A situation I was in this past weekend, left me perplexed, sad, and frustrated.
I made a bold plan to "go out." A real night out, after 8:00pm until possibly 11:00! After six months of staying in, away from folks, I was mildly excited. When it came time to begin the "going out" routine, I filled the tub with bubbles, grabbed a beer and stepped into the relaxing waters. For some time I just soaked, eyes closed, and contemplated how fun the night would be. A DJ would be playing the tunes, and I love DJ as opposed to bands. If I soaked long enough, perhaps I would dance! I then took care of the beautifying needed (never nicked that area before), and did my whale dance to get out of the tub.
Standing in front of the mirror solidified my suspicions that I'd gained at least ten pounds back and I damned Blue Bunny Birthday Cake Ice Cream. How to do my hair, how much make up to wear, perfume, or not? Oh, and jewelry. God, are my ears still pierced? Clothes had been chosen earlier in the day, so I had that going for me. All was done in 45 minutes. That does make me chuckle because in my hopelessly insecure days it took two hours.
I said a prayer for protection before I opened the door, then headed to the truck. It was dark. I was going out after dark! After the goosebumps passed, I was on my way. My destination was a short drive, no more than five minutes, but it was out of town. What an adventure. Upon entering the property, I searched, without luck for a close parking place, then without warning threw caution to the wind and chose one at least ten cars from the door. Over gravel. With a balance problem. And mud. How awesome was I?
I'd made my first trip to this cozy clubhouse two weeks prior, around 5 o'clock. The owners were a sweet young couple, very friendly. The bartender was fun, as well, and I felt quite welcome. Of course, I was the only patron at the time so I think they were obligated to include me in all conversations. At any rate, I liked the place. Alot. After hearing that one of the owners would be having a birthday in two weeks, I decided to plan to be there. And I was. Upon entering, I immediately looked for a seat, found one, and wished the birthday girl a "Happy Birthday". I then noticed an old friend at the end of the bar, and gave a short wave. It was mildly busy. The music was great. I bobbled to the music like a back window dog and sipped my favorite beer. One hour went by, and no one approached me to talk, although I knew several people. After the second hour I realized that one friend--someone I loved very much--was deliberately avoiding me. The crowd didn't increase from mildly busy and it occurred to me that I didn't belong. Even among people I knew. I would have expected a man to ignore me, even though he knew me...they usually do. But this was someone I'd considered a girlfriend, regardless of our age difference. My heart hurt. She'd been influenced by another presence there, and it broke my heart. For some reason, I sat up very straight and sipped my beer until it was gone. I left my seat, straightened my pants and walked out the door.
I was ready to go home and cry when I decided I'd stop in at the old stomping ground. I entered into a wave of "hi" and "how ya doin?". I talked to four or five people, had one beer, and left. It wasn't me. I was still the same likable gal. It was "them." Up on the hill, looking down on the little town that gives them unwaivering business, particularly "in-season" And it was how easily a young person can be influenced-- to the point of looking right through you after once licking your storm door.
All in all, I came home very sad. Reassured, yes, that I wasn't an oddball--well relatively speaking--but sad that a night out had turned into a regret. Only one thing is worse than being alone and feeling lonely...being in a room full of people and feeling that way.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
What I've Learned From Facebook (or Making My Addiction Work For Me)
It has been about three years since I discovered the world of social networking. Oh, I'd IM'd and emailed, but was not aware that I could go to a place to share with the world that I was me and although Me may not be exciting, I existed. In that time I've learned lessons in courtesy, compassion, and community.
For instance, you do not have to know someone physically or personally to feel their anguish or joy. And something as simple as clicking the work "Like" or adding a simple wish can uplift a person halfway around the world. When you do know the "friend" from school or long lost job, you will find that you are now quite similar, as life's journeys take us all in a similar direction. The high school "clique" no longer exists. You become fellow parents, business persons, divorcees, widowers. The co-workers have gone through their own trials and now understand your struggles as their own.
Diseases become more familiar to more people. I have, as I've mentioned before, Fibromyalgia (among other health delights) and the word that put a quizzical look on the face of locals, is suddenly common and acceptable. We are not alone. Nor are sufferers of countless other ailments. The "new" term "invisible disease" is common on Facebook. It encompasses countless diseases that don't show, outwardly, to most people. We, the sufferers support each other. Our pain. Our frustrations with ignorance, insensitivity, and simple unwillingness to learn.
As a disabled sufferer, I find myself with alot of time on my hands each day. I do whatever house chore my pain and fatigue allows for the day, do some stretches....then what. Well, what do ya know...? Facebook has games. Thousands of games. The first game I got really caught up in was FarmTown. It seems a lifetime ago. As I became more involved (yes, we'll call it involved), I learned some simple things:
If you help your neighbor, they will gladly help you.
Gladly accept any help you are offered, whether you need it or not. Taking time out of one's day to gift is generous.
If you don't get what you expected , do not have a temper tantrum and demand to get what you want or be "unfriended". Generally speaking, anyone that acts like that hasn't many friends in the first place. (See First Grade Handbook.)
If you spend much of your time giving "neighbors" what they need, you will receive exactly what you need without asking.
"Thank you" goes a loooong way.,
I have created real friendships with people I have never, nor probably will ever meet. They have not seen anything but a face shot. Well, that and some God-awful vacation pics from 1970, They like me. Goofy, Moody, Smart, Compassionate, ME.
So, Social Networking has much to offer, you see. Of course Mark Zuckerburg knew that years ago...where was I when he was drunkenly "Facemashing"? Oh that's right.,..I had a real life!
For instance, you do not have to know someone physically or personally to feel their anguish or joy. And something as simple as clicking the work "Like" or adding a simple wish can uplift a person halfway around the world. When you do know the "friend" from school or long lost job, you will find that you are now quite similar, as life's journeys take us all in a similar direction. The high school "clique" no longer exists. You become fellow parents, business persons, divorcees, widowers. The co-workers have gone through their own trials and now understand your struggles as their own.
Diseases become more familiar to more people. I have, as I've mentioned before, Fibromyalgia (among other health delights) and the word that put a quizzical look on the face of locals, is suddenly common and acceptable. We are not alone. Nor are sufferers of countless other ailments. The "new" term "invisible disease" is common on Facebook. It encompasses countless diseases that don't show, outwardly, to most people. We, the sufferers support each other. Our pain. Our frustrations with ignorance, insensitivity, and simple unwillingness to learn.
As a disabled sufferer, I find myself with alot of time on my hands each day. I do whatever house chore my pain and fatigue allows for the day, do some stretches....then what. Well, what do ya know...? Facebook has games. Thousands of games. The first game I got really caught up in was FarmTown. It seems a lifetime ago. As I became more involved (yes, we'll call it involved), I learned some simple things:
If you help your neighbor, they will gladly help you.
Gladly accept any help you are offered, whether you need it or not. Taking time out of one's day to gift is generous.
If you don't get what you expected , do not have a temper tantrum and demand to get what you want or be "unfriended". Generally speaking, anyone that acts like that hasn't many friends in the first place. (See First Grade Handbook.)
If you spend much of your time giving "neighbors" what they need, you will receive exactly what you need without asking.
"Thank you" goes a loooong way.,
I have created real friendships with people I have never, nor probably will ever meet. They have not seen anything but a face shot. Well, that and some God-awful vacation pics from 1970, They like me. Goofy, Moody, Smart, Compassionate, ME.
So, Social Networking has much to offer, you see. Of course Mark Zuckerburg knew that years ago...where was I when he was drunkenly "Facemashing"? Oh that's right.,..I had a real life!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
WHERE DID THIS COME FROM?
Since I last wrote, I find myself still struggling with a major depressive episode. Depression is not new to me, but what set this round off, with the severity it has, confounds me.
I have wondered before where the rent or utilities or groceries are coming from. Unfortunate, but just a part of life now. I have looked at my dirty kitchen floor and not been able to mop it, but it's mostly due to physical pain. I've not showered for a day, but it's because I'm not going anywhere, so who'll know? But, something is different now. Instead of becoming crafty with the money I do have and making it work, my mind is shut down and overwhelmed. The very thought of getting out the bucket and mop exhausts me. And I know showering will wear me out, so why push it? This level of depression has not blackened my doorstep for decades. Thankfully, my son has been so busy with his friends, he's not been home to experience more than a few tears.
As I was playing one of my games on Facebook, and dreading the next "click", a thought occurred to me. And perhaps a darn good one. I have not mourned.
Since 1998 (I think) I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, thus slowly losing my ability to do many physical things I once took for granted. In 2001 I broke my foot-had two surgeries on it, and laid my Dad to a well deserved rest. In 2006 & 2007 I had each hip replaced, further limiting my mobility. In 2008 came divorce, death of three dear people and a beloved pet. Near it's end, my Mother had a major stroke, initially rendering her unable to speak or use her right side. She can now speak, but is confined to a Nursing Home for personal care reasons. In 2009, mandatory sale of house to avoid foreclosure nearly did me in physically and emotionally. Moving day was the most pain--aside from hip surgery and childbirth--that I've experienced. To this day I can not drive through the "old neighborhood". 2010 rang in with hope as Mom's speech came back, and my finances seemed to be coming around. Spring, however had other ideas, and I was forced to fix or repair $2000 worth of household goods in about 2 1/2 months. I nearly lost the apartment. The goodness of people made it possible to stay and slowly recover financially. And then near the year's wind down, my Grandma--the rock of our family--passed away.
I have cried many tears during these years. But, I don't think I've mourned. Mourned the active young woman that lived for the weekend to dance and party. Mourned the loss of a parent, though not close to him, a gap in my life, nevertheless. Mourned the loss of a union, instead blaming myself for being ill. I've never really mourned from my deepest soul the losses of my ex-Mother-In-Law, ex-Brother-in-Law, and my kids' beloved Papa. I held my dying dachshund while my kids petted her a final farewell, but choked on my tears to be strong for them. I can not mourn the loss of the house built especially for us because it brings feelings of failure, loss and disappointment. And Mom. I haven't mourned the loss of Carol Cole, active moviegoer, shopaholic, and just plain nice lady. Doing that means I must accept the mother that now greets me in a wheelchair, slumped and gnarled. If I admit that I miss hearing her say "Is that you?" when I answer her calls, just to be kooky, I have to admit it can't happen anymore. I've not mourned Grandma's passing other than to remember her in poetry, pictures, and stories.
I have acknowledged all of these things. Over and over. But I have not gone to my depths to release each thing; each person. That frightens me. I was told at a young age that everyone was worse off so I had no right to be sad. As a result I became the family clown. I've come to believe, as an adult, that although there are so many with worse problems...these are MINE. I own them. My heart and soul ache from them.
The mind is a complex thing. I wonder if, perhaps, it's forcing me to mourn now. And as usual, I am fighting it. The question is, do I let it run it's course and cleanse me, or do I put the jokes out on the table and see who laughs.
I have wondered before where the rent or utilities or groceries are coming from. Unfortunate, but just a part of life now. I have looked at my dirty kitchen floor and not been able to mop it, but it's mostly due to physical pain. I've not showered for a day, but it's because I'm not going anywhere, so who'll know? But, something is different now. Instead of becoming crafty with the money I do have and making it work, my mind is shut down and overwhelmed. The very thought of getting out the bucket and mop exhausts me. And I know showering will wear me out, so why push it? This level of depression has not blackened my doorstep for decades. Thankfully, my son has been so busy with his friends, he's not been home to experience more than a few tears.
As I was playing one of my games on Facebook, and dreading the next "click", a thought occurred to me. And perhaps a darn good one. I have not mourned.
Since 1998 (I think) I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia, thus slowly losing my ability to do many physical things I once took for granted. In 2001 I broke my foot-had two surgeries on it, and laid my Dad to a well deserved rest. In 2006 & 2007 I had each hip replaced, further limiting my mobility. In 2008 came divorce, death of three dear people and a beloved pet. Near it's end, my Mother had a major stroke, initially rendering her unable to speak or use her right side. She can now speak, but is confined to a Nursing Home for personal care reasons. In 2009, mandatory sale of house to avoid foreclosure nearly did me in physically and emotionally. Moving day was the most pain--aside from hip surgery and childbirth--that I've experienced. To this day I can not drive through the "old neighborhood". 2010 rang in with hope as Mom's speech came back, and my finances seemed to be coming around. Spring, however had other ideas, and I was forced to fix or repair $2000 worth of household goods in about 2 1/2 months. I nearly lost the apartment. The goodness of people made it possible to stay and slowly recover financially. And then near the year's wind down, my Grandma--the rock of our family--passed away.
I have cried many tears during these years. But, I don't think I've mourned. Mourned the active young woman that lived for the weekend to dance and party. Mourned the loss of a parent, though not close to him, a gap in my life, nevertheless. Mourned the loss of a union, instead blaming myself for being ill. I've never really mourned from my deepest soul the losses of my ex-Mother-In-Law, ex-Brother-in-Law, and my kids' beloved Papa. I held my dying dachshund while my kids petted her a final farewell, but choked on my tears to be strong for them. I can not mourn the loss of the house built especially for us because it brings feelings of failure, loss and disappointment. And Mom. I haven't mourned the loss of Carol Cole, active moviegoer, shopaholic, and just plain nice lady. Doing that means I must accept the mother that now greets me in a wheelchair, slumped and gnarled. If I admit that I miss hearing her say "Is that you?" when I answer her calls, just to be kooky, I have to admit it can't happen anymore. I've not mourned Grandma's passing other than to remember her in poetry, pictures, and stories.
I have acknowledged all of these things. Over and over. But I have not gone to my depths to release each thing; each person. That frightens me. I was told at a young age that everyone was worse off so I had no right to be sad. As a result I became the family clown. I've come to believe, as an adult, that although there are so many with worse problems...these are MINE. I own them. My heart and soul ache from them.
The mind is a complex thing. I wonder if, perhaps, it's forcing me to mourn now. And as usual, I am fighting it. The question is, do I let it run it's course and cleanse me, or do I put the jokes out on the table and see who laughs.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The Place I Am
I am in a bad place. It has been decades since I felt that not being here would better than being. I am there again, and it frightens me. Not because I have any plans to extinguish myself, because I don't...thought about it, yes, plans to carry out, no. I will not put my son through that.
But, I am tired of fighting. For the rent, the utilities, and food. On paper my budget is flawless. All of the formerly mentioned are covered. School lunches are covered. My one and only loan is covered. With $14 left to spare at month's end. It all looks so nice, typed in even rows. But it only takes one out of the ordinary expense to throw it all off and turn my financial world upside down.
As I've mentioned before, I don't go to movies, or out to eat, or out to socialize. I've scaled the grocery list back. No more soda, rarely beer, no chips, no fruit or vegetables, no meat. I do not go shopping for the sake of going shopping. But there are things that must be purchased such as Basketball shoes, Football cleats, Workout shorts, ankle braces, knee braces, Activon.
I get questioned about why my money doesn't pay for everything, when I am provided ample. It angers me to the core. Take into consideration, football games, basketball games, volleyball games (all ages)....school dances, class trips, school clothes, doctor visits, computer repair, the occasional pre-owned game, allowance...not sure if I even covered it all. The "ample" keeps a roof over my son's head, and some food in his astronomical stomach. And, as mentioned, if anything disrupts the delicate balance of the budget...even those things are not guaranteed at times.
So I feel like a failure. Today's struggle--how to keep the electricity on and still be able to pay rent and get a gallon of milk--has weakened my faith system. Why, if I believe God provides, am I faced with lights out on Thursday? Why, when I pray from my deepest heart for friends and family who are hurting, are my own prayers of hurt and loneliness not answered? Jesus, while suffering on the cross, cried "Why have you forsaken me?" I feel that now. Have I run out of blessings? Yes, I realize there are many blessings in my life, but in the place I am right now I am unable to grasp their goodness.
To further intensify my anguish is the fact that I am doing it all ALONE. Not even a companion to talk to, or curl up in their arms. Sensory deprivation is a punishment used to torture information out of someone. I've done nothing wrong' there is nothing to torture out of me--I've no government secrets. Yet, because of financial reasons I am in my own sort of solitary confinement. What I ache for the most is touch. I've been single before, but I have never lacked for interaction, certainly not touch.
At this moment, I am angry. The situation that put me here, angers me. The past three years anger me.
The place I am in is dark. My son will not see how dark. I will not let him see but a few tears. I will fight and scratch my way out of this place alone.
Please pray for me. It appears God has had it with my prayers.
But, I am tired of fighting. For the rent, the utilities, and food. On paper my budget is flawless. All of the formerly mentioned are covered. School lunches are covered. My one and only loan is covered. With $14 left to spare at month's end. It all looks so nice, typed in even rows. But it only takes one out of the ordinary expense to throw it all off and turn my financial world upside down.
As I've mentioned before, I don't go to movies, or out to eat, or out to socialize. I've scaled the grocery list back. No more soda, rarely beer, no chips, no fruit or vegetables, no meat. I do not go shopping for the sake of going shopping. But there are things that must be purchased such as Basketball shoes, Football cleats, Workout shorts, ankle braces, knee braces, Activon.
I get questioned about why my money doesn't pay for everything, when I am provided ample. It angers me to the core. Take into consideration, football games, basketball games, volleyball games (all ages)....school dances, class trips, school clothes, doctor visits, computer repair, the occasional pre-owned game, allowance...not sure if I even covered it all. The "ample" keeps a roof over my son's head, and some food in his astronomical stomach. And, as mentioned, if anything disrupts the delicate balance of the budget...even those things are not guaranteed at times.
So I feel like a failure. Today's struggle--how to keep the electricity on and still be able to pay rent and get a gallon of milk--has weakened my faith system. Why, if I believe God provides, am I faced with lights out on Thursday? Why, when I pray from my deepest heart for friends and family who are hurting, are my own prayers of hurt and loneliness not answered? Jesus, while suffering on the cross, cried "Why have you forsaken me?" I feel that now. Have I run out of blessings? Yes, I realize there are many blessings in my life, but in the place I am right now I am unable to grasp their goodness.
To further intensify my anguish is the fact that I am doing it all ALONE. Not even a companion to talk to, or curl up in their arms. Sensory deprivation is a punishment used to torture information out of someone. I've done nothing wrong' there is nothing to torture out of me--I've no government secrets. Yet, because of financial reasons I am in my own sort of solitary confinement. What I ache for the most is touch. I've been single before, but I have never lacked for interaction, certainly not touch.
At this moment, I am angry. The situation that put me here, angers me. The past three years anger me.
The place I am in is dark. My son will not see how dark. I will not let him see but a few tears. I will fight and scratch my way out of this place alone.
Please pray for me. It appears God has had it with my prayers.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
It Really Is All In My Head
I don't talk much about Chronic Clinical Depression. I tend to focus on Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome because they are lesser known, and horribly misunderstood. In fact, my hope is that my mention of those diseases will contribute, just a little, to the fight to get them recognized and understood.
However, I also suffer from Chronic Clinical Depression. I knew something wasn't right as far back as age 10 or 11. I can not get happy. What others call happy, for me, is mild mania. I was just born with my wires zinging when they should zapping. I suffered through many years of sadness, thoughts of suicide...and being told that I had no right to feel either. Of course, humor became my coping mechanism. So, who'd a thunk I was so miserable underneath all that good stand-up?
At the age of 25, after two breakdowns, and my mother finally being scared shitless one time too many, my doctor was called--he called me at work to tell me to get my sad-ass self to see him. They even worked me into the branch office on that very day. I was clinically depressed, I was told, and sorely lacking in B-Vitamins. I can't recall the anti-depressant I was put on, but I remember the B vitamins kicking in, and feeling like I was walking on air! I take them religiously to this day.
I have been on dozens of different anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-psychotic meds in the 25 years since. I can only recall a few, and I suppose it's because they are the ones that did not work for me. I also started seeing a counselor. That poor first guy. I remember he had brown/red curly hair and wore clogs.
My visits with him were, at first, accusations that he didn't really want to sit there and listen to me, he just wanted my money. So, there were several silent sessions. I think what broke the ice was a recurring dream I'd been having about being a cheerleader and trying to climb some stairs at a beach place or something. Once I'd voiced my dream and he explained the symbolism, the dream never...ever returned. I became a fan. I read self-help books, more and more able to identify myself in them. And then he moved on. I was furious. There were the abandonment issues all over again.
I saw many counselors over the years. Each had their own style. Some pissed me off at every session. Strangely, the one that pissed me off the most was the one that helped me reach my "rock bottom". Once there, the healing could begin. And I did heal some. With the introduction of Prozac, in 1990 or so, I felt...like me. Or like I always thought I should be, but for some reason couldn't quite reach. I was funny again, and bright. I felt good about myself, and the hard journey I'd travelled to get to to that place. And Prozac worked wonders...for about six years. And that state started creeping in again. "The Nothing", as it was called in "The Neverending Story". But, by now, I was a wife and a mother to a six yr old, and a newborn.
When it started to crash down again, I was referred to a psycho pharmacologist. This was a man licensed to use me as a guinea pig, to find the right combination of medications to get me "even". I am still seeing this man. I am very fortunate that what little insurance I have covers part of his fee. We have tried many drugs in many combinations to combat the sadness, the weariness, the "nothing", the lack of sleep, and the Fibromyalgia/CFIDS, Not an easy task for either of us. He has proclaimed me to be one of his most frustrating patients, something that makes me proud. I mean if you're going to go through all the pain and suffering, you may as well be the best at it! As of this day, our combination is working.....
.....Or is it? For months I have felt flat-line. Nothing gives me pleasure, or interests me, or motivates me. I feel the same in nearly every situation. I am very tired. Yes, tired...on top of the usual fatigue. Don't get me wrong. I feel grateful each and every day, for each and every day. I praise God for the roof over my head and any food in the house. I cherish every conversation I have with my son. But, it's all in this, I don't know...null...place. I think it's guinea pig time again.
The struggles of someone fighting depression are often seen as laziness, not giving a damn, not working hard enough, not caring about their kids, their spouse. People, tired of the "drama" demand you pick yourself up and brush yourself off and move on. Boot straps are a popular suggestion. Think happy thoughts. Smile at people. Volunteer your time. Some of these are helpful suggestions. But, if you are in that abyss that is depression, none of it matters a whit.
For years and years no one spoke of the person who was "just not right". Through the years the topic has been addressed in movies, sitcoms, TV dramas, and soap operas. And yet, a stigma remains. I truly hope that at some point I can get the DVD, "No Kidding, Me Too!". It is a project of Joey Pants (Pantelioni), who has suffered for many years. In it, stars like Harrison Ford and Mike Wallace relay their own struggles. Mr. Pants hopes to further raise awareness on this widespread disease.
Depression is all around us. It comes in many forms, many ages, has many origins, and many solutions. Right now I am back on the hamster wheel looking for something to bring me above null. I know it's out there, cause I've seen others display it. In the meantime, I'll cry over minor things, become overwhelmed easily, and feel completely alone, all the time knowing that my psycopharmy and I can kick it again.
So, bear with me world. Better yet...give me a hug!
However, I also suffer from Chronic Clinical Depression. I knew something wasn't right as far back as age 10 or 11. I can not get happy. What others call happy, for me, is mild mania. I was just born with my wires zinging when they should zapping. I suffered through many years of sadness, thoughts of suicide...and being told that I had no right to feel either. Of course, humor became my coping mechanism. So, who'd a thunk I was so miserable underneath all that good stand-up?
At the age of 25, after two breakdowns, and my mother finally being scared shitless one time too many, my doctor was called--he called me at work to tell me to get my sad-ass self to see him. They even worked me into the branch office on that very day. I was clinically depressed, I was told, and sorely lacking in B-Vitamins. I can't recall the anti-depressant I was put on, but I remember the B vitamins kicking in, and feeling like I was walking on air! I take them religiously to this day.
I have been on dozens of different anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, anti-psychotic meds in the 25 years since. I can only recall a few, and I suppose it's because they are the ones that did not work for me. I also started seeing a counselor. That poor first guy. I remember he had brown/red curly hair and wore clogs.
My visits with him were, at first, accusations that he didn't really want to sit there and listen to me, he just wanted my money. So, there were several silent sessions. I think what broke the ice was a recurring dream I'd been having about being a cheerleader and trying to climb some stairs at a beach place or something. Once I'd voiced my dream and he explained the symbolism, the dream never...ever returned. I became a fan. I read self-help books, more and more able to identify myself in them. And then he moved on. I was furious. There were the abandonment issues all over again.
I saw many counselors over the years. Each had their own style. Some pissed me off at every session. Strangely, the one that pissed me off the most was the one that helped me reach my "rock bottom". Once there, the healing could begin. And I did heal some. With the introduction of Prozac, in 1990 or so, I felt...like me. Or like I always thought I should be, but for some reason couldn't quite reach. I was funny again, and bright. I felt good about myself, and the hard journey I'd travelled to get to to that place. And Prozac worked wonders...for about six years. And that state started creeping in again. "The Nothing", as it was called in "The Neverending Story". But, by now, I was a wife and a mother to a six yr old, and a newborn.
When it started to crash down again, I was referred to a psycho pharmacologist. This was a man licensed to use me as a guinea pig, to find the right combination of medications to get me "even". I am still seeing this man. I am very fortunate that what little insurance I have covers part of his fee. We have tried many drugs in many combinations to combat the sadness, the weariness, the "nothing", the lack of sleep, and the Fibromyalgia/CFIDS, Not an easy task for either of us. He has proclaimed me to be one of his most frustrating patients, something that makes me proud. I mean if you're going to go through all the pain and suffering, you may as well be the best at it! As of this day, our combination is working.....
.....Or is it? For months I have felt flat-line. Nothing gives me pleasure, or interests me, or motivates me. I feel the same in nearly every situation. I am very tired. Yes, tired...on top of the usual fatigue. Don't get me wrong. I feel grateful each and every day, for each and every day. I praise God for the roof over my head and any food in the house. I cherish every conversation I have with my son. But, it's all in this, I don't know...null...place. I think it's guinea pig time again.
The struggles of someone fighting depression are often seen as laziness, not giving a damn, not working hard enough, not caring about their kids, their spouse. People, tired of the "drama" demand you pick yourself up and brush yourself off and move on. Boot straps are a popular suggestion. Think happy thoughts. Smile at people. Volunteer your time. Some of these are helpful suggestions. But, if you are in that abyss that is depression, none of it matters a whit.
For years and years no one spoke of the person who was "just not right". Through the years the topic has been addressed in movies, sitcoms, TV dramas, and soap operas. And yet, a stigma remains. I truly hope that at some point I can get the DVD, "No Kidding, Me Too!". It is a project of Joey Pants (Pantelioni), who has suffered for many years. In it, stars like Harrison Ford and Mike Wallace relay their own struggles. Mr. Pants hopes to further raise awareness on this widespread disease.
Depression is all around us. It comes in many forms, many ages, has many origins, and many solutions. Right now I am back on the hamster wheel looking for something to bring me above null. I know it's out there, cause I've seen others display it. In the meantime, I'll cry over minor things, become overwhelmed easily, and feel completely alone, all the time knowing that my psycopharmy and I can kick it again.
So, bear with me world. Better yet...give me a hug!
The Young Woman I Never Knew
Last night, in our tiny town, a beautiful young woman died. As of this time, I do not know the cause. She just...passed. She was a year younger than my ex-stepdaughter, which makes her around 19. I did not know her as I did many of the other girls around that age. I did not know her favorite color, or music group, or even if she played many sports.
What I do know is: Her father works with my ex, and is a funny, smart man. Her mother is hilarious, and seems game for any kind of fun. I know she was beautiful. I know she was mischievous. I know she rode her four wheeler too fast. I know she helped others as a CNA. I know that I always confused her with another girl that shared the ride to UWP with my ex-stepdaughter. I know she enjoyed life with many friends doing what friends in a town of 800 do. I know she didn't take a bad picture. All in all, I don't know much.
And yet, my heart aches tremendously for those that did know her. As a parent, I ache for hers--not even able to comprehend such a loss. As a friend, I ache for her friends, now having to deal with the hole in the group. I hope they can fill that hole with great memories and hysterical mishaps. As a member of the community, I ache for all the people she touched even for a minute, with a 'hi' or a smile.
The world, the community, the gang, the family, is one person shy of complete today.
What I do know is: Her father works with my ex, and is a funny, smart man. Her mother is hilarious, and seems game for any kind of fun. I know she was beautiful. I know she was mischievous. I know she rode her four wheeler too fast. I know she helped others as a CNA. I know that I always confused her with another girl that shared the ride to UWP with my ex-stepdaughter. I know she enjoyed life with many friends doing what friends in a town of 800 do. I know she didn't take a bad picture. All in all, I don't know much.
And yet, my heart aches tremendously for those that did know her. As a parent, I ache for hers--not even able to comprehend such a loss. As a friend, I ache for her friends, now having to deal with the hole in the group. I hope they can fill that hole with great memories and hysterical mishaps. As a member of the community, I ache for all the people she touched even for a minute, with a 'hi' or a smile.
The world, the community, the gang, the family, is one person shy of complete today.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
When Best Isn't Good Enough
I must have been raised differently. Or maybe I don't remember, but I don't think that's it.
One dollar is one dollar. In the shape of a bill, four quarter, or two quarter and five dimes--it all equals a dollar. So, when my son came to me for a dollar to go the the BB game, why did he give it back and say he just wouldn't go to the game? And why do I feel like I'll never be good enough for him...or anyone?
My income comes mostly from disability, the horrid category I am put into due to the many illnesses I have. Let it be noted that to get disability "status" you go through a vigorous questioning, get turned down a few times (just to weed out the fakers), and even may have to see the State psychologist. This income pays the majority of my bills. A bit of child support and alimony pays for the small stuff. But, there is never quite enough to pay for the extra things. Sporting events, sport gear, school lunches, xBox points, iTunes, school dances, etc, etc...
I have mentioned before that to save money I don't go out to bars, or to dinner, or to the movies...or anywhere but the grocery store, the doctor, and to see my Mom. And one thing has become painfully clear to me. Human touch is an absolute necessity in life. I am at the point where I ache for a hug. And I don't care how much it hurts. I like it when the nurse takes my pulse because she is touching my skin. I like when the cashier counts my money back because she brushes my hand. My son is not a hugger. Any time that he has, I have let it absorb into every pore on my body because I know it will be a long time until the next one. It's ironic, though. I have hugs to dole out like candy at a parade. I am steeping with love...to give. I give it out through my many friends on facebook, and I enjoy making people laugh, and hopefully feel a bit better for my words to them. But, of course, this is virtual.
After I became single again, I was pretty content with being alone. No one to answer to, but me and the needs of my son. My time. No justification as to where I went or what I did or didn't do. No accusals of faking my illnesses. I still feel these freedoms, but after three years of being alone, I need something. A special someone. Someone that I can count on to put there arms around me, and just hold on. I'm still not looking for marriage. I don't hold alot of faith in that piece of paper. But, I admit it, I need someone. I am strong, and I am a trooper, but even troopers have deputies......
One dollar is one dollar. In the shape of a bill, four quarter, or two quarter and five dimes--it all equals a dollar. So, when my son came to me for a dollar to go the the BB game, why did he give it back and say he just wouldn't go to the game? And why do I feel like I'll never be good enough for him...or anyone?
My income comes mostly from disability, the horrid category I am put into due to the many illnesses I have. Let it be noted that to get disability "status" you go through a vigorous questioning, get turned down a few times (just to weed out the fakers), and even may have to see the State psychologist. This income pays the majority of my bills. A bit of child support and alimony pays for the small stuff. But, there is never quite enough to pay for the extra things. Sporting events, sport gear, school lunches, xBox points, iTunes, school dances, etc, etc...
I have mentioned before that to save money I don't go out to bars, or to dinner, or to the movies...or anywhere but the grocery store, the doctor, and to see my Mom. And one thing has become painfully clear to me. Human touch is an absolute necessity in life. I am at the point where I ache for a hug. And I don't care how much it hurts. I like it when the nurse takes my pulse because she is touching my skin. I like when the cashier counts my money back because she brushes my hand. My son is not a hugger. Any time that he has, I have let it absorb into every pore on my body because I know it will be a long time until the next one. It's ironic, though. I have hugs to dole out like candy at a parade. I am steeping with love...to give. I give it out through my many friends on facebook, and I enjoy making people laugh, and hopefully feel a bit better for my words to them. But, of course, this is virtual.
After I became single again, I was pretty content with being alone. No one to answer to, but me and the needs of my son. My time. No justification as to where I went or what I did or didn't do. No accusals of faking my illnesses. I still feel these freedoms, but after three years of being alone, I need something. A special someone. Someone that I can count on to put there arms around me, and just hold on. I'm still not looking for marriage. I don't hold alot of faith in that piece of paper. But, I admit it, I need someone. I am strong, and I am a trooper, but even troopers have deputies......
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