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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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.

My mom is such a bitch!

I called tonight, thinking i’d be kind and check in. There’s literally nothing that I can say that won’t end up going wrong. So for example, I said that I was going to make some kraft dinner with salmon tonight for dinner. My mom responded by saying “that’s not very healthy! I only eat Kraft dinner once a year!”

OK so I said that I had found a great hotel for a trip I have coming up, and that it was literally two blocks to the train station, which would take me straight to the airport and I wouldn’t have to worry about a cab or a shuttle. My mom responded, “is it safe to walk around? The last time we were in a big city they told us we shouldn’t be downtown after five.” So I answered “Yes, thanks, tips” and she asked if I would rather she didn’t care. The choice isn’t between either you’re the most negative person on the planet, or you don’t care at all!

She’s just a fucking wet blanket, can suck the joy out of any news, can see the cloud in any silver lining, and I hate it.

Not that my dad is any better. I mentioned to him while trying to make conversation that I found a couple of great suitcases on Kijiji. One of them is a hard sided Hays carryon, and the other is a brand-name super rugged check in size. I paid $130 for them both, and they would’ve cost about $700 to buy new. My dad, who wasn’t really paying attention because he was on the Internet at the same time as being on the phone with me, moderate about how they had lots of suitcases and they could’ve given or loaned me one. The problem is that their suitcases are literally the cheapest suitcase you can buy. Like just a thin little nylon box with a cheapo zipper, and pardon me if I want to be able to buy souvenirs or presence and not have them get crushed by the airline on the way back.

I felt kind of sad about that afterwards actually, but my dad just thinks about what the cheapest thing is. That he can’t actually appreciate quality or enjoy it because he’s too busy buying the crappiest thing he can get his hands on.

Anyway, it put me in a bit of a bad mood and made me regret that I tried to connect with him in the first fucking place.

I hate losing/misplacing things.

I’ve lost my wallet. I’m fairly certain it’s not lost lost in the permanent sense, that it’s in my house somewhere, but hell if I know where it is. I stopped at the grocery on the way home from work on Friday. The stuff from the store made it in the house, my bag made it in the house, I must’ve taken my wallet out and now I’m superstressed cause I don’t know where it is. Fuck! I was going to go and get a passport photo taken before I realized it was gone, so I’m wearing a shit load of make up and even eyebrow pencil and now I’m doing things like looking in the fucking deep-freeze and sweating like a bitch. Double fuck!

Sick of begging for drugs.

I just placed an online order for Accutane. From some online international pharmacy that might be a scam, so fingers crossed. I don’t even know if you can do a chargeback with a credit card if the package never arrives or something. I did Accutane before, about 15 years ago, and it was fucking fantastic. My lips were really dry, but I have plenty of Chapstick, and my skin was good for a long time. Now I’m getting bumpy under the skin pimples along my jaw line, which is for sure hormonal acne. My doctor gave me oral antibiotics, then he gave me some cream, and it hasn’t really made a difference.

I know Accutane is a big production because of the possibility of birth defects, but I have an IUD, and haven’t gotten laid in literally years, so I’m not too worried about that. I’m pretty sure if I went to my doctor and asked for a referral to a dermatologist, he would make a fuss about it. I’m just tired for asking for things. Like when I went in with tennis elbow, I had had it for two weeks and it was getting to the point where it was painful all day. And I go to work with migraines all the time, so it’s not like I’m complaining about a little twinge. The doctor gave me some topical nsaid cream, which I refer to as bullshit cream, because if it could be solved by taking Aleve I wouldn’t have even bothered with the doctors appointment. So I had to wait a week and make another trip to get the steroid injection into my elbow, and that was what worked.

Then with the neurologist, he prescribes me literally six steroid pills for three months, and I certainly have to beg for opioids, and he tends to prescribe six packs of triptans with two or three refills, but 18 pills for three months doesn’t really work when I get 3 to 4 migraines week during the summer. I hate the pressure of trying to decide whether I should save my pills or whether it’s bad enough that I get to take one now, it just sucks. And I know everybody wants to start out with conservative treatment, but I’m tired of fucking around. I’d like to get just one problem actually taken care of for once.

So, hopefully the pills actually arrive; I did order brand name instead of generic. When they do, I’m going to tell my psychiatrist the truth, that I ordered Accutane off the Internet, and if he wants to order blood work to monitor my liver that’s fine, but I’m going to take them regardless. I mean I’m fucking depressed and getting migraines all the time, I don’t want to be a pizza face too. I don’t care if the doctor doesn’t think it looks that bad when I go in there after work with a face full of primer, foundation, concealer, powder, and setting spray. It’s not his face.

I ordered a low dose because then I have the option of cutting back if I get bad side effects. I only ordered about a months worth to start with anyway.

A new day.

I think the ketamine lasts for about 10 or 11 days, because by the Friday before I feel like I’m dragging my ass and yesterday I remember thinking “it’s only Tuesday, how am i going to manage to get dressed and out the door and to work three more times this week?”

Today felt better. I’m kind of acutely aware of my loneliness, because we are having a wedding shower for a coworker this week and I’m practically the only single person on the floor. I left work a little early and did a shit ton of stuff but it kind of feels like I didn’t get that much accomplished.

The problem with my house is that it is overwhelming. My first move I had detailed lists of what was in every box, because that’s how I like to roll, and then in the depressed, escape-the-mice, and my-husband-left-me moves I’ve done a shit job of throwing stuff together at the last minute. Then it is a horror on the other end because I’ll need something and have to root through a bunch of miscellaneous boxes to get to it. The stuff that is “messy” in my house is stuff that doesn’t have a place because it’s never been really put away, and I never have time to unpack it because I’m running to stay in place with migraines and work.

I had to leave work early today because the barometric pressure was plummeting. Maybe I will get a chance to catch up a bit on the long weekend…

The one that got away.

There was a summer grad student at my work – cute, smart, funny. I hoped he would ask me out – I mean people do that, right? Say “Hey, maybe we could get a drink sometime” or “We should keep in touch!” Instead he was like “Bye!” And off he went. The first eligible man I’ve been in the same room with for months, and nothing came of it. I was so disappointed, I cried to my coworker, who suggested all the right things – focus on myself, try dating sites, try Meetups, try not to worry, it’ll work out someday – and I just kept on crying. I don’t think partnered people can grasp just how lonely it is to be unwillingly unpartnered.

No one to ask you how your day was.
No one to help you unload the car.
No one to snuggle and watch movies with.
No one to hold hands with.
No one to help eat the leftovers.
No one to talk things through, even little things like whether you should try a new cereal or not.
No one to cheer you on when you really try hard.
No one to take you to the emergency room.

The Nothing.

Does anyone else remember the movie “the never-ending story”? I remember the threat of the nothingness coming into the kingdom, and the nothingness is what depression feels like.

I don’t want to do anything, or feel anything. It’s way too early to go to bed, but late enough that I don’t want to start some project either. I don’t even feel like watching TV. Just apathetic. Maybe I have a migraine coming. The weather report doesn’t say that there’s anything on the way, but it’s been wrong before…

Time would be a present.

It’s only Monday and I already feel like I’m losing it. I worked Saturday to make up time, had a horrific migraine yesterday and went to Costco anyway because I had no food in the house, so I was a sweaty mess by the time I got the stuff back home, was a stress case today at work – one guy I’m with a project on wrote to ask when I would get such and such done, and I said I hadn’t looked at it yet, I was working on X because I was told X was top priority.

So he asks are there many changes for Project Y? I don’t know, I am working on project X. Well, how long will it take me? A LOT LESS TIME if you stop emailing me and let me work, how about that?

So I watched one episode of my current TV series while I ate, did a load of dishes and a load of laundry and now I have to fall asleep right now… if I want 8 hours of sleep. I hate feeling all raggedy-edged about shit, like I’m fragile and bitchy at the same time. I’ve been taking some pot truffle every night – I seem to be building up a tolerance so I can enjoy a tiny bit without getting antsy and anxious, but I suspect that Ativan is going to be this week’s primary sponsor!