There is (often) help.

The more depressed I become, the more I blog. The more I blog, the more readers I get. And though I am basically a selfish sad-sack, I feel I should have some Public Service Announcement, so here we go:

Most depression is treatable! And not with hardcore treatment like ECT, either – I mean physical movement (I hate the word exercise as much as I hate doing exercise), counselling/therapy, and/or medication.

My case is an unfortunate exception, where I’ve got a strong family history, a seasonal component, and a history of abuse and trauma, among other things, followed by years of trying to find ways of trying to get on top of depression once and for all. I would really plead with you, if you feel you are depressed, to give yourself an honest and necessary chance to have it properly treated. Resources will depend on where you live, but some Googling or a chat with your family doc might be a good place to start.

To Write Love On Her Arms (www.twloha.com) is my favourite website about depression and some of the blog posts are truly beautiful. So please, if depression is new to you, don’t let it end your story without reaching out for help.

thanks for reading this.

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So I guess today is going to be a migraine day.

I woke up feeling tired and pushed my way through three loads of laundry and a load of dishes.  I had a Coke, and some coffee, and my Dexedrine, and I felt just exhausted. So I lay down for a rest with my blanket and the cat. Then I realize that it felt too good to lay on my left side. Like if I wasn’t lying on my left side, it would be hurting on my left side. Yep, got sneaking head pain approaching the left side.  And cold feet, check.  And now I don’t want to move because moving hurts. It’s only early evening   And I’m going to have to kill time somehow, because it hurts to look at light and it hurts to move and so I’m just going to be laying on my side waiting for the pain to stop, but it won’t stop not until I wake up tomorrow morning hopefully.

And this is why I don’t feel my quality of life is worth living.  The last headache I had was Wednesday. I missed half a day off work and went in at noon and tried to work all night and now here I am on Saturday, and tomorrow I’ll have a headache hangover but I’ll need to try and do productive things to get ready for the week.

I wonder what time that leaves me for fun? Well that’s a good question. It doesn’t leave me any fucking time for fun and my headache being unreliable means I can’t really join up for classes or anything that’s at a specific time without planning to have to miss a lot with little notice. People  have told me to go ahead and sign up anyway, that people will understand when they hear I have a chronic condition. That’s not even the entire problem. The problem is the agony it puts me into trying to decide if my head hurts this much now, how long can I last before I’ll be throwing up? Can I drive myself to the meeting? What if I stay home and my head doesn’t really hurt all that much?   What if I just power through it, but but I’m still sick tomorrow when I have to miss work? There’s no right answer, it’s just soul sucker of energy and it sucks to be in pain and it sucks to be in pain so often and I want to sleep… I think I could try and kill myself now if I had the means at hand, but I’m too sick to move.

What does it mean to be suicidal?

The vacation “didn’t last” the way I hoped it would, in that I don’t feel the same as I did when I was on vacation. I’m sure that’s normal, and it was helpful for me to at least realize that I could feel like myself and that I could have fun. But now I’m feeling crappy again and feeling confused about it.

I feel like I’m pretty clearly still depressed because I still cry on basically a daily basis, and if I’m talking to my psychiatrist about my emotions. It feels like getting out of bed and going to work and just dealing with daily life stuff is a really big job that requires a lot of courage, and that no one can see how hard it is for me.  I’m coming up on four years of singlehood, having had an abusive husband and then I boyfriend who broke his most important promises to me, and who mistreated me during sex. I’m not sure exactly  how to categorize that So I’ll just say that something non-consensual happened.

I know it sounds selfish to say that I want someone, and it’s true that I  want someone to care about me, to take care of me, but that’s not just it. I want someone to love too. I want someone with a deep voice who I can listen to while they’re talking, whose hair I can stroke, who I can make happy in bed.

A few ketamine treatments ago one of the nurses tried to explain to me that we are attracted to people with positive good energy, people who are enthusiastic about life, at Cetera. I get that, and when I have been out on first dates I’ve made every effort to be sociable and enthusiastic. I’ve let the guy do most of the talking, and given them an old if they wanted to cut the date short, saying “are you  OK for time? I know it’s a workday tomorrow, so if you have to get up early…” And without exception they said they were OK and talked to me for another hour, but then didn’t want a second date.

I could guess what’s wrong with me and what they don’t like. I could be too fat, too smart, not stylish enough or pretty enough, or whatever.  That’s a useless game to play. There are plenty of women out there who are less attractive than I am who nonetheless have partners. And I can’t change myself into something that I’m not and expect to have a successful relationship.

So, I’m single. I can’t help that things that even nuns and prisoners have community and that the solitude I have is too much to bear. I always thought that if I were widowed I would be able to bear it, because I would have known that my husband loved me. As it is, he didn’t and he left me when I got depressed.

I don’t want to live like this. It hurts, it literally hurts to be alive. I literally have Hardik. I feel like there’s an 18 black hole in the centre of my chest and a lump in my throat and tears prickling behind my eyes. Every day. I can see going for days or weeks and maybe a few months. Not longer.

So I’ve made a plan. I had tried stopping my medication in May, and got some pretty serious withdrawal facts so gave up and started taking it again. Now I’m cutting back on the two antidepressants gradually. I feel like the medication has been keeping me  away from my desire to die artificially, and I want to meet it clearly face-to-face. My thought is that I can’t kill myself now, I’m just not in that headspace to overcome that and strength of self-preservation and carry through with the violence it would take to be successful. If my mood drops without the medication, then I’ll be able to.

So there in lies the contradiction of it all. I can’t commit suicide now, but am I suicidal because I’m making the plans  to allow my mood to decrease to where I really am suicidal and able to execute it?

Well-deserved vacation.

I took a vacation last week. I actually went somewhere and got a hotel room and did tourist things and everything. It was awesome. People at work are saying how much more rested I look, and I actually feel OK. Like, mood wise. Like I  can stand to live and plan fun things in the future, like taking more vacations.

I hope it lasts.

“Hope Floats” pisses me off.

I haven’t watched this one for years. I watched it tonight and I could’ve strangled Sandra Bullock, listening to her tell Harry Connick Junior ”Ah can’t dayte yewww” and “Ah can’t kiss yewwww.”  And then we’re supposed to believe that she found the magical powers of hope by the end? You don’t need magical powers of hope when a handsome piece of work like that is throwing himself at you from the first minute.  You need magical powers of hope when it’s been fucking years and there’s no one even taking an interest.

I was trying to sew on some fucking buttons tonight because I’ve got literally a box full of tops but I can’t wear because the bottom is falling off, and I lost a needle and a spool of thread.  I don’t know how the fuck I could do that. I was sitting fucking watching the movie on the couch, and sewing on buttons, and I must’ve knocked the spool off the coffee table or something. I can’t find it now, and I’m paranoid that the cat will step on the needle although I guess that’s not likely if I can’t see it. I am sure  it’s fucking depression concentration that’s at fault, that I went to get a glass of water and put the thread in the cupboard or something stupid, but now I’m too tired and sad to look for it. So I guess I’ll wait till tomorrow.

In other news, I started taking my illegal Accutane this week. I understand that they don’t want people to take it and get pregnant, but there something wrong with the system when I just find it easier to pay out of pocket on the Internet for them than to to jump through the official hoops. I found some North American sources which are tied to steroids distribution. I never would’ve thought, but maybe taking steroids for bodybuilding makes you break out.

 

 

Dragonheart is a fucking tearjerker!

I often listen to movie soundtracks at work and the final  theme to Dragonheart came on. So of course I had to like look up the final scene, which actually has a happy ending if you make it that far, but I didn’t. I just started crying at work, boo hoo hoo. I gave myself a nosebleed from crying so hard actually.

It’s basically a redemptive story…  good has to die so that  evil doesn’t triumph…  but I’m just too soft hearted for that shit apparently. I can tell myself that it’s just a movie, and a 20-year-old movie at that, And the dragons aren’t even real anyway, but I’m really crying because there is evil in the world and I know animals are suffering somewhere and I’m afraid to die alone. Couching it that way makes it seem like a much more reasonable response.

When I got home I decided to just pat the cat for as long as he wanted to be patted, which is forever apparently.  I feel like such a wuss for not having emotional control.

Migraine guilt.

I missed work yesterday because of a migraine. It was really really bad. I couldn’t move because I was sure that I would throw up, and I needed to move to get a needle to give myself so that I wouldn’t throw up. I didn’t even call in sick because I couldn’t move to reach the phone or my iPad.

Today I woke up with a migraine,  and went to work like a trooper and then came home and now I have the one sided throb and frozen feet.  So I’m in bed, even though it’s only mid evening, but I’m thinking about all that I could or should be doing.  It sucks.

Home for the weekend.

And as I’m wishing I could get out of it and worrying that I can’t fall asleep, I found this Captain Awesome blog:

I want to say that I know how hard it is to open your home and your heart to parents who seem to take pleasure in criticizing your adulthood.

I know what it’s like when you clean up to the best of your energy, groom yourself to the point of snapping a proud selfie, and cook with the finest things you can afford… and instead of appreciating these gestures of love and respect, your parents comment that you’ve ruined your hair, that they don’t like your weight, and they don’t see why you live in this dump. I know that this stings like a slapped face, and that for days afterward you’ll be probing this hurt, feeling around its edges like a bruise, unable to let it go.

This little world you’ve built for yourself is total crap!” is never going to be something you’re grateful to hear.

 

so. On. Point.

that is all. Wish me luck!

Beauty tips for the depressed.

Noblesse oblige…

1. Batiste dry shampoo can help on mornings where you should’ve taken a shower, and your hair is greasy but you can’t actually work up to taking a shower. Even if you have to use what seems like a lot. Don’t mess around with those loose powders; they’re not worth it.

2. Waterproof eyeliner and mascara. This probably goes without saying, but I bought a Tarte clay paint eyeliner and was loving the way it went on and perfecting my wings, until I had a teary moments and realized that even light dabbing with tissue was making me raccoon eyed.

3. Lip colour will make you look more put together than you actually are. Just slap some on in the elevator or something.

4. Use your depressed symptoms to your advantage! I’ve gone to work in interview suits, because I don’t feel well enough to do laundry and none of my regular clothes are clean, and everybody thinks that I am super up when really the opposite is true. Yes, it sounds like putting on a suit is a bunch of work, but when it’s clean and hanging in your closet you just pull on a skirt, pull on some boots, put on a top like usual and you’re good to go.

5. You might be poor like me, but don’t fucking stint on your beauty products when you’re depressed. I’ve got some dollar store purse packs of Kleenex, and they’re thin and rough and release a shit ton of fibres when you pull one out of the pocket. If I’m having a cry away from home, dealing with some shitty ass Kleenex is enough to make things way worse, because how do you feel about saving that dime now?

6. Try wearing natural fibers. I know I feel way better in linen or cotton then if I’m trapped in polyester or nylon.

7. Fluffy is the word when you’re at home. Fluffy bathrobe, fluffy slippers, jersey sheets, fuzzy blankets.