I have half a rant about science literacy (inspired by Chad); a half a post to parallel Honu Girl; a exasperated rant about Ellen getting in an accident and the other lady not getting a ticket for an expired license (everyone was OK, cars are a bit bent up); and a ramble about psych meds, their effect on me, my ambivalence about taking them forever, why I wish I'd gone on the field trip this year but it's probably just as well I didn't because being on the edge of completely falling apart is SO attractive (or just makes me retreat to the point of being effectively invisible*). But all I want to do is crawl under the covers and stay there for, like, forever. (Yay, for a week of half-doses!)
*This artist does pretty well at urban-camo but visually blending in really necessary for being invisible.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
05 December 2008
12 July 2008
It's Panic Time.
Will you indulge me as I ramble about the relatively inconsequential things freaking me out today? Thanks.
Last night I got a manicure and pedicure. The pedicure was ok. It wasn't the most self-indulgent luxurious thing I've ever done but someone else painted my toenails. Also, I don't know if I kicked something and don't remember it or if the girl managed to bruise the top of my foot. The manicure wasn't worth it. Not only did she not do a good job shaping my nails but I found a hang nail on the way home and had two nails that she didn't get fully painted. Now I know clear polish makes it harder to see mistakes but I saw them while driving! Also, apparently I can't keep polish unchipped or peeling for more than a couple of hours even when professionally applied. It is kind of neat when you can pull a whole nail's worth of polish off the base coat in one piece. Last night I was thinking I could fix just those two nails, now I'm going to have to strip it all off and reapply in the car to Birmingham.
A few weeks ago it was fun to go looking for something to wear to my niece's wedding. It was fun to look for something pretty and slightly fancy and not the kind of thing I normally wear. As this week as progressed I've been more and more worried if what I was planning on wearing was really "right" I can't put my finger on why it wouldn't be but...This morning I started trying to figure out what else I could wear. Is there another top I could wear with the skirt? I could wear what I originally thought I'd wear, maybe, but that's not very dressy. By the time I got in the shower my mind was in double time trying to decide. Do I go with safe, unobtrusive, plain Jane and not really dressy enough or something that might draw attention to me? If people look at me I might have to crawl under a pew.
Then I started thinking about the reception. OMG, strangers! Again, last week and early this week it was fun to think about the possibility that my niece and her fiance had some cute, possibly slightly older, friend who would sweep me off my feet. Or at least ask me to dance. Today, part of me is wishing I could skip the reception. If history is any guide I won't speak to anyone I don't already know and will, at best, stand at the fringes of the dance floor (read: against the wall) and sway to the music.
I managed to get upset enough about this that I was crying in the shower. If I think about it much now, I may start again. I'm still not sure what I'm going to wear and I have about an hour and a half before we leave. When I start freaking out about going to a TBDC dance I can just not go, that's not really an option with this.
One of the very few social events I'll attend this year that isn't work related or involve a family member's birthday and I'm falling to pieces. I think I need a drink.
Last night I got a manicure and pedicure. The pedicure was ok. It wasn't the most self-indulgent luxurious thing I've ever done but someone else painted my toenails. Also, I don't know if I kicked something and don't remember it or if the girl managed to bruise the top of my foot. The manicure wasn't worth it. Not only did she not do a good job shaping my nails but I found a hang nail on the way home and had two nails that she didn't get fully painted. Now I know clear polish makes it harder to see mistakes but I saw them while driving! Also, apparently I can't keep polish unchipped or peeling for more than a couple of hours even when professionally applied. It is kind of neat when you can pull a whole nail's worth of polish off the base coat in one piece. Last night I was thinking I could fix just those two nails, now I'm going to have to strip it all off and reapply in the car to Birmingham.
A few weeks ago it was fun to go looking for something to wear to my niece's wedding. It was fun to look for something pretty and slightly fancy and not the kind of thing I normally wear. As this week as progressed I've been more and more worried if what I was planning on wearing was really "right" I can't put my finger on why it wouldn't be but...This morning I started trying to figure out what else I could wear. Is there another top I could wear with the skirt? I could wear what I originally thought I'd wear, maybe, but that's not very dressy. By the time I got in the shower my mind was in double time trying to decide. Do I go with safe, unobtrusive, plain Jane and not really dressy enough or something that might draw attention to me? If people look at me I might have to crawl under a pew.
Then I started thinking about the reception. OMG, strangers! Again, last week and early this week it was fun to think about the possibility that my niece and her fiance had some cute, possibly slightly older, friend who would sweep me off my feet. Or at least ask me to dance. Today, part of me is wishing I could skip the reception. If history is any guide I won't speak to anyone I don't already know and will, at best, stand at the fringes of the dance floor (read: against the wall) and sway to the music.
I managed to get upset enough about this that I was crying in the shower. If I think about it much now, I may start again. I'm still not sure what I'm going to wear and I have about an hour and a half before we leave. When I start freaking out about going to a TBDC dance I can just not go, that's not really an option with this.
One of the very few social events I'll attend this year that isn't work related or involve a family member's birthday and I'm falling to pieces. I think I need a drink.
18 February 2008
Grumpy Old Me
I'm the one who suggested the "grumpy old man" post for the blog challenge. Inspired by a discussion on what one can get for 25 cents with my little sister. A quarter will get you one of those stale hollow gum balls from the gumball machine stand at the mall. When I was her age I could get a better gum ball for two pennies. (Or maybe I only remember them as better.:)) Does anyone else remember "Where's the Beef" gum? Or the Wendy's ad campaign that name was stolen from?
(Speaking of fast food, anyone out there remember the Roy Rogers? I don't know if they were national or just regional. When they were bought by Hardee's (Where'd you think they Hardee's learned to fry chicken?) the one in Vienna changed thier signage but the interior decor didn't change. They didn't even tke down the portrait of Roy. My friends and I called the Roy-Hardee's.)
Anyway, this isn't what I really meant but, oh well, that's how the cookie crumbles sometimes.
Sometime I wonder if I'm really better on anti-depressants. Sure, I can go to the grocery store or worship at the Wall of Mart (I avoid it like the plaque, but sometimes I have to go.) any day of the week, no psyching up required; I can speak in public without risk of hyperventilating (although I talk so fast it's amazing I don't anyway); I can eat by myself at almost any resturant, but I still perfer to only at certain places; the wall between me and other people isn't a cement-filled cinder block one anymore. There are some other things, too, but that's gives you the idea.
Thing is I still feel alone in a crowd; the wall is still there; most of the time I'd rather go to lunch by myself than with just my boss because there wouldn't be anyone else to talk, other times I go to lunch with the group and feel alone; I still don't know how to meet people; I still watch stupid made-for-TV rom/coms and get depressed because I don't have any writers on my side...
It's never bothered me to be by myself. Occasionally nw I want to be around people but if I go out I'm very aware that I'm alone and end up feeling worse. Used to be, I wouldn't have even considered going out. Before the meds I was numb most of the time and shoved my emotions in the closet only to have burst out everyonce in while. Now I don't know that I feel anything most of the time. Except when I feel crappy and fragile, and shit tumbles out anyway. I still wonder what it'd be like if the wall between me and others was real, something everyone could see, acknowledge, and then move around instead of just in my head.
Sometimes I wonder if this is really better. Am I really better?
(Speaking of fast food, anyone out there remember the Roy Rogers? I don't know if they were national or just regional. When they were bought by Hardee's (Where'd you think they Hardee's learned to fry chicken?) the one in Vienna changed thier signage but the interior decor didn't change. They didn't even tke down the portrait of Roy. My friends and I called the Roy-Hardee's.)
Anyway, this isn't what I really meant but, oh well, that's how the cookie crumbles sometimes.
Sometime I wonder if I'm really better on anti-depressants. Sure, I can go to the grocery store or worship at the Wall of Mart (I avoid it like the plaque, but sometimes I have to go.) any day of the week, no psyching up required; I can speak in public without risk of hyperventilating (although I talk so fast it's amazing I don't anyway); I can eat by myself at almost any resturant, but I still perfer to only at certain places; the wall between me and other people isn't a cement-filled cinder block one anymore. There are some other things, too, but that's gives you the idea.
Thing is I still feel alone in a crowd; the wall is still there; most of the time I'd rather go to lunch by myself than with just my boss because there wouldn't be anyone else to talk, other times I go to lunch with the group and feel alone; I still don't know how to meet people; I still watch stupid made-for-TV rom/coms and get depressed because I don't have any writers on my side...
It's never bothered me to be by myself. Occasionally nw I want to be around people but if I go out I'm very aware that I'm alone and end up feeling worse. Used to be, I wouldn't have even considered going out. Before the meds I was numb most of the time and shoved my emotions in the closet only to have burst out everyonce in while. Now I don't know that I feel anything most of the time. Except when I feel crappy and fragile, and shit tumbles out anyway. I still wonder what it'd be like if the wall between me and others was real, something everyone could see, acknowledge, and then move around instead of just in my head.
Sometimes I wonder if this is really better. Am I really better?
02 October 2007
Eeyore
My sister says "With my luck...." and means it. We all (or most of us anyway) have at one time or another said "with my luck [something bad will happen/continue to happen]" but most of us aren't serious. It is more of a expression of frustration or defeat than of actual belief. My sister seems to believe it. A friend of mine (and her co-worker) likened my sister to Eeyore. Now she may be the "office Eeyore", but his description of her and how she is like Eeyore didn't sit well with me.
Sis will tell everyone, and just about anyone, everything that is going wrong in her life from not getting off the days she requested to her car being reposed. And she often acts/talks like somehow the world is out to get her. These traits would make her a source of depressing conversation but that doesn't make her depressed and Eeyore isn't paranoid.
Eeyore is in the grips of a serious depression. He doesn't think the world, or anyone in it, cares about him. In order for the world to be out to get you, it has to know you are alive. He is genuinely surprised when people do nice things for him. (One of his Disney-catchphrases is "thanks for noticin' me.") He doesn't expect good things to happen or anyone to care. He doesn't want to bother other people. He just sits in his house of sticks and ponders things*. I should know I strongly identify with Eeyore. (or as he spells it Eor.)
I tried to convince my friend that I'm more like Eeyore than my sister but he wouldn't have any of it, then our movie started and conversation ceased in favor of Halle Berry, Bruce Willis and Taco Bell.
*Please note it has been a while since I read any A.A. Milne or watched Winnie-the-Pooh on TV (or movies) so my impressions may be inaccurate and colored towards the Disney version watched more recently. Wikipedia actual has a nice, I think, description of Eeyore and the British-ness of his personality. And while I'm on the subject, I generally prefer Shepard's illustrations (or the other early renditions) and the "classic Winnie-the-Pooh" over Disney's except I do like the blue-grey of Eeyore's coat of the Disney marketed items. (BTW, Pooh should not be bright yellow, but honey-gold)
Sis will tell everyone, and just about anyone, everything that is going wrong in her life from not getting off the days she requested to her car being reposed. And she often acts/talks like somehow the world is out to get her. These traits would make her a source of depressing conversation but that doesn't make her depressed and Eeyore isn't paranoid.
Eeyore is in the grips of a serious depression. He doesn't think the world, or anyone in it, cares about him. In order for the world to be out to get you, it has to know you are alive. He is genuinely surprised when people do nice things for him. (One of his Disney-catchphrases is "thanks for noticin' me.") He doesn't expect good things to happen or anyone to care. He doesn't want to bother other people. He just sits in his house of sticks and ponders things*. I should know I strongly identify with Eeyore. (or as he spells it Eor.)
I tried to convince my friend that I'm more like Eeyore than my sister but he wouldn't have any of it, then our movie started and conversation ceased in favor of Halle Berry, Bruce Willis and Taco Bell.
*Please note it has been a while since I read any A.A. Milne or watched Winnie-the-Pooh on TV (or movies) so my impressions may be inaccurate and colored towards the Disney version watched more recently. Wikipedia actual has a nice, I think, description of Eeyore and the British-ness of his personality. And while I'm on the subject, I generally prefer Shepard's illustrations (or the other early renditions) and the "classic Winnie-the-Pooh" over Disney's except I do like the blue-grey of Eeyore's coat of the Disney marketed items. (BTW, Pooh should not be bright yellow, but honey-gold)
27 September 2007
Damn.
Mom's been doing so well this last week or so. Saturday I drove her to the mall and grocery store and she was calm and rational about her not being able to see well enough. Sunday she seemed in good spirits at Nettie's party, if a bit tired at the end. Then she calls me today and starts crying. I don't know what to say, I never do. I sometimes wish I could just run away.
Mom has a macular pucker in her left eye (I think). She first noticed a problem back in late May early June. She went to the eye doctor after we visited Anna; he diagnosed it and referred her to the local retinal specialist. The eye doc said that these things move slowly and surgery isn't done until one's vision is significantly effected, i.e. loss of vision affects one's daily life. She was suppose to see the specialist in October. The pucker got worse. By mid-July Mom couldn't read paperbacks anymore. Reading Harry Potter to Nettie in the car was hard. I finally nagged her into calling the specialist and seeing if she could get an appointment sooner. He saw her the next week (now early Sept). With her glasses on, she could only read the top two rows on the eye chart with her left eye. The specialist set up surgery as soon as possible, the end of October. It takes about six months for maximum recovery of sight and that will be about half of what's been lost. He also told Mom that the surgery tends to trigger cataracts, in both eye, so she'll probably need cataract surgery in about 6 months (at least that doesn't involve actually cutting the eye).
The macular pucker makes things look wobbly or crocked (Mom's whole 6" Amsler grid is crazy, viewed at a distance of 2'). Mom's vision seems to change in jumps. She'll be doing OK and then wake up one morning and the floor looks like a roller coaster again. Usually, by the next day she is compensating and can get around OK and drive. After this last change it took three days for her to be able to drive again. Not that she does much, it is a strain. She's been using her cane and handicap tag again, not because of her back but because she has so much trouble judging where the floor is or if there is anything in her way. She started using the cane after she walked into the wall next to the door one day picking Nettie up from school. (BTW, Belk's in town has a VERY slick floor, not good if your cane doesn't have a rubber tip.)
We live out in the boonies so to get anywhere, one has to drive. Dad will take her places but he has things he has to do and he doesn't get as lonely as Mom. And he doesn't want to go to lunch with one of her girlfriends. Right now she's kind of trapped in the house. She can't read at all. She can't really watch TV, just listen, and the daytime programs she likes are all decorating type shows - not good listening. There are many TV shows she likes anymore, anyway.
So she calls me. And I don't know what to say and want to hang up, and run away, forever. And then feel bad, because I'm a bad daughter. And a bad person, because I feel sorry for myself despite being almost perfectly healthy.
Mom has a macular pucker in her left eye (I think). She first noticed a problem back in late May early June. She went to the eye doctor after we visited Anna; he diagnosed it and referred her to the local retinal specialist. The eye doc said that these things move slowly and surgery isn't done until one's vision is significantly effected, i.e. loss of vision affects one's daily life. She was suppose to see the specialist in October. The pucker got worse. By mid-July Mom couldn't read paperbacks anymore. Reading Harry Potter to Nettie in the car was hard. I finally nagged her into calling the specialist and seeing if she could get an appointment sooner. He saw her the next week (now early Sept). With her glasses on, she could only read the top two rows on the eye chart with her left eye. The specialist set up surgery as soon as possible, the end of October. It takes about six months for maximum recovery of sight and that will be about half of what's been lost. He also told Mom that the surgery tends to trigger cataracts, in both eye, so she'll probably need cataract surgery in about 6 months (at least that doesn't involve actually cutting the eye).
The macular pucker makes things look wobbly or crocked (Mom's whole 6" Amsler grid is crazy, viewed at a distance of 2'). Mom's vision seems to change in jumps. She'll be doing OK and then wake up one morning and the floor looks like a roller coaster again. Usually, by the next day she is compensating and can get around OK and drive. After this last change it took three days for her to be able to drive again. Not that she does much, it is a strain. She's been using her cane and handicap tag again, not because of her back but because she has so much trouble judging where the floor is or if there is anything in her way. She started using the cane after she walked into the wall next to the door one day picking Nettie up from school. (BTW, Belk's in town has a VERY slick floor, not good if your cane doesn't have a rubber tip.)
We live out in the boonies so to get anywhere, one has to drive. Dad will take her places but he has things he has to do and he doesn't get as lonely as Mom. And he doesn't want to go to lunch with one of her girlfriends. Right now she's kind of trapped in the house. She can't read at all. She can't really watch TV, just listen, and the daytime programs she likes are all decorating type shows - not good listening. There are many TV shows she likes anymore, anyway.
So she calls me. And I don't know what to say and want to hang up, and run away, forever. And then feel bad, because I'm a bad daughter. And a bad person, because I feel sorry for myself despite being almost perfectly healthy.
07 September 2007
The Power of Words
A little while ago I was chatting with Sarah.
I was asking because sometimes that's all I need to hear, a little assurance, and other times I want to say something like "No it won't. It never just works out. WTF are you talking about? Have you been listening?"
Her response got me thinking about the power of words. Both when spoken and unspoken. Specifically that words can be taken back. Funny how cruel words can't be taken back, at least not easily, but kind words can be yanked away without a moments pause.
One of my problems is just that -kind words that were wrenched away. My long-ago ex-fiancé used to tell me I was beautiful. And look at me like I was Aphrodite herself. When he said it was over that ceased to be true. I was only beautiful because he thought I was and he only thought I was because he loved me.
I know I gave his words that power. But I don't know how to take it back.
me: It will be OK. It will all work out.
(does that help?)Sarah: Yes it does.
Words have power. :Dme: They do.
I was asking because sometimes that's all I need to hear, a little assurance, and other times I want to say something like "No it won't. It never just works out. WTF are you talking about? Have you been listening?"
Her response got me thinking about the power of words. Both when spoken and unspoken. Specifically that words can be taken back. Funny how cruel words can't be taken back, at least not easily, but kind words can be yanked away without a moments pause.
One of my problems is just that -kind words that were wrenched away. My long-ago ex-fiancé used to tell me I was beautiful. And look at me like I was Aphrodite herself. When he said it was over that ceased to be true. I was only beautiful because he thought I was and he only thought I was because he loved me.
I know I gave his words that power. But I don't know how to take it back.
20 August 2007
Confidence, part II
So I know all the things I said in that previous post are true. I know my Daddy, Paw-Paw, and brothers love me. (Mommy, Granny, Grandma, and sisters, too) I know they don't just love me because they changed my diapers (or in the case of Nettie, I changed hers). I know I'm smart, not hideously ugly, kind, loyal, easy going, thoughtful, etc. (I sound like a Labrador Retriever) I know all these things but I don't always believe them.
I had a therapist once tell me that I needed to stop focusing on the past so much (Stop me if I've told you this before). I never understood exactly what she meant. It seemed that mainly she was telling me to stop expecting what had happened in the past to happen again. How do we build our expectations for social interactions than by building on past experiences? I tend to down play the good and focus on the bad but even when I take this into account my past doesn't look so rosy. I know the people I meet now are not self-centered adolescents but I don't know how else to expect people "my age" to behave. I've hardly been around any in the last 10-12 years.
I said I hope things will be better. I do. I just hope that somehow one day it will be different, like magic, because I don't know how to make it different. Meanwhile it is exhausting to wait to fail, again.
I had a therapist once tell me that I needed to stop focusing on the past so much (Stop me if I've told you this before). I never understood exactly what she meant. It seemed that mainly she was telling me to stop expecting what had happened in the past to happen again. How do we build our expectations for social interactions than by building on past experiences? I tend to down play the good and focus on the bad but even when I take this into account my past doesn't look so rosy. I know the people I meet now are not self-centered adolescents but I don't know how else to expect people "my age" to behave. I've hardly been around any in the last 10-12 years.
I said I hope things will be better. I do. I just hope that somehow one day it will be different, like magic, because I don't know how to make it different. Meanwhile it is exhausting to wait to fail, again.
02 March 2007
Stubborn Childish Ways
A little navel-gazing this morning. While talking to Mom last night she brings up my depression. She's worried about me. I need to see a shrink and have my meds evaluated. I need to get out of the house... You get the picture. The problem isn't that I don't agree with her, it's just that every time she starts in on this it makes me not want to do it. It is a horribly childish, contrary, idiotic, and non-helpful attitude but I don't want her to be right. Or tell me what to do (I'm 30 for God's sake). I don't want her to worry. Half of my life is spent trying to keep her from worrying about me. She has enough to worry about with my siblings (not all, just a few), Dad, and her own health.
I've been trying to keep her from worrying since I was little and thought the reason she hid and cried in the closet was my fault. The grown-up in me knows it wasn't; the 7-yr old in me can't be convinced otherwise. It's a hopeless cause, I know. Mothers worry, that is the way it is. But still I try. I don't tell her much because that's the only way to keep worrying info from her. That also means the one few people who has known me "forever", doesn't know me.
She also brought up my weight. "If I keep gaining weight, it will get in the way of doing some of the things I want to do." In other words, I will never find a man if I don't lose weight. Thanks Mom, that's a boost to the self-esteem. I don't already feel bad enough about how I look and my chances with the opposite sex.
And she wonders why I don't come over for dinner very often.
I've been trying to keep her from worrying since I was little and thought the reason she hid and cried in the closet was my fault. The grown-up in me knows it wasn't; the 7-yr old in me can't be convinced otherwise. It's a hopeless cause, I know. Mothers worry, that is the way it is. But still I try. I don't tell her much because that's the only way to keep worrying info from her. That also means the one few people who has known me "forever", doesn't know me.
She also brought up my weight. "If I keep gaining weight, it will get in the way of doing some of the things I want to do." In other words, I will never find a man if I don't lose weight. Thanks Mom, that's a boost to the self-esteem. I don't already feel bad enough about how I look and my chances with the opposite sex.
And she wonders why I don't come over for dinner very often.
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