Speed Freak

I had my monthly appointment with Dr. K yesterday, and we discussed my resistance to the antidepressants I’ve tried. I’ve been on the maximum dosage of Effexor for a month now, 225 mg, and there has been no change. In fact, I’ve had the worst few weeks of my life this month. School is falling apart, and I’m really worrying everyone around me. She seemed concerned for maybe the first time since I’ve started seeing her, which was weird. Then she asked me about my concentration abilities, and I told her that it’s really hard for me to concentrate on anything at all. I can barely focus when my boyfriend talks to me about even trivial things, and homework is almost impossible. I can’t even sit down and read a book, which is one of my favorite things to do. I spend days lying in bed, watching TV, just zoning out, as if that’s all my brain is capable of.

After I struggled to describe everything I’ve been feeling, she told me she was going to try me on a stimulant, in addition to my Effexor. She wrote me a prescription for Concerta, which is just another brand name for Ritalin. The generic name of this drug is methylphenidate, and it’s a central nervous system stimulant used to treat ADHD. Now, I definitely don’t have ADHD, but Dr. K told me that one of the off-label uses of this drug is to treat treatment-resistant depression. The scariest thing about this new drug is the fact that it’s addictive and is a Schedule II controlled substance. That may not mean much to most people, but when you consider that other Schedule II controlled substances include methadone, oxycodone, methamphetamine, cocaine, laudanum, and PCP, and that methylphenidate is considered to be more dangerous and addictive than anabolic steroids, ketamine, benzodiazepines (like Xanax and Valium), and phenobarbital, it’s easy to become nervous when you’re just starting to take it. If I’m found to be under the influence of methylphenidate, and I can’t prove that I have a prescription, I could be sent to prison. I’m going to have to start keeping a copy of my prescription with me, just to avoid any…er…misunderstandings.

So, I’m now on day two of being on “speed” (as my boyfriend likes to call it, considering its freaky similarity to meth), but so far I don’t feel at all sped up. In fact, I’ve been utterly exhausted all day today and could easily have taken a 6-hour nap if I’d wanted to. I’m only on one pill in the morning, and my doctor said I could go up to four pills per day, so I’m going to give this low dose until the weekend to make a difference for me. Dr. K told me to watch out for unusual hostility, irritability, and/or hallucinations…yeah, apparently I should stop taking “speed” at that point. Go figure.

I’m seeing Dr. K again in another month, and I’m going to try to track down a good therapist in the meantime. Dr. K is great for medication management, but I really need to get into therapy. I’ve gotten so bad that my boyfriend suggested today that I maybe need to go into a hospital. I’m over a month behind on most of my school work, and I’m close to having to drop out again. If I do, I’ll have to wait a full academic year before I can re-enroll, and it could jeopardize my future ability to receive financial aid. I’d have to start paying back my existing school debt (all $30,000 of it) and try to get a job. All because no treatment has yet worked for me. It’s easy to get discouraged, and I am, but I’m trying really hard to remain hopeful. But since I only see a dark tunnel before me, without a light at the end, it’s starting to look pretty hopeless.

Hollowfied

“Just get over yourself already!” This is what I’m constantly telling myself. I get so irritated at my own pathetic whining. Depression is an illness that can easily make you hate yourself. Of course, this is only during those times when you’re sane enough to even think. I’m not saying that depressed people are insane (I certainly don’t consider myself to be insane), but when you’re at the bottom of the black pit, even the slightest rational thought is a tremendous effort. It’s easier to turn on the TV, turn off the lights, crawl under the covers, and let your mind just slide away. I recently went through a period like this. I almost never got out of bed, except to shower and eat. Otherwise, I was buried under the covers with my laptop, watching old episodes of Bleach, watching MSNBC, going on random online shopping sprees, sleeping, and making vain attempts to convince my boyfriend that everything’s fine. Duh…he lives with me, and seeing his girlfriend isolate herself in bed for days on end is a pretty clear indication that everything’s NOT fine.

Emerging from these episodes is frustrating. It usually comes with lots of crying and struggling to remain in the dark. My mind never wants to face the daylight after such a comfortable time in the dark. The rational part of me, that had been abandoned in favor of my comfy fantasy land, is pathetically meek at first, whispering things like, “You know, you are pretty far behind in your classes….maybe you should pick up a book?” I can silence that voice with a simple channel change.

But once I start to wake up again, the anger comes. That’s when I start yelling at myself for indulging in my illness. Depression is a shitty disease, and nothing to enjoy. To use it as an escape is selfish and irresponsible. But it’s so hard. This period of major depression, which is on top of my life-long chronic depression, has lasted well over a year now, and I’m so exhausted. My body is tired, my mind is tired, and my soul is tired. I feel like one of those Hollows in Bleach (yes, I’m a geek, just excuse the über-geek anime reference), complete with chest hole and mask. I’m forever trying to fill up the void inside me with new books, new clothes, and new obsessions, and wearing my mask in order to face the world. Maybe I should just defect to Hueco Mundo to join the rest of the Hollows and spend the rest of my life lamenting my own pain.

Christmas in August!

Probably the thing I love the most about starting a new semester is the lovely financial aid deposit I get on the first day. On Monday, I received over $6,000 in my account, and after paying bills and completing a hefty book order, I bought myself a lovely new camera from Newegg.com. Well, it arrived today…my gorgeous Canon Powershot SX10 IS. I took a few test shots outside as it was a nice, sunny day today, which I posted up on Natural Echoes. Below is a picture of my new baby.

Ah, bliss…..

Black Pit

Today has been a very bad day…and for no real reason. I got a good night’s sleep (except for the two nightmares I had), there’s nothing stressful going on, and my boyfriend is happy because all his new computer parts arrived today. But the only emotion I feel is an almost paralyzing sadness and hopelessness. This is one of the worst days I’ve had, and it worries me. School started on Monday, and although it looks like an easy semester, I really can’t afford to still be dealing with this. Maybe it’s because I haven’t reached my maximum dose of Effexor…I don’t know. I can’t blame it all on the medication. But today has been an excruciating struggle. It’s horrible having these thoughts and feeling so numb.

I can’t write anymore. Goodbye for now.

Stress Fracture

I’ve been having a couple of very fractured days. By “fractured”, I mean the kind of days when you can go from happy to sad within a few minutes, when nothing seems to be going right, when your emotional barometer is on the fritz. Just today, I’ve gone from feeling angry, to giggly and silly, to lonely and clingy, to numb and rather apathetic. I know that a lot of this has to do with the depression and the fact that I’m still adjusting to my new medication. This is week two of the titration schedule. In a little over two weeks, I will be completely transitioned to the Effexor and off the Zoloft.

I’ve also been in a lot of pain the last few weeks. It’s an old pain…a sharp, excruciating, almost burning pain on the left side of my neck and across the left shoulder and upper back. It prevents me from being able to sleep comfortably, turn my head, or even relax. Sometimes I can ignore it. Having chronic pain forces you to make adjustments. It becomes second nature to avoid certain movements or tasks. But often, it becomes a heavy burden. I can only be strong for so long…then I bow under the pressure, often dissolving into tears from the stress and the pain. But it’s a part of my daily life, and has been for years. I don’t know what it’s like to not have pain.

And the fun keeps on coming. I spoke to my dad on the phone today, and he asked me if BF and I were planning on coming up for dinner on Sunday when my aunt and uncle from California will be visiting. Before, my dad had said that it was up to us, but today he guilted me into coming. BF had said earlier that he didn’t want to go up, so it looks like I’ll be going alone to face the family. This is what my family does…anytime there’s any kind of family gathering, you’re considered to be selfish and uncaring if you just want to stay home. Yes, I know that I don’t see these relatives very often (the last time was three years ago), but it’s not like we’re very close. My parents will guilt me for skipping any family get together, even if it’s on some random night. Usually, it’s because my brother and his family are visiting my parents for a night, so my mom calls and wants to gather her entire brood under her roof. Well, just because my brother felt like visiting, doesn’t mean that I did!

*Sigh* I tried to do some beading earlier today, but the elastic I was using to make a glass bead bracelet just came apart, so I gave up. Stringing glass beads is incredibly soothing to me. Just hearing the soft little “clink” sound they make as they knock together just makes me feel at peace. It was frustrating and a little saddening to give up, but I just didn’t have the motivation to keep going. I dumped all the beads back into their tray and put everything away into my organizer. It’ll have to wait until I can actually put some energy into it.

This lack of motivation scares me a little, as the fall semester starts on Monday. My boyfriend and I are both excited to get our financial aid money Monday morning…it will mean a shopping spree for both of us. After a summer of horrid, forced frugality, it will be nice to be able to buy the few things we’ve been wanting for months. I’ve already picked out a new Nikon digital camera. The one I’ve been using is very old and doesn’t give me the shooting options I need. I’m also planning a shopping trip into the historic downtown area where I live for some used book and antique shopping. I’ve never made it down there in the whole year we’ve lived here, so this is something I’m really looking forward to. I’m also planning to get my first tattoo…a purple and black butterfly behind my left shoulder, a rather symbolic place for me, as it is the center of so much of my pain. To go along with this, I’m going to splurge on a professional massage, something I should be doing regularly anyway.

My mood at this moment is still very fractured. I feel depressed, hopeless, cynical, bemused, and just plain tired. This is my last weekend of pure vacation and it looks like I’ll be spending it in a pretty low place. There is a lot of pressure this semester to do well…if we don’t, we’ll lose financial aid and we won’t be accepted back into the university. We’re both on serious probation. I cannot let my depression get in the way of my academic success, and especially my boyfriend’s success. But I’m so tired of every day being such a battle.

Gearing Up

All the petitions and pleas are done. My boyfriend and I will be starting fall semester next Monday with full funding. Whew! The whole process took more than a month, and it was exhausting. Neither of us like to put our fates into the hands of anyone else, but at least it paid off this time. After last semester’s disaster, we will be able to finally redeem ourselves. Especially me…I know that major depressive episodes can hit you out of nowhere, but I feel guilty for flunking out the way I did. I gave up, simple as that. But still, looking back, there really wasn’t anything else for me to do.

When I’m in the throes of a major depressive episode, I feel like half a human. My mind functions at what seems like 50%, and all my emotions are heavily blunted. The only times I would feel closer to my normal self is when I would scream or cry. That was real.

I’m finishing up my first week on Effexor, and so far, things are going pretty well. I’m still having bad days, though, days where I feel unable to do anything that requires concentration, focus, or energy. Luckily, the semester ahead promises to be a bit more relaxed for me. Two of the classes I’m taking are ones I took last semester, but never finished. That means that more than half my work is already done, lightening my load considerably. I want to be able to have time to take photographs, do some beading, read, and rest. This summer has been a sort of convalescence for me…not by plan, since I had originally wanted to work, but in the end, it worked out pretty well. But I know that the healing process is ongoing and that I may be in store for some more bad days, or even worse days.

Same Story…

For the past two or three weeks, I have felt my depression creeping back into the forefront. I attributed some of this to the frightening aspect of starting school again soon. But I also feel that my medication isn’t working as well anymore. I’m at the maximum dosage of Zoloft, and my doctor and psychiatrist have been trying to find something different. My psychiatrist prescribed Wellbutrin about three weeks ago, but that caused horrible jitters and anxiety. It was honestly too much to handle. I was supposed to see her again next week, but I moved my appointment up to try to head this latest episode off before school starts. I saw her yesterday and after talking with me a while, she decided to have me try Effexor, which is a new antidepressant. Well, it’s not that new…my boyfriend tried it for anxiety about seven years ago and he had a horrible reaction to it. Well, I’m not him, so I went ahead and filled the prescription. Unfortunately, there is no generic for the extended-release version and my insurance company wouldn’t pay for it the way my doctor prescribed it (I have to increase slowly as I slowly decrease the Zoloft), so they gave me three different bottles of pills of different strengths…and the whole thing cost over $130! I ended up having to borrow money from my mom to cover the expense. It’s day 2 of the new medication, and so far so good!

One thing that I have noticed about depression is the effect it has on my ability to concentrate. My mind feels like it’s frozen half the time. When I decide to do something, whether it’s look through a book or even write a blog post, my mind stops halfway, like it’s too much effort. The thought of doing anything that requires focus and concentration makes me feel immediately exhausted. Even when I am able to settle into doing something, like I’m doing right now, I find myself babbling and my thoughts end up going in a hundred different directions. My psychiatrist is concerned that I could have bipolar disorder, which my mom has, so she gave me two mood questionnaires that I’m supposed to fill out on two separate days. I know that the consequences of not treating bipolar properly can be severe (worsening symptoms and hallucinations), so I’m hoping that I just have garden-variety depression. But whatever it is, I know I need to get control over it, or as much control as I can.

Getting to Know Me

I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to be satisfied with one’s life. I know that I am not satisfied, but is that the fault of myself, or of other people? Is it my parents’ fault for demanding so much of me? Am I imagining their demands, and therefore putting unnecessary pressure on myself (which is much more likely)? Or does my discontent come from somewhere inside me, my own lament at being too much of a coward to live the life I want? I have always bowed before other people’s demands, believing their opinion of me was more important than my opinion of myself. I’m starting to believe, though, that I have made other people into scapegoats, that the failure truly is my own.

I’d like to share a little about my parents. My parents have been married for 40 years. They encouraged each of us kids to pursue our own interests and to always do our best. (Their encouragement led my very talented brothers into pursuing their passion: music. Alas, I have yet to find my passion.) They helped us when we needed it, but let us make mistakes, also. A lot of people see my parents as strict, but considering the fact that I was only grounded for two weeks after getting arrested for shoplifting cigarettes in high school proves that they are really very softhearted. But my parents do demand that we take responsibility for our own lives. Yes, my dad is something of a micro-manager and an anxious control-freak (this definitely serves him well at work, but drives the rest of us crazy), but his anxiety and need to control comes from his love for his family. My mom is a laid-back, incredibly loving person whose big heart has expanded to include everyone she meets…there is hardly anyone she has ever met that she dislikes.

Of course, no one is perfect. I used to obsess over my parents’ anxiety about me and their advice and opinions ruled my life for many years. They put a lot of pressure on me to change the way I was living, and granted, I was in a very bad place for a long time. But still, all my ideas about my life have come from them. I never thought of any other direction for my life except for what they wished for. I believed that disappointing them would be a catastrophe, that they would never get over it. Now that I’m almost 30 years old, many of my demons have reared up, demanding that I deal with them. I am my own person, not an extension of my parents. I feel lost, like I’ve lost my anchor.

But by losing my anchor maybe I can find myself. Who am I? Until now, I’ve been almost a shell of a person, to coin a very bad cliché. But I credit my boyfriend for waking me up to the lie that was my life. He does not let me get away with pretending to be that scared, old version of myself, the one that I made up and believed in so much. I clung to my lies as long as I could, but now they are laid bare and I am left with the task of dealing with the wounds they have left. This most recent major depressive episode also, rather paradoxically, helped to reveal some of my self-made illusions. I feel scarred and incomplete.

I have always thought of school as a way to find emotional awakening. We’ll be starting school again in about a month, and after a year of misery and deep depression, maybe I can find a way back to my true self. I’m beginning to get to know the kind of person I am…creative, intelligent, curious, compassionate and passionate about right and wrong. I’m a good person, and I treasure this new chance to get to know myself in a way I haven’t before. Maybe someday I can believe myself to be satisfied with my life, a life that I alone have created.

Me, the Babbling Brook

I have a really good reason for not blogging lately…I’m finally feeling happy! Well, happier, at least. I’ve been taking 200 mg of sertraline for about a month now, up from 100 mg, and I’m definitely feeling a real difference. My doctor wasn’t able to find a psychiatrist who would take my insurance (I have “poor people” insurance), so she’s going to continue to administer my medication. The only thing she’s worried about now are some possible neurological side effects of the sertraline (leg jerks and tremors), but she doesn’t want to switch me unless is necessary. I finally feel like I’m more in control of things now.

I’m still looking for a job, and had a very promising interview this week, but I didn’t end up getting the job. It’s doubly disappointing because it was a job that I really wanted, in the Office of Diversity at a local university. As most of you know, I have always been passionate about diversity, human rights, and politics in general, and I felt like this job, which was part-time and one that I could keep through the rest of college, would be a great entry into this area and could get me further toward my goal of working for a non-profit. The interview was great and I really connected with the Chief Diversity Officer, and she left me feeling very confident that the job was mine. But, alas, it wasn’t. Oh well…at least moving on is easier now.

So, job hunting remains my full-time occupation. And my boyfriend has been a big help. We did have a huge fight last weekend (which included screaming, crying, threats, and torn clothing), which was pretty much about money, but since then it feels like the air has been cleared, as well as our minds. After feeling so burned out the last two semesters, BF is finally ready to get back to school in the fall. He had been thinking about taking fall semester off, in addition to this summer, but he’s actually feeling enthusiastic about learning again. I’m feeling the same way, so we’re both in the same place, together. It’s such a comfort to have a real partner in life.

It’s a funny thing…I am completely in limbo right now, but I’m fine with it. Instead of feeling anxious and frightened about the future, I’m feeling content and excited. Content, because my state of mind has reached a very calm place, and excited because there’s a yet unknown path in front of me. I’ve gained the strength to limit my concerns to just my own, without adopting those of others (like my parents’ smothering worries). My life is my life…no one is in charge of it except for me. I am not obligated to make decisions based on what other people think I should do. This kind of strength is hard for me because my extremely loving, supportive, and encouraging parents tend to make me feel small, uncertain, and deathly afraid of disappointing them. Of course, everything they say and do is out of love and good intentions, but this love of theirs has smothered me my whole life.

The fact that I am my own person with my own life to lead may sound obvious to most people, but for me it’s a relatively recent epiphany. I have a much stronger sense of self now and it’s an incredibly empowering and comforting feeling. I have to say, though, it’s a little late in coming…

Thoughts on Friendship

The lovely Seshat posted this today about the meaning of true friendship and what it means to be a good friend. This got me thinking about my own rather spotty history with friends which has led me to where I am now. Although I consider myself to be a sweet, open, and honest person, I am almost literally without friends. Weird, huh? After reading Seshat’s post and thinking back over my childhood, I believe I know why I don’t really have friends now. It’s sort of complicated, so forgive me if I don’t make sense. First, a little history about me and my “best friend” M.

M and I met in preschool when we were both about 4 years old. We were both very shy, so our parents and teachers thought it would be a good idea to introduce us. We quickly became very close and we spent the greater part of our elementary school years in and out of each other’s houses. When we hit middle school, however, something happened. M is a very upbeat and flirty kind of person, and it’s very easy for her to make friends. I am much more reserved and, well, suspicious of other people to make friends that easily. So I guess what happened was natural: she created a group of friends around her, and I was left out. This new dynamic in our friendship last throughout middle school and high school, although we were still as emotionally close as sisters…we just never saw each other.

Since we both graduated high school and went our separate ways, we have seen each other only rarely and have talked by phone a few times. Eventually, I started to notice a pattern in our conversations. Basically, she only calls me when she’s going through a personal crisis. It could be that she’s used to coming to me with her problems, but there’s no give and take involved. She’s not overly concerned with things going on in my life. When my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer two years ago, I never heard from her, even though I emailed her about it. She just isn’t interested. But when she found inappropriate emails on her boyfriend’s computers from another woman, she called me in tears. She forgave him that day, even though I begged her to finally get rid of him (he’s a jerk). I haven’t heard from her since.

I have come to the realization that my friendship with her, as long as it has been, has never been a true friendship. She knows that I have suffered form depression at various times in my life, but her only recognition of it came when she called me asking my advice on how to deal with her boyfriend who had just been diagnosed. Why did I allow myself to settle for anything less than a true friendship? The fact that I don’t trust people easily makes it hard to make and keep friends, but the reason I don’t trust people easily comes from various peers betraying my trust and my friendship over the years. The best friends I have right now are my boyfriend, my family, and those few, genuine people I’ve met online. I’ve tried to keep up connections with people I’ve met over the years and have bonded with, but they’re not real friendships.

Part of me can’t be bothered to develop a real bond with new people. My depression often causes apathy and it seems like too much trouble to bother. But the biggest part of me is afraid of getting close to people. So much of my adult life has felt transient and temporary and it seems silly to develop close friendships with people because I never live in the same place longer than a year or two. Also, I tend to assume that people who meet me automatically look down on me, for whatever reason. I always believe that people are judging me or making fun of me behind my back, and that makes it difficult to trust people.

These self-realizations don’t help me much, but it’s a good start in my journey to get to know myself.