 5 years now that I've been taking it. What is this drug doing to me that when I miss a single dose I become so weird? It was one of the most confounding experiences of my life.

So, I might look into ... other options. Other ... eventualities. Because jeez.

What a difference a year makes

A year ago I was very sick. D headed off to Haiti and I was holed up in our apartment with a jar of Runts, watching movies and waiting for my doctor to return from vacation. I put my brain on auto pilot, did everything my doctor's replacement advised, and ate candy. There also may have been chips.

I remember one time when I was in college and also very sick, I had a thought that I was going to be that way forever. It was followed by a second thought, which was, "That *has* to be a lie. I've always had some sort of periodic reprieve. It will happen again." And even though I still felt terrible, I became at peace and was able to sleep.

This is my message to any one who is suffering, and to myself if it happens again: It doesn't last forever. There is relief. I don't think of myself as healed or as an ecstaticly happy person, or even as a remarkably undepressed person. I just think of myself as doing all right, of being in love with my husband, and being able to laugh.

These things, they are enough.

The Zag

I am Happy! I feel great! Life is wonderful! The sun in shining! Everything is beautiful!

It does get better, see?

Now I will say "DAMNIT!"

Because HI! I'm SAD! AGAIN! WHAT A FANFREAKINGTASTICAL SURPRISE.

OH, SHUT UP. THE INTERNET IS TIRED OF YOU SAYING THAT YOU'RE SAD. EVERYONE GETS SAD.

Yeah, ok, but sad for no reason? Like, things are GOOD right now but still I'm sad sadness?

WHATEVER. YOU'RE PROBABLY FAKING IT FOR THE ATTENTION.

Oh hell no. I can get attention plenty of other ways. It's not like I'm all "Hey internet, have pity on me and stroke my ego. Tell me how pretty I am and that you're totally THERE for me." This is where I write about what's going on. And the sadness? Is what's going on.

And fuuuuck, I hate it.

Anyhow, other than this morning, I've been doing SO! VERY! WELL! and happy and not having unexplained moods and feeling generally upbeat and ready to conquer the world and yada yada. I've volunteered with our local Shakespeare fest and Jazz fest. I'm into the fests.

Things are going well for the hubby and for us. He booked tickets to India for January so that he can shoot pics for his photography portfolio. He da man. And when he's gone? I get to fly somewhere, too. Like NYC. Or maybe Portland. Niiiice. AND, he and I will spend my birthday together! Which we only did once these past 4 years! And I was deathly ill! But he still got me YUMALICIOUS Chinese food! And rented Alex & Emma!

Now I'm off to eat lunch and possibly some sadness-reducing chocolate.

Thanks for listening, internet.

They should not call it "depression"

I really hate having to describe what I have as "depression", because the word as we know it conjures up notions about what the illness is - mainly a depressed feeling - when the disease encompases so much more than that.

Throughout my life I have had symptoms of depression that largely excluded sadness or depressed moods. Depression can sound so much like, "I have "I'm sad today" syndrome", and honestly, so the heck what?

But it isn't merely "I'm sad today" syndrome. The word "depression" gets used for everyone, even people who have brief sad moods that are in no way a true depressive episode.

My most prevalent symptoms include foggy thoughts, endless (and draining) throught-cycles and difficulty making decisions. There may be more, but my mind is, uh, foggy.

I like the name Hemmingway Syndrome. Or Multi-Faceted Mood and Brain Imbalance (MFMBI). Or Neurological Chemical Imbalance (NCI). Or Faceted Undermining Chemical Kicker Erstwhile Disease (FUCKED).

Sometimes depression is listed as a "mood disorder" or mental illness. Mental illness sounds all looney-bin, and mood disorder sounds like you're happy when someone hits you on the head and sad when you win the lottery. We need a better name.

I like Fucked In the Head Syndrome (FIHS). Or "Dear God, What the Hell is Wrong with Me" syndrome (DGWHWMS). Or maybe we should just FINALLY getting around to immortalizing me forever and call it Shiz Disease.

You have to admit it, saying, "I'm sorry boss, but I can't make it in today because my Shiz Disease is acting up" sure sounds better (and more accurate) than "I can't come to work because I'm depressed."

So from now on, I guess I'll be using "mood disorder" or possibly "brain disorder" (sorry, cognitive therapists) depending on the context, but there really has GOT to be a more accurate way to say it. Sometimes I think FIHS says it all.

Is something wrong?

Yes. Do I talk about it on the internet? No.

Let's just say it's like someone's been hitting rewind/repeat with some of my older blog entries. History repeats itself.

I'm ok. Just frustrated. And kind of dead inside.

So Long, So Wrong

So my husband, my best friend? He is in Africa.

Africa? I mean, really, who actullay GOES to Africa?

David went to Africa. For THREE WEEKS.

See, he's all "Brilliant Photographer" guy, and "Sensitive Humanitarian" guy and PUH-LEASE, of course it means he's going to try to HELP people, which gosh already, isn't trickle-down economics enough?

Sorry about that. I just beat that girl senseless with a stick.

I'm so proud of him. He's trekking around Ethiopia with a photographer and a chef, a guide and a LandRover, looking for stories and recipes and culture and history and photographs to make a cookbook that will give money back to these people. They aren't making ANY money from this. ANY. They don't want it.

So it's day 10 of 19 (YAY HALFWAY MARK!) and I was doing pretty great (even spending my 30th birthday alone, sans husbandido) until, say, yesterday. I'm running his business, our household, and working full-time all at once, all by myself. And it's ok. I figured out where the missing ebay-in-transit-shoulda-been-here-Christmas-Eve camera lens is, have kept his clients happy and even wrote and mailed cheques for earlier-than-expected business expenses. Because I rock! I can SO run this business.

But yesterday, oh yesterday the OVERWHELMING began. I had to do this and this and this and then some of this and some of this and when was I going to get it all done and gosh-dang-it, I MISS MY HUSBAND ALREADY.

I miss his presence and his demeanor, his smell and his style. I miss waking up to find he's had a diabetic snack mid-night and done it all without waking me. I miss him reading in bed. I miss kissing him on the top of his head while he edits photographs. I miss having tea together, talking about our dreams together. I miss his ability to take care of things, to have it all under control. I miss his smile. I miss finding his glasses in the bathroom when he's gone off to do a show. I miss watching the cats talk with him and for him to talk back. I miss his hugs. I miss him warming up half of the bed, even if he won't let me put my cold feet on him. I miss being able to share things with him, like our friend who was hospitalized by putting her back out, the other friends who had a baby, the ones who got engaged and the ones who just found a great new home. I miss his voice. I miss his kindness. I miss him.

I miss him.

I wept. I wrote Mary a long freak-out email and iChatted with Dawn and she talked about cheesecake and make me laugh and cheered me up all round. That is, until the baby needed her.

Selfish baby.

And this morning? I woke up sick. Sore throat, big turquoise bumps all over, exhausted, and generally felt like I'd been hit by a truck.

I slept until 3:00. I did a few afternoon errands and decided to do one last errand because my husband's company mouse went wee mouse toes up, if you know what I mean, but it was raining horribly, so I decided to drive the one mile to the geek store.

The car felt funny to drive. It felt like the parking brake was on, but the parking brake wasn't on, it felt like, OH NO, NO, NOT THAT! It felt like I was driving on a wheel rim.

I got out in the rain with my emergency lights flashing, about 30 feet from where I started. Slashed. Two tires, both on the drivers' side. They could not deflate any more. I found a parking spot right there and looked again. Totally slashed. And we're giving up the car in 2 months when the lease is up. I hope to God I can find a steal on used tires. And towing and labour.

So there you have it. It's FUN to be the head of the household. FUN! Fan freaking fun tastic!

Also, why is there never any vodka when you need some?

COUNTDOWN TO THE RETURN: 9 DAYS. HURRY UP ALREADY.

D

You have been amazing this year.

You were there when I was sick. You walked with me in the dark. Your support and encouragement were constant.

You've become more in love with mankind. You have fallen heart-over-heels for hurting, needy, wonderful people, and your tenderness and care for them is evident as well as contagious. You cared beforehand, but now that your passion has been fanned, you're a bonfire of warm, caring love, and I think it's beautiful.

Now we face bankruptcy, and I don't think I could imagine anybody being more mature about their circumstances than you. It might have been easier to ignore our circumstances, but you've faced them with grace. Thank you for your maturity and humility.

You are my hero. I love you. I stop and look twice at you because I'm amazed at the man you are, and at my most excellent blessedness in ending up with you. You are the best.

What is this?

Just read (where else?) on the internet:

"You have to remember that suicide is 100%, prime time and in every way an act of total and complete selfishness on the victim's part, not yours! It's usually used by the victim to manipulate us and to instill guilt within us for the rest of our lives."

Funny one would say "victim" then.

Good thing it's so easy to figure out why people commit suicide. Because it's really simple like that. Because of course it's all about trying to make you feel guilty. That's the reason. That's why people take their lives.

Also? Holy over-adjectives, Batman. It reads like it's written by a youth pastor on speed.

It's been five weeks since you've looked at me.

Five weeks ago I was very close to needing to enter a hospital for suicidal depression. I'd been spiraling downward for some time, slowly at first, from December to February, medium-speed from March to April, and full freaking speed from May to September. And that's full freaking speed, mind you, not just plain ol' full speed. As in, faster than a speeding locomotive. That kind of speed.

When depression progresses the very worst thing is the pain. Pain, pain, emotional pain. It comes to the forefront and stays. It invites himself into your house and begins eating Cheetos on your couch. He sits on your chest until the emotional pain is permanently tied to a painful feeling in your chest. Pain.

And when the pain gets that bad, and one is exhausted, and one's defenses are down, it's only natural to think of every option out there. And one of those, obviously, is death. I think the pain-monster has him on speed dial. It's just so OBVIOUS: I bet I wouldn't feel like this if I were DEAD.

In 2001 I told my first counselor why I hadn't seriously considered killing myself. I said that, well, knowing myself, I'd do something to take my life, and then in the interim I'd freak out and panic, wishing I could take it back but knowing I couldn't, and that WOULD BE THE WORST FEELING IT CAN EVER BE POSSIBLE TO FEEL ON EARTH. And honestly, I don't want to feel that, even if the dying part came afterwards and WAS a relief.

Also, I said, and I had her in stitches with this, that there's no guarantee that dying would, you know, end it. End the pain. There could be Something Worse out there on the other side, something like hell and damnation or God-only-knows what, and wouldn't it SUCK to commit suicide just TO HAVE IT ALL END and find out that, OH MY GOD, IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY END. And God forbid it actually GETS WORSE.

Five weeks ago was also the first time I went to see S, my chiropractor. I told her all about my depression, my history, my circumstances, and my medical treatments. She said she felt that she could probably help me. She said that an improperly aligned spine impedes the nervous system, and then our whole bodies can suffer. On my second visit I told her I was afraid that I would soon be suicidal, because the pain was becoming unbearable. It was crushing me. It was making everything very, very hard. I still believe that I was not technically suicidal, but I did think that I was getting dangerously close to it. Dangerously close.

At that appointment S told me that we needed to book me with J, a doctor of TCM - Traditional Chinese Madicine - and acupuncture. At that point I would do anything, and something about S had me trusting her, so I went.

Since then, five weeks ago, I've been seeing S two times a week for adjustments and check-ins, and J as often as necessary - unsually once every 10 days. She's had me on 4 different herbal formulas, one that smelled and tasted like an old lady's musty attic, the second tasted strongly of bitter celery root mixed with anise, and I haaaate both dried celery and anise. So yum! But if it's making me better, it's making me better. I also have acupuncture on my visits. It never hurts, and I've come close to falling asleep in there. Mmmmm.

Okay, twice a needle has hurt, but either the pain went away or J removed the needle.

Between the concoctions, the acupuncture, the adjustments and the counsel I receive from both doctors I have seen a dramatic improvement - and so have they. I'm happier and have more energy, I have much fewer and shorter lows, I stutter a bit less, and have a calmer demeanor and tone of voice. I'm anxious less often, I'm less ticklish, I have much fewer headaches, my voice often sounds chipper instead of flat, I've been able to be happy in unpleasant surroundings, have stood up for myself, and have seen an improvement in what was my horrible sleeping patterns. I'm eating better and I have more hope, vitality, and spunk. I laugh more often and my thoughts are clearer. In summary, things are very different. The only other change I made during that time was to see a psychiatrist, and he's STILL taking a detailed history. I've relocated my former counselor, whom I LOVE, and have had one meeting with her also.

Things are still imperfect and I am being careful. I have a long road of recovery ahead which may mean eventually getting off my meds under the care of 4-ish of my doctors, my GP and psychiatrist included, and that will be slow and may not happen for a while. But things are looking up. Very, very up.

Also? Honestly? Go see your chiropractor.

ONE BILLION INTERVIEWS ATTENDED

It is official. I have been on one billion interviews.

Today was another, and I like the sound and feel of the place. And they're only considering one other person. I'll have a 2nd interview soon.

My moods have been good. Mostly good. And occasionally great. I love the occasonal great mood. It's like the occasional great brie, or the occasional fantastic four. It's just that good.

So one of my alternative doctors is a chiropractor, and she knows a whole mess of stuff that most typical doctors don't seem to know. And she asks me weird questions, like what had actually been going on when I had a low that seemed to come out of nowhere. Sometimes, I'm learning, it isn't out of nowhere. For instance, this week I learned that stress hormones can make me feel all episodic and nasty and crazy, so a seemingly unrelated stressor can make me feel terrible. And I also learned that - and don't play "scientist" with me, internet - one doesn't have to be a diabetic or hypoglycemic to have blood sugar problems. And that may be a big factor in my sickness, so I'm trying to eat every 2-3 hours and to eat protiens and good fats every time, and some whole grains, too, when I can. My last low mood came when I hadn't eaten for hours and all I'd had then was simple carbohydrates - noodles, to be exact. It lifted after I ate but I never made the connection.

Stay tuned, dear internet. I'm leaving you briefly for the warmth of my car and to sleep in the back seat. For 40 minutes.

Sayings & thinkings.

From the past few weeks:

GP: What you're doing is dangerous.

Husband: They haven't done shit for you.

GP: You could die.

akodtomsftsot: It would be better if your GP had the facts.

GP: I was an organic chemist.

Shiz: You people are killing me.

Psychiatrist: What was it about this incident that upset you?

GP: Your akodtomsftsot shouldn't do that. You could have a stroke.

Shiz: They didn't tell me what was going on.

GP: People have had strokes.

Supervisor: You're breaking the rules.

Psychologist: I'm sorry to hear you've been so sick.

Shiz: They surprised me. They didn't consult me at all. I was just a child.

akodtomsftsot II: How's that? Does that hurt?

GP: Do you understand what I'm saying? Do you understand why I'm saying this?

Shiz: I know I'm breaking the rules, but I have to to take care of myself because no one here is taking care of me.

GP: What your akodtomsftsots are doing is comparable to me giving you loads of narcotics.

Shiz's Brain: They're going to take away everything that keeps you sane.

Shiz: I need to take time off for 3 more appointments. Is that ok? Please don't yell at me.

Husband: You're going to be all right.

akodtomsftsot: How's that?

Shiz: Wow. That is so cool.

akodtomsftsot: I know!

akodtomsftsot: We're going to get you better.

Psychiatrist: These methods are popular now, but they're not new, they've been around for thousands of years.

Friend: I am praying for your healing.

Another Friend: I think that you'll find what you are needing.

Shiz: Sometimes you have to turn the copier off ...

Yet Another Friend: When you are in the hospital, it's actually a lot like summer camp. You have art therapy, gym therapy, work puzzles and hang out in your sweats.

Shiz Brain: You are going to get sick again.

Co-Worker: I'm so worried, I know the doctor is going to up my meds.

Friend: You meet with your doctor at least daily, and eat really bad food.

Supervisor: I thought someone fixed the heat in your office.

Shiz: No. No one has fixed the heat in my office.

Friend: You also meet really cool people who try to pick invisible tape off your shoes, ask you to marry them, and believe you are their grandson.

Shiz: Move-it, asshole. I have to get home to cry to my husband.

Recruiter: So tell me about what you do in your current job?

Shiz's Brain: Hospital. That is your future, going to the hospital.

akodtomsftsot: Isn't it cool? It's working, isn't it?

Shiz: These people can help me.

akodtomsftsot: This is the kind of progress we wanted to see. You're already so much better.

Psychiatrist: I'll see you next week.

Friend: Speaking of Dark Night of the Soul, have you read the book?

James Joyce: The senate and the Roman people declared that Dedalus had been wrongly punished.

Mary: I'm praying peace for you.

Mrs. GoodLove: Hooray for these wonderful past five days!

The Internet: Get better. Anyone who doesn't love you is an ass.

Shiz's Brain: Don't forget to call Xerox. And the local computer store. And the paper company. And, and, and.

Co-Worker: Do you have a stapler?

Other Co-Worker: My allergies are killing me.

Fernando Ortega: I need Thee ev'ry hour, most precious Lord.

Shiz: I can't believe I feel GREAT. At WORK. Hey internet, I feel GREAT, even though I'M AT WORK.

Responsibilities: It's time for us to multiply. Or to seem like it.

Recruiter: How's 1:30 on Monday?

Doctor's Office: How's 9 am on Tuesday?

Other Doctor: How about 2:00 on Monday AND Wednesday?

Other Doctor: I have some time on the 5th.

Shiz: Do you know the specs on this modem?

Husband: Why don't we go somewhere nice for dinner?

Shiz Nighttime Brain: Nightmares! Nightmares! Nightmares!

GP: You could DIE. You could DIE.

Shiz: I get it, already.

GP: Listen to me. Do what I say.

Shiz: But this is working.

Shiz: And maybe you're wrong.

Shiz: And I could die anywhere. I could die driving.

Shiz: Or walking across the street.

Shiz: Or choking on a bite of half-chewed sandwich.

Shiz: And this is working.

Shiz: And God help me.

Shiz: And stop scaring me.

Shiz: And stop with the nightmares.

Shiz: And stop with the scariness.

Shiz: And stop with the never getting a break.

Shiz: And kiss my ass, world.

Shiz: Because I am going to make it.

Shiz: Someday.

Shiz: I hope.

Shiz: I swear.

Party pooper

So, um, yeah, the GP? He takes exception to my new treatments. There's a lot that could be said for either side, but let's just say I was upset tonight when I heard his opinions. Bawling and bawling upset, because what I heard, which in fact was not said, was, "You are never going to get better. You are not allowed to get better, and whatever has been working is going to be taken away from you. You are going to be sick forever."

The GP didn't say that. He's a nice man and he is looking out for me. So we're getting some answers and then togther, David and I will decide what we are going to do.

How to get better

As mentioned Tuesday, I have had some great days lately, and this is a huge miracle. Even my sad day on Tuesday was not that bad, and it was short, the sadness. I am at the beginning of my ELEVENTH day of non-despondency in a row and let me tell you, people, THAT. JUST. DOES. NOT. HAPPEN. TO. ME. Many, many of those days have been great days, too, as in days during which I feel GREAT even though nothing in my external life is different.

It may be too early to sing the praises of some of my new treatments, but SOMETHING IS GOING ON. SOMETHING VERY GOOOOOD IS GOING ON. And you all are here to witness it.

I began seeing an atypical kind of doctor that one might see for this sort of thing (akodtomsftsot), and shortly after began seeing another atypical kind of doctor that one might see for this sort of thing (akodtomsftsot II). They work in tandem out of the same offices. I think what they are doing is helping. Both practices are not considered entirely weird anymore, but these are not the sort of practitioners that one might typically consider going to at the onset of a bout of mental illness. They are the kind of practitioners that many people wonder and/or debate about, and few people really know what they do. Their practices are questioned - even hotly disputed - by some in modern medicine. But some general practitioners are ok with these practices. It's kind of a mixed bag.

I don't think I'll reveal my chosen medical route to you on the internet just yet. Watch and see how I progress. Then I'll tell you. If you're good.

PS - I am very very very happy and glad and cheerful today. AT WORK, EVEN! I AM HAPPY AT WORK. I think this is the parting of my Red Sea.

Day 5

Ok, small miracle: I have not felt bad for 5 days now. Nice to have reprieve.

David's mother and step-dad are in town and we're having a great time with them. Tonight we go to see the racoons in Stanley Park. CUTE!

The clouds are round about you, shadows veil your eyes

I'm not going to detail my current state. I'm feeling -- oh -- a 6 out of 10. But it's rocky. My foundation is a 2/10, I'd say.

The job rejection seemed particularly personal. I won't get into it. It was the icing on a particularly high layer cake. My week had been FULL of difficulties and energy-taxing situations.

My two new specialists seem great. It's hard to hope now, after a year of not getting any results, but there are inklings of ... who knows, something.

I can't think about myself much. I still need to stay distracted, because overall, things still, um, suck.

So, how about those Lakers?

The things that have been, the things that have transpired, and the way things have been than have been and/or have transpired.

Hello, people. People of the internet. Faithful four readers. (Thank you, faithful four! My life has meaning!)

It's been some time since my last big update. Here's the stuff you've been DYING to know:

1. I went on VACATION to KANSAS CITY. Paradox, I know. But hey, I used to live there. I got to visit with a LOT of great-great-great friends, including Mary, who, although a friend before blogging, blogging has made us better friends. We have decided that we are twins, having oh-so similar likes and dislikes, experiences and ideas. We are like, the SAME person, only different. Because I'd get bored hanging out with me.

2. On vacation, I also was able to introduce my husband to many of my friends. One couple, Lloyd and Brenda, who I consider to be like family, has had a large role in my life, being sort of mentor-teachers and spiritual guides. I love Lloyd and Brenda SO much, and when we parted Lloyd hugged me and said, of David, "You did good." Then with a twinkle in his eye, "So did he." It was like the father's blessing I'd never gotten. My dad certainly likes David, but he never talks like that. It was a very special moment and it filled me with pride and happy contentment.

3. I returned to work. The first two days were all right, then I had more problems. Nothing new, just lethargy and lack of motivation and NOT WANTING TO BE THERE. And I've been having a LOT of trouble sleeping. All of that combined led me to ...

4. More forking depression. And this time, I felt a LOT of pain. Pain over HOW LONG this has gone on. Pain over feeling like God has abandoned me here. Pain over feeling lonely in the midst of all this. Pain over feeling like I'd done something wrong. Pain over feeling trapped in a job that makes this so much worse. Pain, pain, pain, pain pain. And I read excerpts of a 1980 book, "Have Yu Felt Like Givng Up Lately?" (DUH) by a man named David Wilkerson. It's all right.

The thing about crying is, that once the mucous membranes swell up enough, one HAS to stop crying in order to breathe. So I stopped crying and began to feel better. But it's still kind of tenuous. Sometimes.

5. I've been applying for work again. YAY! This time, I am not after the "perfect" job. I am after ANY job that is not here, and I am not lying. Once I am elsewhere I'll have the strength and enegy to look for the "perfect" job if I want to. I might talk to temp agencies and just quit here and begin temping, assuming I can find sufficient work. I'll have to ask. I worked as a temp in KC for 4 years, and was never without work as long as I had transportation. I call some of the people who have contected me about work IN LESS THAN ONE DAY today at noon. We'll see how soon I can flee. A month, including the 2 weeks' notice? I can only hope. THERE's a light at the end of the tunnel.

6. David and I saw Childstar. What? you've never heard of it? I'm not surprised; it's Canadian. But it's good. Director/Writer/Star Don McKellar has a handle on the script and the story and it's quite an accomplishment.

7. Remember that guy who was canned here and I thought that he'd had depression? And I thought they'd they'd been unprofessional about it? (Sorry, too lazy to link right now.) Well, SOMEONE came out and told me, in "confidence" that he had been "sick". And I'm thinking "confidence"? Is this what you mean when you tell me that MY information will be kept in confidence? That you'll tell whoever you feel like and make it sound like a secret? I'm more convinced than ever that the poor man had depression, and although I don't know the whole situation, I do know that no one misses as much work as he did unless there is something wrong. But the company-apponted doctor said he should be able to work, so they fired him when he couldn't do his job and/or took more time off. I wonder what the good company-appointed doctor would say about me.

I think that's it for this installment, peeps. I need to get on with my day and get to the myriad of potential employers and find me that golden ticket, the one-way ticket OUT OF HERE.

Wheeee!

Catch 22

I just read online about a friend who has started a new job after getting out of a very bad one, and I felt so happy for her and so very disheartened at the same time.

I'm still trying to get better, and I find it very difficult to put energy into anything else while I am working. I haven't slept well this week, and I'm exhausted all the time and I feel myself slipping in my moods and feel symptoms returning. I might be too sick to look for work WHILE I am working. Herein the catch 22:

Go from well to unwell mostly because of sucky employer.

Begin to get very sick, have to take time off.

On sick leave, be too sick to look for work.

When improving, return to work, to a job that sucks the life right out of you AGAIN.

Start to get sicker; be too sick to really look for work.

And then what, take time off again? I think I need a strategy. I need to SLEEP, to take 3-day weekends with my available vacation days, and pare down everything so that I can concentrate on getting out of a very sick environment.

I had been meaning to write and tell everyone how MUCH BETTER I was feeling, but then I came back to THE EMOTIONAL BEIRUT OF MY SOUL.

Working, again

I'm back now after my vacation and going to work in an hour, a place I haven't been in a month, a place filled with strife and rifts and honestly I'd rather be in war-torn Haiti where UN soldiers have big guns and protect the innocent from the ravaging wolves.

Otherwise, my health is going very well, but a return to the ghetto of my work life threatens that balance. I plan to get out on walks and breaks and look at today with a combination of a positive attitude mixed with a "so what? it doesn't have to affect me; it's their problem, not mine" attitude about the behaviour of the not-so-great co-workers.

I'll update more as the day and week continues. Think of me.