#I didn’t have any trouble with Prozac today
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I Talk to the Sky (C.D.)
Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader
Summary: Everything reminds you of Cedric
Warnings: Angst, major character death, grief
Word Count: 1k
Based On: I Talk to the Sky by Maddy Estelle
At two in the morning, you are were incredibly grateful to Flitwick for teaching you a silencing charm. If it wasn’t for the quick Silencio and the flick of your wand, your roommates would have overheard your sobs and witnessed the mess that you truly were. You preferred it this way, you never wanted anyone to be burdened with the task of trying to save you from your own sorrow. You’d rather have a good cry in the middle of the night, before waking up the next morning and pretending that everything was fine and that you could cope.
You wiped away your tears and thought of the last time you had seen his brilliant gray eyes. It was shortly before the third task; he had pulled you in for a desperate and hopeful kiss, claiming that it was for luck. You had just smiled and ruffled his hair, swimming in the depth of his gaze. He had muttered a quick “I love you” in your ear before he made his way towards the other champions. It hadn’t been too long since you last saw his eyes, but no one had told you that it would be the last time.
If you had known that you’d never see him again you would have done so much more. You would have tried harder to memorize the shape of his jaw and the curve of his lips. You would have attempted to decide if his eyes were more blue than gray and you would have told him that you loved him too. But it was too late.
When Harry had brought his body back, the eyes you had loved so dearly were open but unseeing, staring blankly into the deep expanse of the sky.
Everyone believed that you were fine, not quite knowing of the storm that raged in your head. Your anguish was concealed by empty smiles and hollow laughter. People were uncomfortable with open displays of grief. Once you had arrived back at school for your seventh year you quickly discovered that your pain had reached its expiration date and you were expected to go on as if nothing had happened. Your crying was no longer met with the pity and understanding that it once was, it was only met with poorly hidden annoyance. So you attempted to hide your feelings, saving them for the safety of the night or moments when you could finally be alone.
Being back at school was hard. Everything in the castle reminded you of him. On your way to transfiguration, you passed the corridor where the two of you shared your first kiss and when you sat in the Great Hall you were forced to see the spot where he had first told you that he loved you. Every time something happened you felt yourself turning over your shoulder to give him a look only he would understand only to remember that he wasn’t there. In those moments, the pain would come rushing back again, as if the wound was still fresh.
In a small journal you’d write down conversations you’d never have. They were simple, telling him about your day or bragging about a grade. But you missed those little, inconsequential conversations. Before long the journal was stuffed and you wrote the words that you wished you could say on any spare parchment that you could find. The words your quill became most familiar with were I love you.
Some nights, when you were too haunted by your memories, you’d find yourself in the astronomy tower, staring up at the sky. Cedric had always loved astronomy, taking it even in his later years of school. The two of you would spend hours admiring the stars, Cedric pointing out his favorite constellations. There was one night in particular that stuck out in your mind.
The two of you had been wrapped in each other’s arms, the glow of the stars glittering in your eyes. He had revealed that when he died he wanted to become a star. He wanted a place in the spilling sea of incandescence, to reside with the likes of Vega and Pegasi. Of course, back then, the idea of death felt so far away and far removed. Neither of you suspected that the shadow of the reaper loomed so close.
Tonight, you found yourself sitting once again under the night sky. Your journal in your hands as you read aloud, hoping that somewhere, somehow, Cedric would hear you.
“Today during potions, I was finally able to perfect the draught of the living dead,” you said softly, knowing that if he was here Cedric would throw an arm around your shoulder and kiss your temple.
“You teased me so incessantly last year about how badly I managed to mess it up. I think you would be proud,” you said with a sniffle, refusing to let a tear escape.
“I’m sorry to inform you that Hufflepuff is doing dreadfully in quidditch this year,” you revealed with a soft chuckle. “Their new captain doesn’t have the same natural leadership that you do,” you paused and let out a shaky breath, “As you did I suppose.” You still had trouble talking about him in the past tense, a small part of you not quite ready to realize that he was truly gone. You pulled your knees to your chest, setting aside your collection of words.
“I really miss you,” you whispered, “Everyone expects me to have moved on or forgotten but I can’t. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to.” You tore your eyes away from the stars, looking down at the floor.
“I had all of these plans, you know? I was going to become a healer and I was going to move to the countryside. But none of that seems right anymore because you won’t be there. You won’t be able to cook me dinner when I get home from late shifts because I am dead on my feet and dreadful in the kitchen. We won’t get the cat we always talked about and you’ll never get to have the boring ministry job you always insisted you wanted,” you said. You looked back up to the sky, hoping for some sign that he was there and that he was listening but the sky didn’t say a word. But it didn’t have to, because you had faith that he heard you anyway.
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#cedric diggory#cedric diggory angst#cedric diggory fluff#cedric oneshot#cedric diggory imagine#cedric diggory x reader#harry potter#hp and the goblet of fire
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Note to self: I am a big fan of all-nighter alcohol drinking. I think this is a very bad idea but you guys do whatever
I didn't have too much trouble getting my sleep schedule disrupted to this degree before going on Prozac, but I did feel like I wasn't functioning as well for a while, so it's possible that taking this much of the Prozac was causing me to be more hungover
I think what might have happened is that I was doing pretty good until I had to go to sleep at 5 PM yesterday afternoon, because my sleep schedule was very out of whack and going to bed at 12 PM was the only way it could be made to work (also I was on a lot of anxiety meds)
I felt pretty tired on arrival (and had to put off reading at bedtime because of the tiredness) but managed to wake up early enough yesterday morning that I was fine (I didn't go to sleep until 9 PM)
Today I didn't take any meds for the first couple hours of the morning because I didn't want to lose sleep. After that, I took my meds and got to bed at 1 AM, because 1 AM was still the time I usually go to sleep and 1 AM was the latest time I could sleep without being too out of whack with the sleep schedule
When I woke up at 5 AM, I immediately felt very tired, but I was not at all hungover, and it took a lot of effort to keep myself awake (and keep myself going) after the caffeine wore off around 8 AM (it took 2-3 hours for me to be no longer alert)
In general, if my goal is to get my circadian rhythm back into sync with sleep, I think it's a lot easier to do than just going on a whole bunch of anxiety meds and antidepressants for the duration of the next few weeks
That said, I'm also glad I'm off the anxiety meds and antidepressants because those medications made me feel pretty terrible for a long time when they were still working (for example, I felt extremely bad for a month after switching from Vyvanse to Wellbutrin to Lexapro). (Also I started drinking more alcohol a lot more often in response to this, which is kind of worrying – I'm trying to do the opposite of going back on the Wellbutrin)
ETA: I ended up having some problems falling asleep last night, but today's been fine and I woke up from my nap feeling pretty OK. Going off Wellbutrin and Lexapro has been much better for me than off of them for a month or so
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A Walk In The Park.
Sunlight tries to penetrate the dark recesses of my mind, good luck. Blackout curtains cover my eyelids, ear sockets, nose pits and mouth hole. Ain’t no sunshine getting in here, ever. A low growl builds from outside the door. No Homie. Another growl followed by light whimpers and scratches. Homie chill out.
Anyway, sunlight penetrates the duct taped blackout curtains- no wait that’s not it. Sunshine tries to penetrate the dark- Bark. Damnit, Homie be quiet! The entire door frame rattles from the weight of the demon trying to get inside. Bark! Bark!
Fuck okay Homie hold on! The door swings open and the beast is on top of me before I know it. Homie get down! Saliva and slobber shoot from his mouth and land on my face. The smell is disgusting but I can’t help but laugh. Alright bro that’s enough come on. He’s laughing too, but his accident prone canines are getting a bit too close for comfort. It never really occurs to me how strong Homie actually is until I’m trying to get him off of me. Or whenever he sees Linda’s pomeranian.
I wriggle out from under him and roll off the bed to start my day, unfortunately he doesn’t get the memo. He lies on his stomach still as a rock, eyeing every movement I make, just waiting for his chance to pounce. Homie...Chill out. His tail starts wagging against the wall hard enough for my next door neighbor to think I were hanging up a picture frame. Shit. I’m careful not to make any sudden movements, slowly looking over to the dusty alarm clock on the computer desk. 5:09PM. Shit. The semi open journal on the naked mattress displays today's half baked attempt at poetry.
Something scary is happening,
And it will not be ignored.
I don’t know where or when it’ll strike
So I’m prepared to leave at any moment.
Knife, Rope, Water, Medicine.
These are my survival tools.
God I can’t believe I spent all day working on that. Alright Homie, my fault. I reach over to pet his head and he snaps out of defensive position to meet me halfway. Let’s get you outside before you pee the bed.
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It feels good to be outside. The air is crisp with that east coast pre-winter breeze, where it’s cold enough to see your breath but nice enough to smoke a blunt. I like days like this, brings back memories of cutting class just to hang out behind the school. Why didn’t we ever go anywhere? Homie’s loving it too but I don’t think the weather really matters to him, he just likes being outside. Kinda like those oldheads who always sit in front of the building. I'm pretty sure those lawn chairs they sit in have been there longer than them.
Homie peed already, 3 times to be exact. Now he just has to poop. I used to hate this part, our first few walks would take hours because he couldn’t find a good place to do his business. But that was like 2 years ago, before we really got to know each other. Now I usually just go in my head and let Homie lead the way. As long as we stay away from big crowds and he gets to sniff every inch of the sidewalk, our walks go off without a hitch. Sometimes he gets fixed on a leaf or something and we have to come to a complete stop, like right now.
Looks like Homie led us right to the block I usually try to avoid. He’s got his nose inside a crumpled paper bag, most likely smelled an old churro or something, We got food at home leave that shit alone. This area really isn’t too bad but I’ve got some bad experiences here. Come on Homie let’s go. Better safe than sorry.
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Alright once we get upstairs the plan is to shower, clean the room, make something to eat and finally finish today's poem. Poetry usually flows right out of me- yeah yeah gay I know- but for some reason this one is giving me some trouble. Kind of feels like I've been working on it forever now.
We get to the front of the building and Homie runs up to the door, waiting to be let in. I know buddy I know we’re almost there. Left pocket, empty. Right pocket, empty. Hmm. Left back pocket, crumpled paper. Right back pocket, empty. Oh shit. Left... right… aha! hoodie pouch… empty. No no no no no fuck… Homie turns away from the door and places his two front paws on my leg, jumping up and down. Dammit! Okay sit down and take a deep breath, deep breath… okay. Homie waits silently at the door. Come here… He walks over and nuzzles his head onto my lap. I’m sorry buddy, looks like we’re locked out.
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We’ve been locked out before, a few times actually. Memory is pretty shitty ever since the accident so I forget alot of stuff. Looks like I don’t have my phone either. Mom should be home soon anyway, we’ve just got to kill time until 7pm. Good thing it’s nice outside today. Homie is cozied up next to me watching the leaves blow by. Must be nice to not know why you’re here, or rather not care. The gps tracker watch mom got me for christmas reads 5:42PM UNKNOWN LOCATION. Well, might as well try and finish this stupid thing.
Something scary is happening.
I don’t know why or what,
But I know that it's real.
And I know that you can feel it too.
You try to pretend it’s not there.
You distract yourself with things
you think you like.
But you can never forget
Something scary is happening.
Homie lets out a few forceful exhales while nudging my shoulder. What’s up? He walks to the apartment door and begins jumping up and down. I’m sorry buddy we have to wait...- 6:05PM- at least another hour. He drops his head and lazily walks back over to our spot against the wall. Is there anything you want to do? Homie jerks up and begins panting heavily. Yeah that’s a good idea.
It’s weird being in the park during the day, we usually come at night when it’s dark enough to not see other people. I don’t hate people or anything, I don’t even really mind them most of the time, they’re just always trying to say something. I wish we had a limit on the amount of words we could say in a day, then people would really have to think about the things that came out of their mouth. Or maybe we could have point requirements for certain words, your sentence has to meet this minimum level of excitement to use an adjective. No more amazing dinners or great times. Unless your dinner starts with a magician pulling a scarf out of a chicken, it was just dinner. And great time doesn’t even make any sense, for something to be great it has to be of ‘considerably greater quality than the average’ but there is no more or less when it comes to time, it just is. Cheesecake can be great, time is inescapable.
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We’re a lot further into the park now so it’s just us. I don’t really know how we got here but the area feels familiar. There are a few yellowed packs of backwoods strewn around two big rocks, maybe I smoked here before. The area is spacious but not big enough to be noticed by someone who wasn’t looking for it. Homie seems to know exactly where we are, he’s sniffing around the outskirts of the clearing. What are you up to? He doesn’t pay me any mind, just keeps on sniffing around. I wonder what he’s looking for, probably gold. This rock looks comfortable enough Homie seems entertained for now so…
Something scary is happening-
Damn I wish I had some weed, I wonder if Naz is up right now. Hmm that’d be pretty weird though, it’s been way too long since i’ve seen her… Whatever happened between us? Ah whatever, probably best that I don’t cop. It’s not like I would even get high, the smoke just goes right through me whenever I try. Probably because of the meds, why couldn’t they just give me a weed prescription? Or maybe even some benzos, at least then I'd be able to share with my friends. Who the fuck wants to split a prozac with the depressed guy at the party? Whatever.
The me you see? He’s just the bait.
So that when scary things happen
I’m nowhere to be found.
He takes the damage while I run away.
I hide inside his mind, waiting patiently.
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The sun is gone now and Homie is nowhere to be found. How the hell did I lose track of time like that again? Homie!! Nothing. Shit. This is not good. This is really not good. HOMIE!! Fuck, fuck, fuck okay. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He’ll show up, he always does.
The clearing does not look as welcoming as it did earlier. Slivers of moonlight try to shine through the dense treetops, illuminating randomly spaced out spots of the clearing below, the rest covered in a thick blanket of darkness. That familiarity from earlier is kicking in again, along with a heavy sense of dread. I swear I know this place.
Homie! I must be scared because I’m whispering now. Homie stop fucking around and get out here right now. There’s a rustle in the leaves to the left. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Stop fucking shaking. There it is again, a louder rustle this time, followed by a low guttural growl. You know what fuck this, whatever that thing is it’s not my dog. As I turn around to walk away an all too familiar bark echoes from the opposite direction of the rustling leaves. I knew it. Knowing that my dog isn’t the creepy thing calling me in the woods is both comforting and terrifying, so I smile quickly to myself while getting the fuck out of there. On my way out I take one last look behind me. It’s hard to make out but it’s definitely there, a slight space in the bushes from someone, or something, that pushed aside the leaves to slip through.
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7:15pm. Back in the main part of the park now, still haven’t found Homie but I'm glad to be away from whatever that thing was. Hoooooooommmmmiiiiieee! A bark travels from what sounds like the track and field.
The park seemed completely empty until I got to the track. There’s a small crowd of people on the field holding candles, some have signs too. Seems like the end of a protest, or maybe the beginning of a party. Either way it’s weird for them to be here, people don’t really come to this part of the city to do things. What’s even weirder is finding Homie sitting next to the bleachers, watching the protesters from a distance. Hey you! Homie turns his head and barks when he sees me. What the hell are you doing here? You scared the shit out of me. He jumps up to lick my face while I aggressively rub his head and put his leash back on. I really should be mad right now but I’m just so happy to see you. Homie sits back down and continues watching the protesters. What do you wanna join them or something? He pays me no mind and continues to stare. I watch him watch them, then watch them, then watch him again. Weird. Alright come on let’s get home.
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Back at the front steps now, the light is on in mom's bedroom but she doesn’t seem to be hearing the doorbell. She’s probably sleeping or something. Funny how the medicine affects us differently, her pills put her to sleep and mine keep me up all night. To be honest i’m not really looking forward to seeing mom right now, we kind of had a falling out a little while ago. It was nothing too major, I guess the doctor's office called her or something and, well long story short I haven’t been going to my sessions. We had this big old dumb argument about it and never really got to make up. That must have been, hmm… wait when did that even happen? It’s a small apartment but we’re somehow able to go weeks without so much as a goodmorning together. Well, here goes nothing. Ma!! No response. MAAAA!! Nothing. Homie patiently waits next to my leg while I scream at the second story window. Well don’t you wanna go home too? Bark or something. He cocks his head to the side and stares at me but offers no help. Whatever. Her window looks open enough for a stone to pass through so I start looking for ammo. I’ve got 4 or 5 nice rocks ready to launch when the light in her window shuts off.
Homie’s ears perk up, as she comes down the stairs. I drop my window tappers and peek through the glass of the front door. There she is, dressed in grey jeans, a thick sweater and one of her signature funky hats. For as long as I can remember my mother has been wearing hats; fedora, kangol cap, big straw beach hat, new era 51, silk head scarf, the list goes on and on but, if it can be worn on your head best believe she has one in her closet. I never really understood why she insisted on wearing hats, she has such long beautiful red hair. I asked her about it once and she teared up and said, “being beautiful isn’t always a nice thing”, after that I dropped it.
She’s walking towards the front door and does not look happy to see me. She actually looks really fucking sad. Ah shit here we go, Hey ma i’m- She opens the door and walks right past without saying a word. Seriously? Ma! Nothing. MA! She continues speed walking down the block and disappears around the corner without even looking back. Homie starts to follow her but I yank him back to catch the door before it closes. Not now Homie, mom’s not too happy with us.
We’re inside the apartment now, God it feels good to be home.
Here you go Homie, you get a big bowl of nasty dog food and 3 meaty treats for being such a trooper today. He ignores the food and slowly walks away. What’s wrong? Aren’t you hungry? He makes his way to my room, scratching the door until I open it for him.
It’s the same as I left it earlier today, semi packed boxes strewn around, a naked mattress propped up against the wall with an empty computer desk sitting across from it. Homie silently watches me move around the room. Why do I feel like you’re trying to tell me something? He exhales forcefully out his nostrils and plops himself down next to the mattress. Alright weirdo you can stay right there, i’m gonna take a shower. He doesn’t even look at me. Okay clothes, clothes, clothes. Ah! There's a box labeled ‘ISAAC CLOTHES’ in the corner of the room, it’s duct taped and covered with a thin layer of dust. That’s weird, why would I put my clothes in a box with my name on it. With that thought a blinding light bursts from one of the boxes and the floor becomes nothing. SSSAAAAAAXKKKKKK. I try to cover my ears but it’s too bright to even find my hands. The floating orb creeps closer, forcing me to scramble into the corner of the room. The closer it gets the louder it screams. SSSSSAAAAAAAAXXXKKKKKK. Bright rays pierce my eyelids and fill my skull with burning light. The screeching stops and the pain is gone. There is nothing left, only light. What was once me is almost gone, I think this is the end.
You know what…
this isn’t too bad.
A monstrous bark rips a hole through the light and returns me to the world of shadows. The walls fold back together and the ground returns beneath my feet. Homie stands in front of me barking at the orb as it fades away. The light is much dimmer now, but I can still feel it’s otherworldly density pulling me into its orbit. It shrieks one last time, this time in a low whisper. ISSSAAACCC… And with that the light fades away completely.
Deep breath. Homie stands guard, staring at the corner of the room the orb faded into. Homie are you okay? He snaps out of his trance and slams into my chest, knocking me back to the floor I worked so hard to get up from. Bro… His ears perk up and he waits patiently for me to stand up. What was all that? Homie says nothing, but his eyes hold secrets. Why do I get the feeling you know exactly what’s going on right now? Homie barks loudly. You do don’t you! Homie barks again and sprints out of the room.. Something tells me we won’t be back for a while. I turn off the lights and take one last look around before shutting the bedroom door, it’s funny how your whole life can be packed away into a few boxes. Homie barks again but it sounds like he’s outside. I race down the building stairs and find him waiting for me at the entrance. How did you get out here? He says nothing and takes off in the same direction mom went.
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After about 15 blocks of trying to keep up with Homie we finally stop at the park entrance. What are we doing back here? He sniffs the ground and heads further into the park. Homie, be honest with me… can you talk? He continues to sniff and walk away. Damn, some verbal answers would be real nice right about now.
Homie leads us right back to the track and field. The small group from earlier has formed into a very large crowd and they have a small wooden stage built now. Most of them are holding up signs and candles. There are a few people on the stage, it looks like two teenagers setting up a microphone. Homie’s trying to get me closer to the group by biting and pulling at my pants leg but something is holding me back.
Everything begins to blur together and the lights from the candles start to expand and streak across the field. Oh no, it’s happening again. The lights are getting closer but Homie isn’t scaring them away this time. Homie please, please do something.
A loud attention grabbing shriek blasts from the makeshift wooden stage and snaps me out of the trance. I instinctively wipe my eyes and they’re wet and warm to the touch. Blood, no… tears. I was just crying, why was I crying? Microphone feedback echoes from the staging area again and an angelic bass boosted voice clears her throat.
“Sorry about that…”
Whatever small amount of noise the crowd was making immediately comes to a halt and every head turns towards the woman on stage.
“Thank you Tahmid and Nazeath for putting together this wonderful event, I can not put into words how-”
The woman's voice cracks on the last word and she bows her head for a moment to regain some composure, dropping her funky hat in the process.
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Naz rushes over from the side of the stage to pick up the hat and whisper what I assume are encouraging words in my mothers ear. She continues speaking and my feet edge closer to the stage with every word.
“-Thank you, I can not put into words how lucky my son was to call you two his friends. And of course thank you to all the beautiful young souls who came out here tonight to honor his memory. I just wish he were here to see how much he was loved...”
At this point I'm close enough to the crowd to read their posters. WE MISS YOU ISAAC, REST IN PARADISE, FLY HIGH, GONE TOO SOON. What the fuck is going on? I glance over at Homie but he refuses to make eye contact.
“-It’s hard to believe it’s already been a year since Isaac was taken from us. Sometimes I swear I can still hear him typing away in his room at 3am...”
Some of the listeners in the crowd chuckle at this, some silently cry.
“I know a lot of you probably know my son from his blogging site, which I didn’t even know about until after he… after he passed. I wish I had known though, maybe then I could have understood the pain he was going through, maybe I could have helped.”
She chokes up a bit towards the end but after a few deep breaths she’s back to normal.
“I’ve had the luxury of going through my son's website this past year. The things he wrote, his stories were all so… tragic. Reading them hurts, it hurts because I can feel everything he was going through but I can’t do anything about it. Reading them hurt, but I would be lying if I said they haven’t helped me, and I think they helped all of you too. Zach had a way with words that made you feel understood, like you weren’t alone… So that’s why it brings me so much joy to see you all here tonight, because I know Issac’s words have touched you too.``
A solemn round of applause for the grief stricken mother, I think I'm going to throw up. I look at Homie for help but he’s gone. Panic starts to rise in my chest but it doesn’t stay for long, I know exactly where he’s going next.
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I arrive at the clearing in the woods from earlier and find Homie waiting for me. The small gap in the bushes is still there. I look at Homie hoping he will take the first step, but he just waits by my side patiently. Are you ready? He stands up on all fours and barks. Well, here goes everything.
The trail takes us about 10 minutes to get through and ends in another clearing, this one hugging the side of a river. It must have been a secret fishing spot or something, there are some scattered beer cans but otherwise the area looks completely untouched. Homie lays down on his stomach while I investigate the open area. I try to kick an empty beer can into the river but my foot goes right through it, that’s crazy. So how long have I been dead then? Homie stares at me and says nothing. No, no… Has it really been a whole year? He cocks his head to the side and stares blankly. I really wish you could speak right about now, some answers would be nice. I sit down on the river edge and stare out across the water. There’s an old abandoned tire factory on the other side of this river, and to the left a small bridge people usually throw their trash over.
So, one year ago today… Homie walks over to me and offers me his head to rub while I think out loud.
...One year ago today I woke up, brushed my teeth, and decided to walk into the Bronx river. Homie says nothing.
So that poem i’ve been working on, that’s the last thing I wrote huh? I flip to the end of my journal and see a page has been ripped out. Wait, left… right… there it is in my back left pocket. I smooth out the crumpled up paper and begin to read.
Something scary is happening.
I don’t know why or what,
But I know that it's real.
And I know that you can feel it too.
You try to pretend it’s not there.
You distract yourself with things
you think you like.
But you can never forget
Something scary is happening,
I don’t know where or when it’ll strike
So I’m prepared to leave at any moment.
Knife, Rope, Water, Medicine.
These are my survival tools.
And the me you see? He’s just the bait.
So that when scary things happen
I’m nowhere to be found.
He takes the damage while I run away.
I hide inside his mind, waiting patiently.
Now this method has worked for years,
And with it I've survived many scary things.
But for some reason lately,
I feel the scary creeping in.
Luckily there’s a void in him,
Which will keep me safe from everything.
The only catch, absolute darkness.
A small price to pay for safety from everything.
Blackout curtains cover my eyelids,
ear sockets, nose pits and mouth hole.
Ain’t no sunshine getting in here, ever.
Guess that’s why it’s been taking so long to finish, I didn’t want to get to the ending. IIISSAAACCC. The voice calls out to me from the water. Streaks of silver and grey light from all corners of the river swim towards one spot and a bright bluish orb rises out of its place. The floating orb of light edges closer to us but I feel no fear. I look over at Homie, he doesn’t look scared either.
IIISSAAACCC… Are you ready?
Warm tears stream down my face as I feel the orb pull me into its orbit, deep breaths.
What if I don’t want to go? What if it was all just a big misunderstanding, can I take it back?
The orb stops in its path and dims it’s light enough for me to stop squinting.
You made your decision long ago. There is no back or forward Isaac, only now.
He’s right, or she, I guess pronouns don’t really matter to ethereal spheres of light. I give Homie a big hug and rub his back for the last time.
You are the best boy. Thank you for everything.
He licks my face and begins to whimper. Fuck this is hard.
I need you to stay here okay? You got to keep mom safe. You’re not my guard dog anymore, you’re hers. I love you.
I turn around and walk towards the floating ball of light in the middle of the river. It kind of looks like a moon now, which I guess is more comforting than walking into the sun. Last time I did this I only made it 4 steps before falling through the surface, now I'm almost halfway across the river and the ice hasn’t even made a sound. I turn around for one last view and see Homie sitting right in front of me. Homie what are you doing! He cocks his head to the side and stares at me with his tongue hanging out. Ice shoots up my spine as I realise, The light isn’t only here for me… Homie walks past me and towards the floating orb. Dammit Homie! Why did you go in the water! I told you to stay! I told you to stay! Homie bows his head and lets out a whimper. IISSAAACCC… It is time. The tears are really coming out now. Fucking dog.
I grab Homie by the ears and stare deep into his eyes. Hey, I’m sorry, you’re not the one I'm mad at. You were just looking out for me, like you always do. He licks my face and barks happily. Alright, deep breaths, let's do this. I’m ready. The orb begins to change from it’s comforting bluish hue to a bright waxy yellow. The light grows stronger and brighter until all I can see is white. My body has melted away and I can feel my consciousness slipping, I guess this is the end.
Hey Homie are you there?
Por supuesto hermano.
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First Day. First Dose.
Today I begin microdosing Psilocybin Mushrooms.
Trying to get a handle on my depression has been a bit of a struggle. Before my depression hit, I would say I was pretty carefree. I remember friends describing me as someone who refused to see obstacles as obstacles, but rather challenges. My brother jokes with me that my magic and what I use to cast is by being able to pluck willpower out of thin air and use it for my own devices. I didn’t feel invincible; failure was definitely something in my life. But it never stopped me. Failure used to only be proof that my first plan didn’t work, and rather than wallowing in it, it was just back to the drawing board to come up with plan b, and c, and d, and e.
And I was SO CREATIVE. God! I used to write. Poetry, songs, fiction, non-fiction, short stories. I used to sing, and paint, and needlework, and sculpt, and draw, and craft and just DO. The need to create something because my imagination was just too full was a driving force. Unstoppable. I miss that. I miss that me.
Now, I literally feel dumb. I am a college graduate with a private education (A-B student) that has trouble thinking of words. I feel like my depression has made me stupid. I lose track of what I am thinking in the moment. I can’t remember simple orders of operations (like when you need to run errands, and you have a list of things you need to do before other things...I couldn’t even do THAT). I feel weighted, like my brain is trying to think through sludge sometimes. Or that the thing I want in my brain is “slightly to the left.” Especially words. Yes, some of it is age, but the rapid progression is scary, and it’s NOT normal, and something is WRONG. I found out that depression can change your brain’s chemistry, that it can change your memories and your thought processes.
My depression does not manifest in sad or suicidal thoughts. It manifests in anhedonia, which is a term I recently found out means a lack of pleasure in doing things. A symptom of that is a lack of motivation. Why do anything if it doesn’t bring you even an ounce of joy? I was finding it hard to get out of bed again (the last time being a major bout of depression in 2015 that quite nearly killed me). And I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m done playing this game, and a true Slytherin wouldn’t allow this to continue...not when there were things that would give me an advantage.
March 7th I began anti-depressants. I started on Prozac, and for the first week, almost immediately, things felt effortless again. I had forgotten what that FELT like. Unfortunately, a couple weeks in the Prozac began to stop working. My family does well on Lexapro, so my doctor switched me to that April 11th. It’s definitely helping. Since March I have only missed one dose, and that was because my refill came in a day late (my fault, I totally should have ordered sooner). Now, it is May 26th. I’ve been taking 10mg of Lexapro for 5 weeks. For the most part...it works. My apartment has been cleaner, my finances (a big trigger for my depression) have been a bit better, but there have been some close calls. I feel I’m still not up to where I want to be.
Before starting medication, somehow (and IDK how) I stumbled onto the knowledge of microdosing. And for months I’ve kind of been sitting on this knowledge, thinking about it and considering it. You see, while I’m not in any way a vanilla person, never have I ever used a purely illegal substance. I did some Adderall in college a handful of times, but even though weed is legal where I am (now), I’ve never touched it. I’ve always had a pretty negative view of those things. When I was little drugs and alcohol took my parents away. My father left, and my mom went into rehab during some pretty formative years. Because I cannot blame them for their addictions, I blamed the drugs. While I very VERY occasionally socially drink, drugs were just always a thing I hated.
I’ve found I hate something more than that now. I hate my depression, and whether I have to be on a prescription or illicit I will do anything I can to beat that fucker down to something that I can manage. It’s not even just for my life anymore. I have a team of people that I work with, that I’m leading, in a very creative endeavor. I NEED ME BACK. And I’ll fight tooth and nail to get me back. There is no prince to come and rescue me from the tower; it’s all me, and I’ll use whatever I can at my disposal.
Last week, I acquired Psilocybin Mushrooms. I read everything out there I could on microdosing, how to do it, people’s experiences (Reddit is great for that actually). I bought everything I needed (capsules, scale, the mortar and pestle I already had) which came in today. And today, May 26th, I’ve taken my first microdose. I am still taking my anti-depressant (since I’m on the lowest therapeutic dose anyway).
Time: 3:07PM
Amount: 0.1g
Schedule: 1 dose, every 3 days, for a month trial.
This tumblog will be my experience. I hope someone else finds it helpful.
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Closer To The End (part III)
I contend that human beings are not suited for the world we've fashioned for ourselves. Cases of anxiety and depression are practically ubiquitous, and suicide in all age groups is once again on the rise. Some will suffer mental afflictions that last years -- perhaps even for a lifetime. This is the third and final part of my story.
~By Billy Goate~
Cover art by Ruso Tsig
additional art by Karl Briullov
I'm so tired of hearing that I'm wrong
Everyone laughs at me, why me?
I'm so tired of being pushed around
I feel like I've been betrayed
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We take each other's love, forget to give back
Isn't it a pity, how we break each other's hearts
I know we're only human and not to blame
But who the hell are you to cause so much pain
Why...
MEDICATION
My parents have been anti-establishment for as long as I can remember. In the climate of the 1980s, the institutions of the day were being called seriously into question. One of them was the authoritarian nature of public education (there's a reason why Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" resonated so strongly with people). It's no surprise that my family got caught up in the first wave of the homeschooling movement. Other areas of modern life began to be called into question, as well, taking the family down a dark, windy road that led into conspiracy culture, extreme libertarianism, and religious dogmatism.
This distrust of the "experts" put us at odds with the medical establishment, too. "Doctors only know how to do two things," mom would often proclaim loudly in one of her famous rants, "cut you open or prescribe you pills." Natural medicine held the keys to recovery from all ills, be it cancer or the common cold. "All those chemicals aren’t good for your body," she insisted. "God put everything we need for healing in the ground." I’m not here to knock naturopathy (I was an ardent follower of this way of life for years) nor my mother for her convictions, but there are some things that can’t be cured by Saint John's Wort and herbal tea -- major depression being one of them.
At one point, my anxiety, melancholy, and a generalized feeling of social isolation reached such a heightened state I turned to hypnotism, enamored by an obscure radio program hosted by Roy Masters and his Foundation for Human Understanding. I was too young to understand the significance of most of the bullshit he was spewing, but it was the comprehensive approach to life that appealed to me. I wanted answers -- all of them. About the only thing I got out of it, though, was learning how to make my own arm go numb through self-hypnosis.
Later, I'd get caught up in a movement of Biblical counseling that rejected psychiatry altogether. "Christ has given us all things we need for life and godliness," says the holy writ, ergo we need none other than Jesus to cure our mental ills. Furthermore, the thesis said, since "God has not given us a spirit of fear" it must mean that the root of depression and anxiety is ultimately sin against God. The answer? Confess your sins and walk by faith, not by sight. In short, pray the sadness away. All of this had limited effectiveness in coping with the claustrophobic cloud of melancholy that was constantly with me.
Cough & Windhand: Reflection of the Negative by Windhand
The stigma of psychiatry and modern medicine kept me from treating my depression for damn near a decade. Somewhere in my late twenties, after a prolonged and particularly dark depressive spell, I decided to talk to my medical doctor about antidepressants. He started me on the industry standard, the well-known and well-marketed Prozac, which became a household name in the '90s. I took the first dose at bedtime and when I woke up, I was seriously hating the daylight. Feeling extraordinarily fatigued, all I wanted to do was sleep. I called in a rare sick day from work. The next day I was feeling groggy, but well enough to return. Giving it the good ol' college try, I took Prozac for several weeks as directed, but the side-effects just weren't worth it for me. That’s when I was referred to my first psychiatrist.
It was a weird feeling sitting in the waiting room for my appointment. I felt like I’d joined the ranks of the fragile, broken, and confused, perhaps even the insane. It was hard for me to see myself sharing anything in common with the others that shared the tiny lobby. The psychiatrist who greeted me looked like a regular chucklehead -- you know, one of those sidekicks from a sitcom that's not coming to me now. (It just came to me: Glen from the Tom Green Show.) A paunchy man in his 30s with wavy dirty blonde hair parted to the side donning wire-rimmed glasses, the shrink pulled out a notebook and started asking me about my background, while he busily took notes. Turned out, the man was very methodical in his approach. Over the course of the year, we cycled through all kinds of drugs -- Paxil, Effexor, Wellbutrin, Lexapro, Zoloft, and a lot of other names I'm not remembering, before finally settling on Cymbalta.
Certainly, this was something I didn't want to share with my coworkers, much less mom and dad. The first time I told my brother I was taking antidepressants, he was outraged. “You don’t need that stuff in your body. You don’t need pills to feel good.” I don’t know what it is about antidepressant medication that offends people so badly, but some people feel it is their personal mission in life to get you off of them. Why all the evangelical fervor? Are they secretly afraid they are "nuts," too? It’s not like I’m trying to get everyone else to take my medication, but suddenly these people, well-meaning or not, are trying to get you off of your meds.
I’ve seen YouTube videos from a guy claiming that God has cured him of his bipolar disorder and he flushed all his pills down the toilet (bad idea, by the way). Then a month later, he comes back online crying uncontrollably, talking about how he feels like God is testing him and asking viewers to pray to stop Satan’s onslaught. Moral of the story: It's dangerous to let people's religious opinions and untested hunches drive the agenda for our mental health.
I'm very reluctant these days to talk to anyone about my depression, because of all the rush to judgement involved. Ironically, it's this breakdown of community that I believe is at the heart of much of our mental health issues as a society. Look at the comments on any confessional video addressing burnout, depression, or anxiety and you'll find everyone is suddenly an expert who knows so well the precise and perfect solution to your problems. Well-meaning or not, it's incredibly annoying and I'd rather not have trouble with it. Hell, it took me two years to finish this article.
Depressed people are often viewed with the same cynical dismissiveness ascribed to angsty hormonal teens. "It's just a phase, you'll get through it," you're told with the reassuring wave of a hand. Besides, they remind you, "Happiness is a choice!" Because they are feeling chipper today, they have little patience for you dampening their mood. Others call you edgy when you say the pressures of life are so great that you feel like just turning off the lights on all of it. Still others will view you as selfish for leaving the family reunion early (or not wanting to participate in holidays at all). When you spend the whole weekend in bed sleeping, they'll accuse you of being indulgent, not realizing sleep gives you a respite from the hurt, guilt, and regret of painful memories or the misery of an unstable home life. Or the well-meaning "It Gets Better!" It doesn't always get better as life moves on.
Then there are those who try to talk you off your meds, entirely (cue: the ridiculously overwrought Facebook posts). We've all been privy to those conversations that strike a conspiratorial tone about how it was really the pharmaceutical companies that led to Chris Cornell's death. "You should just get off the stuff," they argue -- be it from noble intentions or just pride from clinging to an opinion they've stubbornly invested in.
Then there are those who are convinced that since Jesus (or Buddha, Allah Oprah, Jordan Peterson or juicing) gave them an escape from their depression, certainly it is the universal cure for all that ails you. Understand that I was a committed Christian for decades. I know what it is like to feel spiritually serene and I value many of the things the church gave me as a young adult, namely the fellowship, tolerance, and love. I know the feeling of peace that comes from believing in someone who reigns over the chaos and cares about your every need -- an ultimate being who will make sense of the nonsense one day.
I don't wish to diminish anyone's faith or diminish your personal experiences. The fact is, however, that major depression is as much a physical illness as cancer is. Certainly, there are transitional feelings of unhappiness, emptiness, and despair that come from facing situations that seem out of one's control -- the nightmare roommate, being laid off from a job, losing a loved one. It's also true that in most cases, this sadness can be overcome by a new perspective, trying better strategies, or simply allowing the passage of time to do its healing work. Depression can be impacted by one's beliefs, but there is a kind of depression that exists independently of one's perspective on life.
SUICIDAL TENDENCIES
Apart from this series of articles (which took me a good two years to publish), I've stopped sharing my depression with other people. It's annoying, because most people don't know how to listen and empathize. They want to jump in with a solution that, if implemented by nightfall, just might make a difference by daybreak. It's just more hassle than it's worth. Over time, I've gone from being someone with an intense need to belong, to not caring what people think about me at all. I'll often go out of my way to avoid anything deeper than transactional relationships. Once a social butterfly, you'll find me quite the hermit these days. As a consequence, while I was once open to sharing my feelings of loneliness and despair, I rarely mention them any more on social media and practically never to my IRL friends. I would be the last person to call a suicide hotline, by the way. Judge me if you wish, but I'm just being honest. If you want to know what is going on in the head of a severely depressed person with suicidal ideation, here's a least one brain you can peer into.
There's a general consensus that suicide is a selfish decision, even a cowardly act. This was a casual opinion of my own for years, as well. Not until suicide touches someone in your life -- or when you enter its despondent realm yourself -- does the ridiculousness of that notion becomes apparent. Understand that for a person to commit suicide, they have to overcome the brain's own strong predilection for self-preservation. It's not so easy to take the step of ending your life. Something has gone terribly wrong with the brain's ability to convincingly cry, "STOP!" for that to happen.
In my worst bout of depression, following the demise of long-term relationship, I reached the point where every waking moment was sheer misery. Some call this anhedonia -- the inability to feel pleasure. Normally, when we are feeling blue, we seek out something to stimulate our pleasure receptors. That's why ice cream, chocolate, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups are popular go-tos for the bummed out. For me, it's always been music and movies. On this particular week, though, I had somehow lost the capacity to find any joy whatsoever in the usual pastimes. Anything that attempted to pacify my mood met with my contempt. The only thing I could do to escape the agony of just being alive and conscious was to sleep...and sleep I did. At first 8 hours a night, up from my usual 7. Then it advanced to 9, 10, 11, 12 hours. When dawn came, a wave of misery washed over my mind again.
Once, I woke up feeling so despondent that I knew with absolute clarity that I could end my life. Today, I could actually do it. Immediately upon this realization, I wept bitterly. I've not cried like that before or since. If anything, I've become more stoic about the idea of suicide. Don't get me wrong, my internal sense of self-preservation is still quite strong. The problem is that in moments of severe depression, that instinct is dampened. You'll do just about anything just to get rid of the feeling of misery making it unbearable to be awake.
DOOM AWAKENING
One of the most important developments in treating my depression, besides medication and therapy, was the discovery of doom. There's an old expression that misery loves company. I don't know about you, but when I listen to music it's not generally to cheer me up. No, I want my tunes to have a certain level of commiseration with what I'm feeling and going through at the time. When I discovered (quite by accident) Saint Vitus, I knew I'd found my soul food. I can't fully explain that eureka moment when Dave Chandler belted out that first downtuned note on the guitars on "Born Too Late" or when Wino joined with plaintive lyrics for "I Bleed Black." This resonated with me powerfully. It brought chills. This was medicine for my weary head, a kind of mental morphine to dull the pain. I'd come to the Roseland Theater for Down and left with Saint Vitus.
As a funny aside, my roommate (who accompanied me to the show) and I rehashed the bands of the night, giving our two cents on this or that. One thing he said still makes me smile a little inside. "What did you think of Saint Vitus?" I asked. "I don't think they're the kind of band that will withstand the test of time," he remarked. "Well," I rejoined, "they have been playing now for over 30 years and were the co-headliners on a national tour, so their sound must be resonating with a good number of people." Sure, it wasn't for everyone, but on that night my doom had come.
Every song on 'Born Too Late' (1986) so perfectly captures the malaise of the deeply wounded soul, not just in lyrics but in the whole vibe. There's a thick, smoky haze permeating the record and it reminds me a lot of what it feels like after you've poured out your heart until you've got no more tears left to cry. Come on, don't pretend you're so macho that normal human emotions elude you. It's hard to put doom into words, but I'll try: on the one hand you feel emotionally exhausted because you've emptied out all those pent up feelings of loss, fear, regret, and frustration, on the other hand there's a feeling of "reset" and it often makes things much clearer to sort through. For me, when I've exhausted all my emotional resources, I'm left with a feeling of blithe acceptance. A sense of being dealt a set of cards by the impartial hand of fate. That's the kind of vibe that Saint Vitus captures perfectly for me on this record.
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I spent entire weekends on those long, wonderful rabbit trails of discovery. "Dying Inside" led me to Trouble's "The Tempter" with its oh-so-tragic central riff. Lyrically, the songs I was running across could not have been more apropos.
Pentagram, The Skull, and Candlemass were not lingering far behind. Then came the more recent monoliths of doom: Electric Wizard, Windhand, High on Fire, Burning Witch, Khanate, Pilgrim, Serpentine Path, Usnea, Demon Lung, Ancient VVisdom, Dopelord, and the NOLA sludge scene, along with lesser known but equally as powerful acts like Undersmile, Shepherd's Crook, Reptile Master, Purple Hill Witch, Witchthroat Serpent, March Funèbre, Beldam, Hooded Priest, Regress, and 71TONMAN (listen to the Spotify playlist).
Doom metal spoke to me with a sharp realism that I connected with immediately. When you have no strength left to get angry at the world, you switch your listening habits from Car Bomb to Cough. You can say, I suppose, that doom was my salvation. It kept me hanging on a little while longer. The salve of those slow, low riffs gave me a strange feeling of consolation. "We know life sucks, too. Welcome to reality." It's like being awakened to the Matrix, but feeling there's not a damned thing you can do to change any of it. Your fate is sealed. It's an honesty that is both refreshing and freeing, I suppose, though one does wish to reclaim the notion of hope.
Believe it or not, even after writing all of this, optimism is my default mode. When I'm feeling well, and even when my depression is at low levels, the needle always leans towards inspiration, creativity, even a mischievous sense of humor and an aw, shucks smile that people tend to notice. I don't want to be depressed. The problem is that severe depression can make you feel, illusion or not, like you're paralyzed from doing anything about it.
As I've experienced more and more cuts and scrapes of life, I've become increasingly numb to it all, like the massive build-up of scar tissue. Things that upset me easily in the past might still hurt, but I've come to expect them, so they have the impact of a dull table knife. Perhaps I'm becoming a nihilist, despite my optimistic tendencies. It's hard not to be. Don't worry about me, though. If anything, I want to stick around to see what's going to happen next. It's the inborn curiosity we all have inside of us -- the same thing that I imagine kept Stephen Hawking going for decades after being wrecked by a disease that cruelly mangled his body into its famously misshapen form, stealing away his most basic expressive freedoms -- save for the power of his eyes and the thoughts behind them.
I've also made a deliberate attempt to pursue treatment (both psychiatric and psychological care) for my depression, which I urge you to do if you are likewise laboring under its crushing weight. The perspective of time, coupled with a remedy for mind and body can have a significant impact on your perspective, if not your life circumstances.
THE WINDY ROAD AHEAD
Learn from your mistakes, don't dwell on them. Repeated affirmations like this one may seem trite, but they are ultimately true. You can be free from the chains of guilt and move forward, as one performer puts it, "from strength to strength."
Don't kill yourself (literally or metaphorically) for someone else or for someone else's decisions. It may bum you out that a roomie decided to take your money and run or that you were rebuffed by a long-time crush or made jobless through corporate-wide cuts. You don't own that, they do.
Walks
Get off the couch, move that bod. Something as simple as a walk down the block or a drive out of town can do wonders for your perspective. As a homeschool teen living under the strict rule of a radical fundamentalist household in rural East Texas, my one salvation were those long walks in the open field -- especially when my parents started having loud, intense fights related to my mom's own mental health. I sorted through so many of life's problems (most of which seemed much larger then than they do now) through those solitary, hour-long strolls.
I really miss that where I live now, in a more congested neighborhood, so I have to find other ways of getting away from it all (getting up and out a half-hour before the other walkers, for instance, helps). Even if I don't want to rustle myself awake and move around to do as simple a task as taking out the trash, sometimes the feeling...let me revise that...quite often the feeling follows after the decision has been made and the body is in motion.
Projects
Another piece of advice I have for coping with depression is to channel your frustrations in projects. When I'm depressed, I throw myself into my work. Hell, Doomed & Stoned started because I needed a project to pour myself into. My counselor asked me once, "If you woke up tomorrow without depression, what would be different about your world?"
She encouraged me to start with the things that were in my immediate vicinity. "Well, there wouldn't be mail strewn all over the floor. My dirty clothes would be in the hamper, my clean clothes folded and put away. I'd take the time to cook myself a meal, instead of running out the door eating a quick bite out of some package."
Good, let's make a list and start there. Do at least one of the things on your list between now and the time we meet again next week.
Talks
Despite my isolationist ways, I begrudgingly admit that talking often helps, too. Though I'm an introvert and am horrified at the idea of sharing my feelings with others, I've reached points in my depression where I was compelled to tell others about it. It's as natural to do that as to cry out when your body is experiencing jolting pain. I'm one of those verbal processors that tends to sort through my problems by talking to someone else. Often, pride or shame or lack of trust gets in the way of sharing with our family and friends, so at the very least the much talked about Suicide Prevention Hotline could actually help you gain perspective on your situation.
Journals
If you don't talk, at least journal. Again, I'm not a journaler and this is the first time in almost three decades that I've written about anything related to my depression. Role play with me. You're a scientist studying the human psyche. How would you describe those feelings you call depression? When I was first asked to describe it to a counselor, I found myself at a loss for words. She helped me with prompts:
Can you tell me what it feels like?
"I walk around feeling like a dark, thick raincloud is hovering all around me all the time."
Do you feel it in a part of your body?
"Well, yeah, I guess. The head. And the chest. It feels like there's pressure building from all around me, like my head is going to explode. My heart feels like it's going to leap out of my chest."
What's happening around you when these feelings arise?
I'd then go on to detail some recent happenings. She'd press me further to describe the kinds of thoughts racing through my head in these situations. All of this was really helpful in getting me to define this nebulous, gray malaise that was following me everywhere I went.
I don't keep a journal, per se. Something about it feels needlessly egotistical, a vain attempt to reinforce the illusion in our YouTube fame crazy world that my life is worth discovering and remembering at some point in the distant future. And yet, writing down one's thoughts can be another effective way of untangling that anxious ball of feelings that keeps me from thinking rationally about the depression I'm feeling.
Today is my birthday, but I couldn't care less. It's not about getting old. I stopped caring about that 10 years ago. It's something about celebration, specifically when the attention is on me. I can't adequately describe how contemptuous I find it. My last birthday was spent alone in an empty house and a bottle of Scotch, catching up with past seasons of Game of Thrones. I was so glad it was over and the happy birthday wishes stopped. There's nothing special about this day for me.
At some point, my family stopped celebrating birthdays and holidays. I'm not sure when it happened or why. Certainly not for religious reasons, more probably for financial ones. I grew up in a family that barely scraped by, so birthdays seemed a luxury we couldn't afford. Now, it just feels indulgent. More than that, it feels sad. It reminds me of all the disappointments, hurts, and failures of the past year. It's not as though it's all bad, of course. If nothing else my birthday gives the illusion that a chapter has turned, with new possibilities for the future. I also have to come to terms with how many people out there actually seem to care about me, maybe even love me.
And later that day, I forced myself to go to a show I was quite enthused about, but didn't factor in depression being the party pooper.
I can't account for what it is that comes over me. There are people here that genuinely like me, who probably even want to get to know me better, but I push them away. Not so much directly, but indirectly, by excusing myself to use the restroom and then changing my mind midway and just leaving the venue -- without even the courtesy of a "goodbye" to friends or a "great show" to the bands. I feel awful about it afterwards, but in that moment it's like a flood of emotional pain washes over me and it feels like I'm carrying an anchor chained around my neck. I feel the great urge to find my way to unlit corners. To look busy and preoccupied. Would it hurt me to say hello? To smile? Perhaps not, but right now my psyche is tingling like some kind of Spidey Sense telling me, "Get out of here! Just get your shit and leave...NOW."
As dour and hopeless as that may feel, just the act of writing it down afforded me a release, which incidentally I did not feel until the writing was all said and done.
Hope, a new beginning
Time, time to start living
Just like just before we died
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Hurt, falling through fingers
Trust, trust in the feeling
There's something left inside
There's no going back to
the place we started from.
ONE MORE THING
For those of you who are wondering what you can do for a friend, family member, coworker or just someone you know casually from shows you both frequent, I couldn't say it better than one of my longtime fellow travelers in doom, who offered up this advice:
"While it's all very well and fucking dandy that there are so many people telling those who are struggling to reach out to them, I don't think people are quite understanding just how mental illness works sometimes. People quite often don't reach out, because those that are suffering from mental illness, at times, feel like they are a burden by unloading their shit onto someone else, despite the invitation to do so. It's generally the same concept that leads on to suicide.
I obviously can't speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself when I say the last thing I want to do is reach out to anyone because I feel like I am a burden and everyone would be better off without me -- and that is ultimately why I don't reach out. The point that I'm trying to get at is if you see someone struggling YOU reach the fuck out. If you don't see someone who used to be around, YOU reach the fuck out. Think about it. It's not that hard."
Well said and completely on the mark. At the same time, if you're feeling alone and uncared for, you may look at people’s lack of inquiry as more confirmation that you are worthless trash. You may interpret a busy person's slight as utter rejection. Don't worry about what others may or may not think of you. You need to take care of you, for you. The future is fickle. Your fortunes can change on a dime, so why base your self-worth and your decision about whether to live or die by how you feel right now? Ride it out, seek out help, get a game plan in play.
I say this as someone who knows how hard it can be to get mental health. I was double insured -- through my employer and the Veterans Administration -- and I couldn't get a god damned psychiatric appointment to reevaluate and adjust my meds. I called all over town trying to get in with someone. "Sorry, we're not accepting new patients" was the universal refrain. The VA would just be too many month's wait, I told myself, based upon how long it has taken me in the past to get a conventional medical appointment. In desperation, I called up my primary care doctor who asked if I was suicidal. For the first time in my life, I knew with full certainty the answer was yes. The more miserable I felt, the more I contemplated dying. If I did it, it would be something quick and sudden, I would daydream in my most despondent moment. "You need to check yourself into the hospital now," she told me adamantly. I did exactly that. I walked into the ER and told them I was suicidal. They led me to a room, had me take off all my clothes, and put on a hospital gown. I stayed in a padded room waiting for a social worker to see me. It was a desperate move, but it did pay off in getting me fast-tracked to see a psychiatrist.
One thing I learned about medication from my new psychiatrist (because he was very caring, very careful, and hence very effective at his job) is that everyone’s brain chemistry is uniquely different. There can be other issues impacting mood, too, such as thyroid, environmental stressors, sleep problems, vitamin deficiencies, and so on. Again, it’s often hard to see whether the cart is leading the horse or the horse is leading the cart, in terms of the mind-body connection. Long story short, this doctor adjusted my meds to near perfection to get me through the rare summer-long depression I was experiencing.
Just a few months later, he got hired away to work for the County and I was left back in the same boat once again. I got a great referral, but didn't realize until bills came in I couldn't pay that the doctor was out of my insurance network. Believe me, many people prefer to go without care entirely than to go into debt and I was one of them (truthfully, I still am). I went another year until I couldn't take it anymore and this time in my desperation reached back out to the VA. Surprisingly, they saw me within a week and prioritized my suicidal depression. I'm now in a good spot as a result, but it was a long, windy, uncertain road getting here. I know it's hard to find help. Sometimes you don't know what's available to you until you knock a little louder and get people's attention.
The older I get, it seems the more stubborn I am, particularly when it comes to reaching out and asking for help. Perhaps I've always been that way and am only now realizing it's become a liability. After taking off three weeks during the holidays to catch up with the many projects that were piling up around me, I realized that my depression was sometimes stronger than my will to power through and do my best work. I would find myself sitting at the computer for hours trying to get started with a story, trying to edit audio for a podcast, trying to prepare a team member's submission for publication, and every time I would find myself coming up against something painful, perhaps similar to the long recognized creative crimp known as writer's block. I describe it as an inhibitor chip in my brain that sends pain signals to my psyche whenever I contemplate moving forward.
Of course, rationally, I know it's all just a matter of the will, right? That's what those who aren't experiencing depression will tell you, at least. They don't want to go to the gym, but they make the choice to do it anyway, so why can't you just "man up" and do what needs to be done? Well, those aren't so much the messages other people give me, as they are my own conscience. The guilt itself from a day coming and going without results adds its own layer of complication to my mood. Thankfully, I have a wonderful counselor who understands and is helping me to tackle this with cognitive strategies. This, coupled with sensible medical treatment, has at least helped me to find "even flow" again.
Finally, you're going to have some bad days where you may even want to be productive, but your body feels like it's in revolt. As a creative person who loves to pour myself into as many projects as I can when I'm feeling good, it can be extraordinarily frustrating to not even feel the will to check email, open a letter, or listen to a stitch of music. Most days, I'm trying to work in concert with my body's natural rhythms. I'm more of a morning person and get my best work done between 8AM and 11AM. Anything after that is going to be hit or miss with diminishing returns. With that in mind, I have to hold back from starting new projects before the ones already on my plate are finished, because when I'm feeling good, I think I can take on the world.
This is all a part of me rediscovering what it's like to feel balanced, bright, and in love with life. It can be frustrating to have that feeling back, only to watch it wither away as the week progresses. Since I have very high expectations of myself, it's natural for me to heap guilt upon guilt for all the missed opportunities, but beating myself up only compounds the problem (it took me a long time to really get this about myself, too). Every day is a struggle, but I've decided I'm staying in the fight for the long haul.
In short: Be patient with yourself. Be fair with yourself. Be good to yourself. Remember, this too shall pass.
"Someday you're going to die,
just like some day I'm going to die.
But until then, you fight like hell
to stay alive, you get that?!"
-- William Holden, The Earthling (1980)
#Closer To The End#Depression#Suicide#Doom#Metal#Saint Vitus#Trouble#Alice in Chains#Windhand#Doomed & Stoned
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Stress Today!
Posted by jamieprosser October 17, 2020
I’ve been thinking about all the bad things that can happen to a person & their bodies when stress attacks them over & over again. Sometimes it stays with you for a period of time not going away as soon as it should. Stress related issues, disorders, & diseases have become increasingly evident in our lives. It seems we are constantly in a state of stress & unrest.
Recently, the coronavirus pandemic! Wow, talk about stress on top of stress! Not that everyone didn’t have enough to worry & stress over with everyday life, here comes the corona! Mask-up people!! Don’t be out after dark, stay home, & have the pizza delivery guy put your pizza order on a chair outside your door! Geeze! I can’t breath wearing those stupid damn things!! Why don’t everyone wear friggin gloves?? Touching money & everything else others touch are the nastiest things to touch ever!! Mask, no gloves, & people so scared they wouldn’t take something to drink if the cup wasn’t a plastic cup in a plastic wrapper. Now, that’s being all the way stressed out at its finest. That’s just one instance. How many more stress related anxiety issues have been born during this pandemic? I would hate to guess! How about the ones who were already having trouble leaving their homes, agoraphobia. They are probably full blown agoraphobics now! I know someone with this. It’s awful for that person. It’s not actually fear of leaving the house, it’s what happens when they are out. Usually a panic attack, nausea and even vomiting. Terrible! I’ve delt with a few stress related anxiety disorders myself.
As I said, I had been thinking about these issues since my son posted about post traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. My son has complex PTSD. It’s more severe & can be very difficult to treat. Complex PTSD is basically trauma on top of trauma, especially when the first traumatic experience happened during childhood. It builds layers that’s difficult to get through. My son was in Afghanistan as many of you know. That year of stress filled trauma put a tough layer on top of other traumatic events. It hasn’t been easy for him or the ones who love him. Thank God, he’s doing very well at this moment. I say moment because when you or someone you are close to starts going through something like complex PTSD, PTSD, agoraphobia, depression, or generalized anxiety disorders that’s how you have to measure time. Minutes at a time because next week that someone could have done flipped out & turned into someone you don’t even know. I don’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just the truth! You cannot speculate that anyone suffering with any of these mental disorders are going to be ok tomorrow. Take nothing for granted. During the beginning of my counseling, getting to know myself, and Prozac it was crap shoot! I’d be ok one minute, the next I was cussing everyone around me out, & throwing whatever I could grab at anyone in the way. Do I know why? Nope! I didn’t know then either. I had to learn to start paying attention to myself & everything around me. I was diagnosed with complex PTSD, major depession, & generalized anxiety disorder. I think there was another one but that’s enough. I no longer have to take medication anymore. I was on Prozac for almost three years. Anyone that has ever taken antidepressants knows what I’m talking about when I say, “you know when you don’t need them anymore!” I thought my head was going to explode! I was a little scared, however, they had become my safety net. I couldn’t do the headaches so I muddled through! Lol Journaling & continuing my self-reflection and really getting to know myself helped tremendously! I still have little freak-outs, that’s what I call them, most are things easily controlled just by finding my quiet, happy place & breathing. At times, it can be exhausting & I need a nap. That’s just the way it is.
Now, I will be writing more about stress related issues such as autoimmune diseases, which I was diagnosed with over twelve years ago. How did it happen? Hereditary or not? Is it a death sentence?
Has the pandemic made your stress worse? If you have any stress related anxiety issues, have they gotten worse? Have you not been affected? Let me know!
As the post for PTSD wants awareness, we also need to remember these things just don’t go away! They linger with tiny reminders that they are not going to let go of you, & sometimes they leave you with painful daily reminders!
Until Next Time
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Early Refills for the Lonely Girl’s Soul
Chapter One: “Life Skills to Kill”
“The tide is high but I’m holding on.”
And the tide is made up of 75 (edit: 80mg actually, they allowed me an increase today) milligrams of thick Methadone that runs a marathon through my bloodstream. It always wins the race for nothing. It’s all for big nothing.
Welcome to the static years. I’ll be your unreliable narrator with a heart of a darkness. Did anyone else read that in University English-lit? I couldn’t get through that book. Then again, I could barely get through campus mid semester.
Die with the lie? (Insert French for yes)
I’m questionable at best. And a terrible fake crier at worst. I need my Methadone every morning or I think about stabbing the walls of my apartment. I need my coffee for the ride to the clinic or I think about crying in the middle of the parking lot. Middle-class tragedy. Spoiled since day one. I NEED. I NEED. I NEED. I need you to read this.
My death wishes used to be bad-girl-charming at 22. Cute in that worried type of way. “She’s such a mess, isn’t it fabulous? I just love how complicated Cat makes everything.” Fast forward three psychiatrists, two evictions, one overdose and a series of voided lovers. Currently they’re just a broken record of empty. No! Really! I look in the mirror and regret it instantly. These days I see right through my own smoke and static; the attempts to distract my social circle from the rattling pharmacy bottles. There’s not enough black lipstick to mute a friend who cares. But there should be. (MAC, take note.)
Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the shameful of them all.
You are. You really are.
End of Chapter One
But maybe it’s mandatory for an author to have a loud reputation. You know what?A writers persona should be shrouded in rumors anyway. Fuck it. The checkered past. An affair with their professor. Or maybe their student. A secret arrest during the holidays years back. Maybe a forgotten relative with unfinished business. A hit and run inspired by Johnny Walker Red. A blood soaked sweater in the back of their closet to remember.
I have convinced myself that every writer deserves a notoriety to keep the masses at arms length. My, my, my, the mystery!
But the troubled-addict-writer is a cliche. And writers hate cliches. But writers also hate themselves.
Well, the good ones do anyway. What? Too far? And where was I before I launched a tangent of misplaced-poor me-bullshit?
Mmmmm. Methadone. My clinic has the pink kind.
I’m not the only one hurting myself, I tell myself over and over.
I think about how dramatic I’m trying to be, wanting to sound right and profoundly right at that. I feel like a bad actress in a dying career resurrecting a classic play. No need for an encore. Just cut. Besides there’s an after-party that I need to disappear into for eight hours.
I hate introducing myself in the first blog. Anything I write feels like the wrong thing. It’s so forced, I’m convinced no one knows themselves that well. Especially not I. Isn’t it better to keep a distance? Perhaps we can be strangers who make prolonged eye contact across the room.
Hi, I’m Cat. I feel like I just moved here. (Wherever here is.) I don’t know how to describe myself without comparing myself to the status quo. So, shallow generalizations about women, here I come!
Most girls find peace in an afternoon of shopping. Or make-up at Ulta. They get lost in the aisles and yell funny remarks to their friends about fashion sensitive culture. Maybe I’m jealous. And by maybe, I mean, absolutely.
Or perhaps They stalk their ex’s social media for clues about them, as if they were solving a murder. A new Facebook friend? An instagram story that makes no sense? It’s not adding up now, but it will. Oh, it will. By the way, who the fuck is Alicia and why are you tagging her?
I’ve always been sicker than the others.i win! Damnit. As the in crowd of seventh grade used to call it, I am “fuckin’ weird, no offense.”
“None taken” I nodded back taking a knee during gym class.
I do like to shop, although always by myself in the lonelier corners of shopping centers. And duh! I stalk many lucky persons on a semi-regular basis. It’s the American way at this point, I do it for my country. But on top of these typical hobbies of the expected feminine divine, I’m orbiting a different side of town. The side that no one thinks to go to for good reason; it smells weird and has no relevance to most standards of living.
Bare with me.
I’m a curious party. I’m also a drug addict in the harshest way. The combination of these two factors equal my favorite hobby; reading pharmacology research papers. Yes, sir. complete with abstracts and hypothesis that outlines the right balance of factual accuracy. Gets me giddy just thinking about it!
I like knowing what the new, FDA approved antidepressants are categorized as. And why they aren’t as good as Prozac. But better than Paxil. And less harmful to the female orgasm. Ladies, you know what I mean. It’s a cruel game when you finally stop thinking suicidal thoughts but suddenly can’t orgasm. God is really a piece of work. A sexist piece of work, come to think of it.
These new prescriptions hold possibilities, a potential change for an addict in the screaming cycle of addiction. It’s hope, baby. I’ve got that shit, I can’t play the bad ass who doesn’t care about anything anymore. I’ve been there and got the t-shirt. I had to rip it off.
Goodbye apathy. I’m blowing you a kiss. Of death.
I’ve been a pharmacy baby since day one. Hell, I was a pharmacy baby hopeful-groupie-wannabe-poser before ever cashing my first Celexa prescription. Or maybe it was Lexapro. Oh well. Same thing. I was so excited to be an official member of all the statistics I read about.
The few. The proud. The prescribed.
It began with therapy in ninth grade for a knot of emotional problems that caused me to isolate and skip class 80% of the school day. My counselor found this worrying. I thought nothing of it. Who gives a fuck about geometry? I wanted to listen to Celebrity Skin on my disc man and walk around the outdoors. If life was a one off, I was going to sit in this meadow with Malibu blaring my ears into deafening bliss.
Girl power. I understood my selfishness on a promising level, one that spoke volumes about who I was going to be, a stunningly poised sociopath with nothing to offer most of society. Adults felt the aura on me most of the time and soon their would be meetings about my “goals” and “friends.”
No wonder people were worried. I was a walking red-flag of rage and I hadn’t even gotten my first period. I didn’t have many good reasons to be pissed off and I was usually morbid about something if I wasn’t in my bed. This wasn’t looking ideal for a freshman with zero college ambition and no interest in recreational activities that would accompany academia and no doubt introduce me to new social groups. I wasn’t athletic enough to play school sports, and I was too wrapped up in my depression (which had no real cause, according to my family).
And they were rightful in their judgment. I was better off than most of my school friends, sporting the latest lava lamp that glowed my room a deep purple or concert tickets that we would countdown the days too. I got to see Ja Rule and Ashanti up close and personal much to the dismay of my classmates deep in the bleachers bitching constant complaints.
I didn’t have it bad. And I knew it, which made me feel worse. I hadn’t the faintest idea what my problem was. I couldn’t smile anything or even pretend to for the sake of my parents, who just wanted me to have a normal teenage existence that didn’t kill every mood with some invisible, existential threat. I must have been the most annoying fourteen year old with a lava lamp.
This stubborn depression led me to weekly ninety-dollar checks that were flawlessly made out to one Dr. Pat. Pharmacy Baby’s first shrink. Awww!
We all have to start somewhere. My start was Thursday’s at 4pm. This appointment made me vacate the bu on an earlier stop than the routine one. Kids soon began to take notice. And they couldn’t comprehend why I had to see a doctor four times a month. I must have leukemia or some other young person disease they saw on Dawson’s Creek. I must have been really sick, dying really! Afterall, my sole school-bus pal Kendra saw her hair stylist more than her primary care physician and the dentist combined. Highlights are a serious thing, she would state this as seriously as a heart attack. It made me chuckle and she never understood.
Unfortunately, the punchline was that I was dying. At fourteen years old I knew this was the start of a love-hate relationship with “irony.”
At my worst I was existing and not knowing why. I was wanting to sleep life away. Sleep was the answer.
At my best I was killing my old-self, the girl who reeked of unexplained trauma and bad moods and now this annoying trademark “irony.” The metamorphosis came around the third month of counseling. An anniversary with Dr. Pat meant we drank hot cocoa and did worksheets revolving around behavior and choices. Fuck prom, I had Dr. Pat! I was blossoming.
And i was learning about the power that was “change” and how it could empower you like a butterfly. Or whatever insect fit the worksheets. I sometimes felt like a spider, but I never told Dr. Pat this.
It’s never easy to kill the old you. Even more demanding to bury the old body, and just praying it won’t come back from the dead and replace you. Hoping wasn’t enough. I had to ask with my eyes closed.
I wanted to be a butterfly. I needed my wings. (Commence the beginning of secret plans that were thoughtlessly detailed in my diary, ready to be exposed any minute to a league of jealous girls re-enacting Mean Girls). The writer inside me cringed. Privacy truly died before Twitter. No girls thoughts were safe. They would never be safe. I would need to find new ways for my secrets and dreams. Then, I would fly away into the night, into a new city of strangers, outside of a small minded town of familiars. I wouldn’t need numbers in my yearbook. I was going to find what I was looking for.
But what the fuck was I looking for. Sweet sixteen started to taste sour.
I remembered Dr. Pat told me, “Happiness is a butterfly.”
I wrote it down in my diary, much to my own dismay, hoping that it would be both safe and true.
By: Caitlin Alysabeth Thomas, March 10, 2020, “pharmacy baby blogs,” “Romance in the Vice.”
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Whoo got tagged ages ago by @jawsandbones , but I’m a lazy fuck so I took till now to get back to her! Sorry boo! Tagging only a few. @fireheartedkaratepup @the-tevinter-biscuit @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses @the-rxven-king but only if they want to! If you want to and I didn’t tag you, consider yourself tagged! @(insert your name here)
1ST RULE: tag 10 people you want to get to know better
2ND RULE: BOLD the statements that are true
APPEARANCE:
I am 5'7" or taller (I THOUGHT I WAS BUT I JUST FOUND OUT I’M 5′6.5″ ANDI FEEL BETRAYED)
I wear glasses
I have at least one tattoo
I have at least one piercing
I have blonde hair
I have brown eyes
I have short hair
My abs are at least somewhat defined
I have or have had braces
PERSONALITY:
I love meeting new people
People tell me that I’m funny
Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me
I enjoy physical challenges
I enjoy mental challenges
I’m playfully rude with people I know well
I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it (Legit)
ABILITY:
I can sing well (not as good as I used to. I used to compete)
I can play an instrument
I can do over 30 pushups without stopping
I’m a fast runner
I can draw well
I have a good memory
I’m good at doing math in my head
I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute
I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling
I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch
I know how to throw a proper punch
HOBBIES:
I enjoy playing sports
I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else
I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else
I have learned a new song in the past week
I work out at least once a week
I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months
I have drawn something in the past month
Fandoms are my #1 passion
I do or have done martial arts
EXPERIENCES:
I have had my first kiss
I have had alcohol
I have scored the winning goal in a sports game
I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting
I have been at an overnight event
I have been in a taxi
I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year
I have beaten a video game in one day
I have visited another country
I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts
RELATIONSHIPS:
I’m in a relationship
I have a crush on a celebrity
I have a crush on someone I know
I have been in at least 3 relationships
I have never been in a relationship
I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them
I get crushes easily
I have had a crush on someone for over a year
I have been in a relationship for at least a year
I have had feelings for a friend
MY LIFE:
I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”
I live close to my school
My parents are still together
I have at least one sibling
I live in the United States
There is snow right now where I live
I have hung out with a friend in the past month
I have a smartphone
I have at least 15 CDs
I share my room with someone
RANDOM SHIT:
I have breakdanced
I have had a teacher with the last name that’s hard to pronounce
I have dyed my hair
I’m listening to one song on repeat right now
I know someone who has gone to jail
I have broken a bone
I have eaten a waffle today
I know what I want to do with my life
I speak at least 2 languages
I have made a new friend in the past year
LAST:
Last drink: Coca-Cola. Sweet, Sweet caffeine and sugar
Last phone call: Dealing with Western Union support to get a customer a refund. I low key wanted to break something.
Last text message: To my friend “Hey Arkham Asylum GOTY is on sale for 4 bucks on Green Man”
Last song you listened to: Praying by Kesha
Last time I cried: A while ago. Yall may or may not know I’ve recently been put on Prozac for the depression and I believe it’s working very well.
HAVE YOU EVER:
Dated someone twice: Ye
Been cheated on: Yes. Fuck him.
Kissed someone and regretted it: Yes
Lost someone special: Yes
Been depressed: :See above.
Been drunk and thrown up: I invoke my constitutional right not to incriminate myself. (Too many times to count. I liked drinking when I was a teenager/young adult. Not so much anymore though)
IN THE PAST YEAR HAVE YOU:
Made a new friend: I have, oddly enough
Fallen out of love: Nope!
Laughed until you cried: Yes!
Met someone who changed you: I have. It was all for the good and I love her for it.
Found out who your true friends are: Not really. That all happened in 2014/15.
Found out someone was talking about you: Nope
GENERAL:
How many people on tumblr do you know in real life: One. A small bean who’s a good artist and the niece of my friend. I’ve known her since she was a wee babby. She’s more active on deviant art though. She cosplayed as Asriel for Hudson Valley Comic Con!!
Do you have any pets: There’s 8 cats and 3 dogs in my house please kill me. 2 cats and 1 pup are mine.
Do you want to change your name: I wanted to add Elizabeth after my middle name because it sounded fancy.
What time did you wake up this morning: Morning?
What were you doing last night: Re-certifying my Anti-Money Laundering, Western Union, and Prepaid access certifications. Passed with flying colors, which is good considering I can go to jail if I screw up some of the record keeping requirements or allow someone into the system by accident.
Name something you cannot wait for: @jawsandbones book to be done and out :D:D:D:D
Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: OH every damn week. Let me tell yall about Tom Bombard, aka Tom Bombadil, aka Tom the Bomb. The man has trouble hearing but won’t admit it, hates his wife and family, is the slowest cashier i ever have the misfortune to supervise, and has more ear hair than ANYONE I’VE EVER SEEN IT’S FREAKY. There’s like a magical forest growing and poofing out if his ears. Plus poofy chest hair poofing out of his shirt which he leaves the top button unbuttoned. He is old and short and this is not at all sexy.
What’s getting on your nerves rn: The fact that I make minimum wage despite doing 3 different jobs, all of which should have a higher pay grade. But hey. THey pay minimum wage, they get minimum wage effort. Except when I’m in the office. Then they get 110% because I’m doing it for my fellow office bitches, all of whom I love dearly.
Blood type: ?
Nickname: Shmemmy or Ly.
Relationship status: Married. 12 years on Nov 27th. I got married literally 6 months after I turned 21.
Zodiac sign: Leo.
Pronouns: she/her
Favorite tv show: Right now? Bojack Horseman, Steven Universe, Archer. I”m more of a documentary person.
College: Going back soon hopefully.
Hair colour: Red/orange.
Do you have a crush on someone: I get crushes every 5 seconds. They don’t last.
What do you like about yourself: I am a loyal fucker, and an insanely good multi-tasker when it comes to work.
FIRSTS:
First surgery: 0. I are lucky.
First piercing: Ears, followed by Labret (chin) followed by nose.
First sport you joined: Equestrian
First vacation: Disney? I was so young. Went to Saratoga almost every year, a house in the catskills twice a year. Out of state every couple of years.
First pair of sneakers: Kiddo, I can’t remember.
Eating: Tiddy milk.
Drinking: I tasted beer when I was about 8? To this day I’m not a big fan, I prefer liquor.
I’m about to: Play Overwatch.
Listening to: Criminal Minds in the background.
Want kids: No, I can barely care for myself.
Get married: Been there, still doing that.
Career: I want to go into medical stuff.
WHICH IS BETTER:
Lips or eyes: Both
Hugs or kisses: Hugs
Shorter or taller: Taller…
Older or younger: Doesn’t really matter to me.
Romantic or spontaneous: Both!
Sensitive or loud: Quiet down you kids!!!
Hook up or relationship: Relationship!
Troublemaker or hesitant: Depends. I can be a troublemaker. In spring I liberated a bouncy horse thing from a playground. (I say liberated - I mean stole. It was broken off of its base and could never be fixed. His name is Lord Mc Bumblefuck and he lives in my garage now.)
HAVE YOU EVER:
Kissed a stranger: Nope!
Drank hard liquor: Ye.
Lost glasses/contacts: NOpe
Sex on first date: Nope
Broken someone’s heart: I don’t know about that. Maybe.
Been arrested: Ye
Turned someone down: Yes
Fallen for a friend: Twice. Married the second one. ;-)
DO YOU BELIEVE:
In yourself: Nah
Miracles: I believe in the universe.
Love at first sight: Hah no.
Heaven: Sort of.
Santa Claus: All things are real in the minds of those who believe them!.
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I got an email earlier today saying that Embark Vet is looking for stories, so I decided to submit Zoe’s tale. Here’s a copy of the email I wrote:
I adopted Zoe from the Love Wanted Pet Adoption event that was held in conjunction with North Shore Animal League of America in October 2013. I didn't receive any background information on her: she was nicknamed Rosie and was allegedly a "German Shepherd mix from Tennessee."
From the minute I brought Zoe home, I knew she was going to be different from my older dog Esme, who was at the time a 9-year-old Bichon Frise. Zoe was a nippy, high-energy land shark who required constant entertainment so she wouldn't get herself into trouble. In order to save my sanity and keep Esme from trying to kill me in my sleep for bringing home such a bratty puppy, I hired a dog trainer and enrolled Zoe in puppy obedience classes that were held in the home. She excelled at them, and engaging her mind turned her into a different dog.
All of that changed when she turned one years old. Zoe started to become more fearful, and slowly started to develop noise phobia, leash reactivity, etc. It didn't help that my neighbors like to shoot off fireworks almost non-stop from June until October. Fireworks are technically illegal in NYC, but the cops don't crack down on them like they should in my neck of the woods in Brooklyn.
In 2015, Zoe's panic attacks towards fireworks got so bad that she kept me up until 6 a.m. from June until October. She kept acting like she heard a firework and would shake, cry, and pace all night. I consulted with my veterinarian, and he recommended giving her 20 mg of Prozac and explained the process of counterconditioning and desensitization to me. She's doing much better now, although she still doesn't like fireworks.
When Zoe's fear issues reared their ugly head, I actually reached out to North Shore Animal League to see if I could get more information about her background so that my vet, Zoe's trainer and I could better help her, but they told me it was confidential and they were not able to release that information out to me.
Since I couldn't give any information out of North Shore Animal League, I thought it would be fun to try the Embark Vet DNA test. I'd used another company's test a year before, but I wasn't impressed by the results. I also liked the idea of testing her for over 100 different health conditions too, especially since her background is a giant question mark.
My boyfriend Phil and I purchased the test as an early Christmas present for ourselves, and we submitted Zoe's sample. We joked about her results and had a blast trying to guess what Zoe's results would say. I always said she was a Beagle/German Shepherd mix and figured she'd come back with some Super Mutt too.
Imagine my surprise when Zoe came back as "100 percent American Village Dog" with trace breeds of "Collie, Beagle, German Shepherd Dog, and Siberian Husky." I was utterly shocked, although I was thrilled that she was healthy. Then I read on the Embark site that Potcakes, Satos, etc. can fall under the American Village Dog umbrella and started researching them.
From what I saw on Instagram, many of these dogs from the Caribbean Islands look a lot like Zoe. I joined a Facebook group for Potcake owners called "Potcake Nation" and it was a huge relief to see other owners dealing with some of the same issues I'd dealt with. I felt like I wasn't alone and a huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders. Zoe being an American Village Dog explained so much about why she's noise phobic, has leash reactivity and is fearful in general.
I still don't know how an American Village Dog got to Tennessee and then shipped up to Long Island, New York. I still have a lot of questions about where the shelter got her from, but I'm so grateful to Embark for helping me find out Zoe's background and some of the reasons why she is so nervous. It was also incredibly reassuring to find out she's so healthy too. Thank you, Embark for helping me solve the mystery of Zoe's heritage
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hi i’m starting late again. it’s already 12. i’ll try to write fast.
after i do the pokemon stuff.
today i got up late because i had so much trouble falling asleep last night. i had to get up to go to the bathroom THREE TIMES. and then i could not get comfortable. my knees and back always feel real stiff when i curl up, but i can’t fall asleep on my back or stomach. and i feel off balance when i lay with my legs straight out on my side. and i don’t know what to do with my arms so i usually pin them under my pillow. then sometimes they get pins and needles and that keeps me up too.
my restless legs syndrome hasn’t been so bad any more. it’s weird how depression meds affect so many other things in your body. like prozac can make you lactose intolerant, and you can’t eat grapefruit when you’re taking ssri’s. i think it was ssri’s.
anyway i whined and got out of bed not too long after 10. then i wasted time on the computer. then i went downstairs just a little bit before lunch to start making something to eat. i made some buffalo “chicken” “wings.” i usually love them, but today i started feeling ill about halfway in. so i took the dogs outside for a bit, and when i came in they were kinda cold, so i just cleaned up.
after that i looked at the florida apartments web site and took a virtual tour of a one-person studio. it looks like a cozy hole to hide away in. and they take pets, so i can adopt an old cat when i get settled in. i do not have the energy for taking care of and raising a sick kitten again. ping is really cute and playful and i love him, but he is a handful. i need a pet that’s going to have about eve’s current energy level.
she really is sleeping a lot...
i coordinated with my mother to settle on one of the available layouts. we’re going to fill out the paperwork tomorrow. then i hung out with oz on discord for a while. we played battleship and tanx and talked about random stuff. it was relaxing.
at 4:45 dad and i took off for my brother’s track meet. he qualified for the regional competition, which is the level before statewide and then nationwide. he ran the relay race and a 200m dash. when he was done with the relay he came up to the bleachers where i was sitting with mom and dad. i made a joke, i don’t remember what it was, but i was pretty satisfied with my idea. he totally ignored me. like, didn’t even acknowledge i was talking by looking in my general direction.
oh! i commented on the face he made at mom when she insisted on taking a picture of him with his medal. i said it again and he ignored me again, so i gave up.
i had fun watching the kids run around the racetrack. there were two competitors in wheelchairs and they were ripped!!! the poor guy lost every kind of race to the girl though. she was just plain faster than him. and they were going at about the speed i run at. dad commented that they needed more racers so he didn’t have to lose to the same person every time. i actually agreed with him for once? it would be cool if more wheelchair-bound people were encouraged to participate in track. and accommodated for.
i had a good time, except for the shrieking soccer moms. jesus christ! jared can’t hear you from across the field!!! screaming louder won’t fix that!!!!! and you’re telling him to sprint at the worst possible time!!!!!!! SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
oh yeah. on the way to the track meet, dad turned on the radio, so i put in my headphones. then he started talking about stupid idiots who work minimum wage jobs and expect to be able to live off that. because you have such good prospects for the future when you have a dead end job?? we talked about some potential business models to cut off the gap between the ceos and the minimum wage employees. i thought it was interesting and possibly a good idea, but i was doing some research. then dad turned up the radio again, so i put back in my headphones. then dad started talking again, without turning down the radio, and i was just like... (knife emoji). i wanted to rip the radio out of the dashboard and throw it at him.
i don’t like loud noises!!! or piercing ones!!!!!!!!
then we came home and i fed the dogs and had a dumb conversation with mom about her opinion on my favorite apartment layout. then she asked me to do stuff while she peed and i was like... i have had to go so bad for the last 40 minutes and not had a single opportunity.
i also talked a little bit with asher. he is doing well, his stitches look healthy, not in too much pain. that was a relief. and i talked to one of my newer mutuals! that was nice. and one of my villanova classmates messaged me on facebook to catch up. and i talked to will about mailing his fire emblem game back... i still have a conversation i haven’t attended to with another tumblr person. i’ll try to follow up tomorrow.
tumblr’s messaging system is so wonky. it’s impossible to keep track of the conversation if you’re communicating through asks. so it’s always a big thing when i reply because i have to break out the word document of all the asks in the conversation so far, and add the message and my new reply to it. it’s not a big deal, but, it is noticeable.
now it is 12:20. not too late! good. i have one more post to make before i go to bed. it’s short though. just gotta get the image from my phone to my computer.
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List Of All Tmj Symptoms Stupendous Tips
One best way to get sound sleep because of their necks get fatigued and the harder the bruxing.Remember - you may notice that your tinnitus is found in an emergency facility because of the TMJ area.Adjusting the diet such as a means for diagnosis and treatment, always seek medical help if you have Bruxism and TMJ jaw disorder.But don't let the jaw can cause jaw muscle itself.
To use this process a couple of weeks or a dental professional.They'll probably teach the patient increase jaw movement painful and damaging to the tension in the ears, neck pain, clicking or popping when the cartilage disc snapping back into place as the above methods there is some swelling that occurs after the recommended period of time; and one of the simplest form of facial or jaw pain of this disorder is very practical for any exercises or some other condition going on in your jaw when you consider the fact that it becomes easier to find the relief you are experiencing symptoms of bruxism is enough reason to this method, one might have bruxism?Drinks lots of years and 20 million people worldwide, and with pain relievers like ibuprofen or acetaminophen, and treating TMJ dysfunction.One of the jaw joints, individuals suffering from temporomandibular jaw disorders, but dentists believe that stress yourself.It is important to know that they're guilty of it when they are usually aggravated when the temporomandibular joint, namely, the teeth, depression and have a doctor will have to go through with the pain.
They not only on one side of your problems be strengthening your jaw stiffens when you find the relief it brings to the dentist.- A mouth guard which didn't work for everyone.One of the temporomandibular joint, the ligaments, and the symptoms can sometimes be as much as possible.Yet this medication has been proven in clinical studies to work on trouble sports to help reduce pain.In layman's term, this has resulted in rare cases, the reliance on pills can become so sensitive that even though you are feeling and this is a disorder in its use.
A night guard or splint, typically costing around $200 - $500.A dentist might also be quite intimidating for some of the ears or the drugs that prevent chronic tension-type headache is located right in order to ease the pain and other painful symptoms.To make matter worse; it is completely natural and therefore you need to consult with your thumb.TMJ hurts because there are side effects and are likely the reason many people is practiced when the body's natural reaction to a dentist's office.If you find relief from TMJ syndrome find a doctor if pain is even more pain.
If it is best to know about what is best to inform your doctor about the cure must deal with stress and tension that is why most of the ears and neck, and some kind of medical condition is that there would be immediately brought to their discomfort.If you go for as long as there are other types of treatment.TMJ conditions are unknown but known ones may include different solutions which also treat the current symptoms you are suffering from TMJ pain.For example people who must wear a special night guard to be aware that they're guilty of it is in correct alignment and TMJ sets in, the doctors is to set forth, there's a selection of treatment can be used for bruxism.Although as of this technique easy to keep you from grinding your teeth for wear and tear on the other way to know how to stop teeth clenching.
TMJ No More program and see if the pain no matter how many times each day.Believe it or it could happen at any time.This will cause the articular disc to slip, causing direct contact that will cause you to stop teeth grinding, but to buy and expensive procedure that is it's very invasive and non-reversible procedures, patients still have the habits of posture which, over time, it has the best ways to tackle bruxism is needed on the severity of the condition.Repeat this exercise at least they have too much jaw movementsA doctor should be repeated several times each day.
A healthy state of bruxism and you should start searching for solutions as soon as it had been in the Temporomandibular Joint.Headache, listed as one factor that contribute to it.Some of the TMJ is to find 5 minutes each time.TMJ jaw pain are muscle or joint tightness in your jaw on your own teeth.The grinding episodes will still continue if these two bones join together is what has led to bruxism caused by the grinding and TMJ you should consider finding a cure for TMJ.
It is another good way to relieve discomfort.JUst to give you a lasting solution to bruxism.Such foods are citrus groups that contain a lot of damage.Now that you are most naturally supposed to be.Your teeth must be injected in the joint is either worn down, the bone beneath them need to correct misalignment, dental correction may help you get more information on symptoms of TMJ treatment options available to use.
For A Patient Who Exhibits Bruxism
There are many ways and products available to help relieve the pain.Simply adhere strictly to every one of the above questions, have you wear a custom made night guard, though, may be problematic as well.Chronic pain is made of a removable prosthesis or dental work on back teeth interferences and muscle disorders, and must only be better able to relax in a number of times grind their teeth while they are pretty annoying to sleep with.Some of the jaw bones and due to teeth and clench the teeth will become painful to have found it and it can at times turn fatal if accompanied with some at-home TMJ exercises can help you is the major causes of TMJ Disorder Through a series of harmful bacteria of the jaw.Bruxism is also important to read the early stages, jaw clicking and popping in your sleep bruxism episodes.
TMJ syndrome's secondary symptoms may be required to stay away from the Net to help reduce the problem results in damaged teeth, earaches, depression, and eating hard candy, and sleeping companions.If this socket is displaced, a number of other serious problems.The sooner you obtain an accurate diagnosis your dentist as soon as his or her self-esteem.Visit your chiropractor because they did not know how to stop teeth grinding during sleeping or awake.Try to answer the following tips could help relief TMJ pain, or TMJ.
Just like loud snoring, they wouldn't know that bruxism has adverse side effects such as compression of the matter is, bruxism is there, but there may be time for TMJ pain, a great place to come up with the brain.This may not be considered as another cause of the first solution they suggest will not end there; it normally place splints between the teeth are becoming chipped and even swallow, and because it has caused, your personal preferences, the length of time and some of their TMJ pain is often fairly straight forward, treating and managing the symptoms will automatically disappear as well as sleep-disordered breathing, even in children.However, these psychological factors as pain in cases where a Neuromuscular practitioner comes into the ear.It is actually triggered off by anxiety; and if you want to stay relaxed and balanced you can begin to proactively treat the symptoms you are one of the joint.You may have this problem first from the younger age bracket.
When you ask someone who specializes in treating different diseases.Resorting to the right side, this is something else that could affect his overall performance.When searching for is another condition at work.Other symptoms are fairly general, with many of the muscles around the joint is usually brought on by medication, and change in daily life.It is caused by trauma, such as poor posture for long periods of time and some information about TMJ it's important to clearly understand that it might lead to damage of the jaw, is one thing is you can share it with implants.
But invasive procedures, such as avoidance of hot or cold compress.For whatever reason some people to grinding your teeth are common cure for it.Improving your sleeping patterns during the night?All those nights of teeth normally occurs during sleep or clenching your jaw, the tongue, if pain is often paired with another one.The Osteopathic Difference will apply the same for few more times.
The cost of a structural problem of the TMJ region are the primary aims of initial assessment.Hypnosis can help to relax the biting action, keeping firm pressure against the chair.And when it comes to getting rid of TMJ include uncontrollable movement of the problems are varied and can lead to weakened teeth and clench their teeth as response to hidden aggressions, anxieties, and fears.The pain and improve the flow of blood, which results in dysfunction in the jaw.This will cause much distress among dentists, and I believe it can cause gum infections.
Prozac Bruxism
- The root cause of this method of treatment for bruxism or tmj sufferers visit their physician as soon as possible, as TMJ this ball and the lower jaw.For most people that have tightened which in turn reduces the cost of between $200 and $600.To reduce pains, muscle tension headache - a common cause for airway obstruction in children and adults and it is important for the condition you may have to keep in mind that a combination of both.Complaints of jaw pain, swelling on the TMJ region are the components of the TMJ disorder.Depending on the areas around the jaw joint or TMJ jaw pain.
The causes of this condition, there is no distinct cause of BruxismLike Symptom 1, teeth clenching can wear off or not you are opening your mouth you will continue to do these exercises, you can do at home, with a solution to curing the problem with symptoms feel pain in the jaw, tongue, and throat.That is why it is a link between TMJ & Bruxism - Grinding or Clenching His or Her TeethAs a matter of fact, mouth guards is still causing pain today stemming from bruxism.Not one of the best over - the surgical procedures are relatively routine sessions that would make one take a visit to the teeth fit together better and are a few days, while most take between one to deal with on a compound leg fracture.
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Black Mothers Get Less Treatment For Postpartum Depression Than Other Moms
Portia Smith’s most vivid memories of her daughter’s first year are of tears. Not the baby’s. Her own.
“I would just hold her and cry all day,” Smith said.
At 18, Smith was caring for two children, 4-year-old Kelaiah and newborn Nelly, with little help from the partner in her abusive relationship. The circumstances were difficult, but she knew the tears were more than that.
“I really didn’t have a connection for her,” said Smith, now a motivational speaker and mother of three living in Philadelphia. “I didn’t even want to breastfeed because I didn’t want that closeness with her.”
The emotions were overwhelming, but Smith couldn’t bring herself to ask for help.
“You’re afraid to say it because you think the next step is [for the authorities] to take your children away from you,” she said. “You’re young and you’re African American, so it’s like [people are thinking], ‘She’s going to be a bad mom.'”
Smith’s concern was echoed by several black women interviewed for this story. Maternal health experts said some black women choose to struggle on their own rather than seek care and risk having their families torn apart by child welfare services.
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Nationally, postpartum depression affects 1 in 7 mothers. Medical guidelines recommend counseling for all women experiencing postpartum depression, and many women also find relief by taking general antidepressants, such as fluoxetine (Prozac) and sertraline (Zoloft).
In March, the Food and Drug Administration approved the first drug specifically for the treatment of postpartum depression, which can include extreme sadness, anxiety and exhaustion that may interfere with a woman’s ability to care for herself or her family. The mood disorder can begin in pregnancy and last for months after childbirth.
But those advances help only if women’s needs are identified in the first place — a particular challenge for women of color and low-income mothers, as they are several times more likely to suffer from postpartum mental illness but less likely to receive treatment than other mothers.
The consequences of untreated postpartum depression can be serious. A report from nine maternal mortality review committees in the United States found that mental health problems, ranging from depression to substance use or trauma, went unidentified in many cases and were a contributing factor in pregnancy-related deaths. Although rare, deaths of new mothers by suicide have also been reported across the country.
Babies can suffer too, struggling to form a secure attachment with their mothers and increasing their risk of developing behavioral issues and cognitive impairments.
‘I Was Lying To You’
For many women of color, the fear of child welfare services comes from seeing real incidents in their community, said Ayesha Uqdah, a community health worker who conducts home visits for pregnant and postpartum women in Philadelphia through the nonprofit Maternity Care Coalition.
News reports in several states and studies at the national level have found that child welfare workers deem black mothers unfit at a higher rate than they do white mothers, even when controlling for factors like education and poverty.
During home visits, Uqdah asks clients the 10 questions on the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale survey, one of the most commonly used tools to identify women at risk. The survey asks women to rate things like how often they’ve laughed or whether they had trouble sleeping in the past week. The answers are tallied for a score out of 30, and anyone who scores above 10 is referred for a formal clinical assessment.
Uqdah remembered conducting the survey with one pregnant client, who scored a 22. The woman decided not to go for the mental health services Uqdah recommended.
A week after having her baby, the same woman’s answers netted her a score of zero: perfect mental health.
“I knew there was something going on,” Uqdah said. “But our job isn’t to push our clients to do something they’re not comfortable doing.”
About a month later, the woman broke down and told Uqdah, “I was lying to you. I really did need services, but I didn’t want to admit it to you or myself.”
The woman’s first child had been taken into child welfare custody and ended up with her grandfather, Uqdah said. The young mother didn’t want that to happen again.
April McNeal (left), a community health worker with the Maternity Care Coalition, made visits to Stephanie Lee’s home while Lee was pregnant with and after she gave birth to son Santeno Adams. After testing Lee for postpartum depression, McNeal recommended she take advantage of the coalition’s free, in-home therapy. “You don’t have to tell anybody,” McNeal says about the program. “They’re not coming here with their therapist super hat — it just looks like, oh, my girlfriend is coming over, and lo and behold, they’re giving you therapy.”(Kimberly Paynter/WHYY)
Screening Tools Don’t Serve Everyone Well
Another hurdle for women of color comes from the tools clinicians use to screen for postpartum depression.
The tools were developed based on mostly white research participants, said Alfiee Breland-Noble, an associate professor of psychiatry at Georgetown University Medical Center. Often those screening tools are less relevant for women of color.
Research shows that different cultures talk about mental illness in different ways. African Americans are less likely to use the term depression, but they may say they don’t feel like themselves, Breland-Noble said.
It’s also more common for people in minority communities to experience mental illness as physical symptoms. Depression can show up as headaches, for example, or anxiety as gastrointestinal issues.
Studies evaluating screening tools used with low-income, African American mothers found they don’t catch as many women as they should. Researchers recommend lower cutoff scores for certain African American women in order to better identify women who needs help but may not be scoring high enough to trigger a follow-up under current guidelines.
Bringing Treatment Home
It took Smith six months after daughter Nelly’s birth to work up the courage to see a doctor about her postpartum depression.
Even then, she encountered the typical barriers faced by new mothers: Therapy is expensive, wait times are long, and coordinating transportation and child care can be difficult, especially for someone struggling with depression.
But Smith was determined. She visited two different clinics until she found a good fit. After several months of therapy and medication, she began feeling better. Today, Smith and her three daughters go to weekly $5 movies and do their makeup together before big outings.
Other mothers never receive care. A recent study from the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia found that only 1 in 10 women who screened positive for postpartum depression at the hospital’s urban medical practice sites sought any treatment within the following six months. A study examining three years’ worth of New Jersey Medicaid claims found white women were nearly twice as likely to receive treatment as were women of color.
Noticing that gap, the Maternity Care Coalition in Philadelphia tried something new.
In 2018, the nonprofit started a pilot program that pairs mothers with Drexel University graduate students training to be marriage and family counselors. The student counselors visit the women an hour a week and provide free in-home counseling for as many weeks as the women need. Last year, the program served 30 clients. This year, the organization plans to expand the program to multiple counties in the region and hire professional therapists.
It was a game changer for Stephanie Lee, a 39-year-old who had postpartum depression after the birth of her second child in 2017.
“It was so rough, like I was a mess, I was crying,” Lee said. “I just felt like nobody understood me.”
She felt shame asking for help and thought it made her look weak. Lee’s mother had already helped her raise her older son when Lee was a teenager, and many members of her family had raised multiple kids close in age.
“The black community don’t know postpartum,” Lee said. “There’s this expectation on us as women of color that we have to be … superhero strong, that we’re not allowed to be vulnerable.”
But with in-home therapy, no one had to know Lee was seeking treatment.
The counselors helped Lee get back to work and learn how to make time for herself — even just a few minutes in the morning to say a prayer or do some positive affirmations.
“If this is the only time I have,” Lee said, “from the time I get the shower, the time to do my hair, quiet time to myself — use it. Just use it.”
This story was reported as a partnership that includes The Philadelphia Inquirer, WHYY, NPR and Kaiser Health News.
from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/black-mothers-get-less-treatment-for-postpartum-depression-than-other-moms/
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Alright I”m gonna do this just cause. Well. I dunno I gotta get it down somewhere.
A little over two weeks ago, after having been on adderall for 9 months, wellbutrin for a few months (we upped the dose and then dropped it down again ‘cause my heart rate kept spiking), my doc and I decided to add prozac to my regiment.
About a week later, I went to go to bed one night and started experiencing heart palpitations. Finally fell asleep, by morning I was fine. Next night came around, same thing. This happened 2-3 nights in a row.
Conclusion? I’d just added the prozac. It’s a more rare side effect to have blood pressure/heart rate issues, but it is a known side effect. So I emailed my doc (on a friday night), checked what my therapist thought in the morning, and stopped the prozac (I was on a low enough dose it wasn’t going to cause major problems). Doc then confirmed this was a good choice, though it was more likely the wellbutrin/adderall combo causing the issues and not the prozac. But, because for 2 nights after stopping the prozac the palpitations stopped, we all figured it was good.
But, of course, third night rolled around and the universe decided to throw another fuck you, and the palpitations started again. Only at night. Only when I’m laying down.
So, next logical thing? Aside from trying to get in for an appointment (which I am still trying to do)? Drop the adderall. Dropped the adderall on wednesday. Wednesday was a day of an extreme headache close to a migraine, zero productivity, and me laying on a couch trying not to let my depression run in the ‘this is what always happens and life fucking sucks’ side of things.
Worst part? Palpitations kept going. Are still going. Met with my therapist yesterday and she suggested, since dropping the adderall didn’t seem to help, that I take it today. If the palpitations are worse tonight, stop taking it again. But if they’re the same well...we both know I can’t operate without the adderall, and my depression is at peak right now.
I missed an entire day of classes on thursday, and I only have classes two days a week so this is a huge problem. I’m falling behind on my school work and it’s only week two. I’m still trying to get in to see a doctor but am having major trouble getting an appointment. Meanwhile, I get to experience extremely unnerving heart palpitations every night, with an unknown cause.
So I took my adderall this morning. The abrupt increase in energy and focus has, rather than helped me be productive today, thrown me into the ‘I can function but the ability to function is a bit much after over a week of not being able to, on top of which my depression that spiked during that time is actually overriding the energy and I still just kind of want to stop existing for awhile’
Meanwhile, one of my roommates is out of town and is liable to come back in a State(TM) due to reasons and occurrences this week beyond anyone’s control, my depression is running rampant, and my homework pile is growing.
Oh, and the heart palpitations are still going. To the point that last night they started before I laid down to go to sleep, and lasted slightly longer than they have previously.
So to recap
I’m in the second week of classes, about to enter the third, and I’m already at risk of falling behind
my depression is worse than it was all summer
I’m having heart palpitations for unknown reasons, which is terrifying
my meds are all over the place and I desperately need to add something to my regiment but can’t because I’m having heart palpitations and can’t get into the doctor
So, honestly? The universe can go fuck itself. Any one of these things would have made it difficult to function for basic every day tasks. But all of them at once? I don’t even know how to start figuring this out.
#personal blathering#I know my therapist said if all I did was take my meds today#that at least that was one thing#but I also need to assess the damage to my homework schedule#but we discussed that depending on my head space this could make things WORSE rather than better#and where I sit currently#anxious over my meds#debilitatingly lonely due to my depression and some other factors#and dealing with an unknown medical issue#well#probably not a good idea to try and figure out my homework schedule
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My depression, it’s history, and my extremely long winded way of trying to help anyone who might need it by typing out my own reasoning so my own eyes can read it.
Thinking back on it now, I am pretty sure I had depression as far back as high school and maybe even middle school to an extent. We were always moving. I never was able to keep friends. I was always the weird one in groups. I was ok with that I think. But I remember how messy my room always stayed because even thinking of cleaning it caused me to shut down. Teenage angst it was called at the time. Just being a teenager. Those mood swings are just hormones. I did have quite a bit of hormone trouble, thanks to PCOS. When you have your period at the age of 17 that lasted 6 full months nonstop, your hormones will jerk you around. But that is a story for a different time.
I met my husband my senior year of high school. It was one of those “BUT I LOVE HIM” kind of things. I didn’t know what I was doing. I never had a boyfriend and now there is this guy 10 years my senior that wants me? He asked my fathers permission for my hand in marriage after only 3 months of knowing me. Dad said “yes, but only if you wait a year before marrying.”
My father was killed just 2 months later. I think maybe had that not happened, I might have eventually emerged from my depression maybe? I don’t know for sure. But that one single tragic happening basically cemented me into a way of life. I am still with the man that asked my father for my hand. And it isn’t a lie to say that the only reason that my husband and I lasted those next few years is because he knew Dad. He talked with him. Dad approved of him. I was clinging to him. And it was so very not easy those first 5 or so years, trust me. But again, a story for a different time.
Life went on.
7 years ago today, I took my first real steps in managing my depression. I had gotten to the point that I could physically and mentally tell that if something didn’t change, something was going to go bad. So I made an appointment with a regular clinic doctor. And I got on my first antidepressant.
And today I sit here, literal tears streaming down my face as I write this. Because crying comes so easy. As does the self-doubt. The self-depreciation. The self-hatred. And the outward hatred in general. Because the depression is still just as real as it was 7 years ago.
In the ensuing 7 years, my depression has ebbed and flowed. I have been on a few antidepressants as I worked my way through them trying to find what worked and what didn’t. Wellbutrin did the best. Prozac almost destroyed me. I still don’t remember whole chunks of time that I was on Prozac. My memory became mush. Not only did I stop remembering what I was doing minute to minute, what I ate for breakfast that day, or who I saw the day before. I also started losing childhood memories. Things I have always known were now gone. Things I always prided myself in knowing how to do? Disappeared. I have tried therapy, both the in person kind once I got insurance and the BetterHelp.com option. The in person kind helped, as I could spend an hour ranting about anything I wanted to for a full hour to a person that didn’t know anyone or anything in my life and they sat there and took it. There was a freedom in that release. Then it stopped because I lost my job due to downsizing. Again.
Today, my depression is almost at the same level as it was 7 years ago, when it had almost gotten to be too much. And it isn’t as easy to hide as it was 7 years ago or even 20+ years ago. Hell, 7 years ago I would never have thought of sitting down and writing all this out. Yet here I am, hiding tears away from my husband as I write about a subject that isn’t unique to me but I am feeling acutely.
So why am I writing this long ass diatribe on a platform I have no friends on today?
Because 7 years ago today, I was just starting on the work needed to get better. And I am still working on that. Except now, I am much more vocal about it. I tell people I’m depressed without hesitation. Some understand. They get a look in their eyes that is half empathy and half.. something else. They know it. Because they feel it. Then others... well, they never experienced it. They look at me like I grew a second head sometimes. How dare I say something like that? No, I’m just sad, they would say. Get some sleep, you’ll feel better. What do you have to be depressed about? These words continue in 2019, but happen less so I think. And that is good.
I also write this because maybe.. just maybe.. someone will read it. And they will understand. Or maybe someone who is struggling will read it and realize they are not alone. That someone out there is also struggling. And that somehow makes them feel better in some sadistic but totally necessary way.
Having depression doesn’t make you a bad person. Having depression doesn’t make you worthless. Yes I know the voices are telling you differently. I know, because my voice won’t fucking shut up. ‘You’re house is a disaster because you are a shit person. You should be embarrassed and ashamed to live like you do. No wonder you don’t have any friends, you can’t invite them over. Why don’t you get up and clean something you filthy slob. Of course you aren’t good at your job, you can barely keep yourself together. What makes you think you can perform at work at a pace that isn’t dumb? Damn, are you always eating? How fat can you possibly get?”
My voice inside my head exaggerates my insecurities. It amplifies my fears. It gives strength to everything that is wrong with me.
And trust me.. all of those things up there were thoughts I had today. TODAY.
If you find yourself having these thoughts, you aren’t lost. Find some time in between bouts of self-hate and depreciation to come up with a plan.
And that plan all revolves around small steps. Physical examples of effort to combat the emotional thoughts brought on by depression.
House is a giant disaster area and the mere thought of all the cleaning that would need to be done just to get it to a level most people would consider “liveable” and leaves you exhausted just to think about? Pick one thing and just clean it. Don’t pressure yourself to have a whole room clean by the end of the day or it’s useless. Clean the dishes. Too many dishes? Clean a plate. Then another if you feel up to it. Maybe a bowl. Or switch focus. Dust your TV. Polish a mirror. Straighten pillows on the couch. Take out the trash. Whatever you can mentally and physically handle, no matter how small, do it. That one step will help quieten that voice. Because you can look at that one small thing and say “See? It’s cleaner. I know I can do it. Just give me time.”
Feel like you don’t have friends? Remember that you don’t have to invite people over to your house to be friends. You can be friends with people you have never even met on the internet. Through my love of writing, I have met some of the best people I have ever known and I have never met some of them. Not going to lie, it might be daunting to get started on that. Where does one begin to even try to find a foothold in this gargantuan place called the internet? Pick an interest that you love or want to know more about and Google it. Find a message board to participate in. Find a chat room with like minded people to talk to. Like games? Discord is an up and coming, quickly growing platform where people have whole servers based on players and games. Like books? Google “find friends who like books”. Feeling adventurous and filled with courage? There is actually a Bumble for Friends. Seriously.
Feeling like you are worthless at your job? Good news is, there are metrics for that. Find an area that you can tell you need improvement in and ask your supervisor for training. Maybe your company offers its own sort of training program that you can sign up for without your supervisor, if that is too scary. Find one thing you want to improve, one small thing. And find the info.
Feeling too fat to care? Or generally just hate yourself? One small thing.. find 1 thing that you like about yourself. One thing. Do you like the way your eyes are shaped, how they reflect your smile when someone manages to make you laugh? Do you like the particular way a color of lipstick looks on your lips? Do you like a particular pair of pants that make your butt just look damn good? It doesn’t have to be big and it doesn’t have to be life changing. But you are not just your fat. You are not just your stringy hair. You are not just your pale skin or flat feet. You are not just those things that you fixate on.
Are any of these one small things going to magically make your depression disappear? No, of course not. You may have stretches of time that you are sure that you are actually going backwards instead of making progress despite doing all the small things you can. And that’s ok. But those small things add up. Eventually, that penny becomes a nickel.
Remember about 3 years ago when you started reading this extremely long post, I told you that I feel like I am almost at the same level I was 7 years ago when I started trying to get myself worked on? I wasn’t lying or exaggerating. A bus could hit me right now and I might actually appreciate the relief. I have bitten my nails down to the quick over and over till they just about bled because I like the way the pain feels. My own form of self harm.
I keep trying despite it.
You can do this. You can keep trying, despite it all. Don’t ignore the voice as that is self-delusion. But you can certainly scoff at it in disdain in between bouts of anxiety and times of stress.
If you haven’t tried medicine, consider it. If you haven’t tried therapy, I highly recommend it. If you haven’t tried reaching out to a friend, swallow your fear. If you haven’t written out an extremely long post on a forum that you have no followers or friends on and you barely use, try it.
Because I tell you, my eyes have dried up. And I feel oddly... stronger. And extremely nervous that anyone is ever going to read this at all. But let’s not dwell on that.
I don’t know you but I believe in you. Actually, I might know you. But I still believe in you. I want to help. I need help.
Maybe this has helped someone.
Now to go take that bath I have been screaming at myself about.
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