12.05.2009

The Ups & Downs of Self-Diagnosis, or OH MY GOD WHY AM I TAKING SPEED AT WORK

Oh how I love self-diagnosis, and not JUST because it is so often a preamble to self medication...

So I am taking out and shining up Sam's fairly new ADHD/ODD diagnosis. Now that he has things like homework and reading log and "dress like the 50's day" it suddenly seems to matter in a way that it didn't before. I am doing, well...what I do. Sam gets a diagnosis, and I get a new library card. I have read more about ADHD in the last month...this is just my approach to life. It presents a challange, and I respond confidently, "the answer is in a book somewhere. I just have to find it." (This attitude will inevitably be replaced with "Fuck the experts they don't know my kid." But we're not quite there yet.)

I've learned that ADHD is almost always genetic. We're talking anywhere from 75% - 90% of the time, depending on what study you're reading. So of course I'm looking at the hubby & I. Which one is it? Well, anyone who knows me knows I suffer from my husband's OCD, and for that (thank God) he's medicated. But he is very...focused. On task. What have you.

I, on the other hand, operate similarly to the dogs in the recent Pixar film 'Up' (squirrel!). I have a horrendous time staying focused at work, as evidenced by my numerous mid-day Facebook posts and almost compulsive visits to CNN.com. It takes me 3 days to finish a grocery list which I will more often than not lose before I go grocery shopping. Could it be...?

Further reading reveals that there are certain anti-depressants that work well in treating ADHD for those who, for medical reasons, can't take stimulants (ie heart defects, etc.). Guess what? The anti-depressants that most effectively treat ADHD symptoms also just happen to be the anti-depressants that have worked best for me. (oh, welbutrin...how i miss you. why o why have you forsaken me?)

Also, apprently adults who suffer from undiagnosed ADHD often self-medicate with caffeine. Hmmm...

I'm sold. And I just so happen to have a whole bottle full of these 5mg Ritalin. And did I mention I've had a really hard time staying focused at work lately? (and am trying to land a promotion?)

After my 3rd cup of joe one morning I slip one of these teeny white pills into my pants pocket and head to work (cups 4&5 at my side in my travel mug). Around 1:00pm, when having the same conversation for the 23rd time that day becomes unbearable, I pop the pill. And, well...casual drug use never really used to be a problem for me - you know, in my previous life. In retrospect I'm kind of amazed at how cavalierly I would once-upon-a-time take a pill because, well, why not (as opposed to now, when I will cavalierly take a pill because my doctor, in his Pfizer-sponsored lab coat, tells me to.)

But it occurs to me (about 20 seconds after swallowing the pill) that my casual drug use days were a lifetime ago. I'm a Mom now. And I'm at work. Why am I taking speed at work? OH MY GOD WHY AM I TAKING SPEED AT WORK?! By 1:20 my heartrate is through the roof. I'm pretty sure this has more to do with my anxiety about taking my son's Ritalin than the actual effects of said Ritalin.

Needless to say (so funny to write that in a blog. Blogging has pretty much killed the very concept of 'needless to say', hasn't it? Perhaps a topic for another day.) I digress...imagine that.

Needless to say I did not eek any extra productivity out of that particular day. And, sponsored by Pfizer or not, if I suspect my diagnosis of 'moderate depressive disorder' is off, I should probably have a talk with my doctor about it before experimenting with my son's meds. For now I'll chalk it up to "taking a proactive stance in my own healthcare needs". That said...anyone have any Xanax they're looking to unload?

11.12.2009

Gutter balls

The problem with a blog about depression is, well...sometimes you're just too damn depressed to keep up with it.
I was reading the other day about how there's actual medical evidence to support the idea that "you can't teach an old dog new tricks". As we're growing and well into adulthood, every time we do something the same way or react the same way to some random external stimulus, we create a neural pathway in our brain. Think of this pathway as a rut, like the gutter on the sides of a bowling lane. Everytime you have this same reaction, that rut gets a little deeper, ensuring that the next time you're faced with same stimulus, you'll react the same way again - deepening the rut again. I know, I know...just bear with me a moment on this.
So, this is a lot of what depression is - that sort of grey, murky middle-ground between the physical aspect (fatigue!), the mental aspect (seratonin!) and the emotional aspect (guilt!). You get into these mental & emotional habits that contribute to your depression. The more engrained they become, the more difficult they are to correct. Once that bowling ball is halfway down the lane, it takes ALOT of outside intervention to get it out of the gutter. You gotta stop the game. You gotta get down the lane faster than the ball is travelling, stop it, pick it up, bring it back to the beginning...dear god its exhausting just thinking about it.
That outside intervention takes many forms. Some we do for ourselves - exercise, meditation (I'm told pets are supposed to help but my dog just pisses me off). Some our doctors help with - cognitive behavioral therapy, medication (which is kinda like bowling with the kiddy bumpers up). But it's all about stopping the ball. Getting it out of the gutter. Even though it wants to go to the gutter, because you've been bowling gutter balls for the last 20 years and frankly its the only way you know how to bowl.
I figured out I was depressed - I mean, really probably had a problem, the family history and all, the whole nine yards - maybe 7 or 8 years ago. And when I started taking Welbutrin, it was well controlled. I exercised. Meditated. Felt...joy, sometimes. But, you know, you get pregnant, gotta go off your meds, have a couple kids...you get busy. You put yourself on the back burner. We all do it.
So back to the ruts. All that while, it was sneaking up on me. My mind was reverting to those same old neural pathways, those smooth, easy-to-follow grooves it was already so comfortable with. And here's my fear: what if they're just too damn deep now to fix? What if the ball has travelled too far and its too late to stop it and get it out of the gutter?
Seven years ago I had all the time in the world. Depression was just this transient thing - a tough time I was going through. What if that's not the case? What if it isn't transient?
Before, I would be in a situation and think "This is really nice. This is the sort of experience I should feel joyful about." But I could remember feeling real joy, and had every reason to believe I would feel it again. Now, honestly, I have every reason to believe that for the rest of my life when I find myself in a situation where one should feel joyful, instead I will feel "This is really nice. This is the sort of experience I should feel joyful about." Its, well...its not the same.

6.28.2009

finales

Funny thing about fireworks...everyone's always waiting for the finale.
Last night I packed up the kids and the myriad supplies needed to travel anywhere with them these days (diapers, wipes, toy to distract Sam, water 'cause I'm too cheap to buy it, etc) and headed to our local state park for carnie food and fireworks.
Its my experience that carnivals of any kind, when attended with young children, are generally long periods of waiting and whining punctuated by short bursts of sheer joy. Add to that the fact that fireworks are always hit or miss with Sam, who lives in constant fear of loud noises, and you'd be correct to assume that I was viewing the evening with some trepidation...
Overall the carnival part was not great. Three time outs for Sam, Anna yelling every time she ran out of french fries, and NO ONE happy about the fact that I refused to pay $3 each for the fun house. But for the most part not horrific, anyway (with the exception of the live "music").
So we lay out our blanket and sit down for the 45 minute wait (during which Anna regales the crowd with her own special brand of adorable humor). The fireworks start and - mercifully - are not very loud. Okay, here's the part I thought was weird:
Not two minutes into it, people started wondering out loud about the finale. Anytime more that 3 fireworks were sent into the air at once, someone within earshot would say "do you think this is it? Oooo - that looks like a finale..." I couldn't help but notice that most of these people seemed unable to enjoy the fireworks at all except as preparation for the finale. Maybe they're like my husband - so anxiety-ridden that every moment of everyday is nothing but preparation for the next? Maybe they're like my in-laws - so religious that all of this life is but preparation for the ever after? Remove the context of "waiting for the end" and what is the point of sitting through the fireworks at all? Except, of course, to enjoy the fireworks that are actually taking place now.

6.24.2009

a really good day

A book I'm reading right now about depression (review to come) says that its not our emotions that are a problem so much as our reactions to our emotions. The authors go into great detail explaining why this is and how it came to be, and I am confident I will only screw it up if I attempt to address it here. So let's just take for granted that they're right. I believe it, anyway... You ever have a day where things are going really well, and all day long you're waiting for the other shoe to drop? "What's going to go wrong?" you ask yourself, "will I lose it on one of the kids or will the dog tear the sofa up? Will I burn dinner, or get in a fight with my husband?" You just know SOMETHING will go wrong. You're a sitting duck, just waiting for it.
And waiting for it, of course, ruins your day. Self-fulfilling prophecy and whatnot. When you look for a terrible time you can usually find one, that's just sort of how it works. Your emotion may be one of happiness or content, but your reaction to that emotion is dread...and you sabotage yourself.
So I've been giving that alot of thought lately, and trying to consciously separate my emotions from my reactions to them. I think I'm a pretty self-aware girl (a self-absorbed one, anyway) but I gotta tell you it is hard, this constant awareness. Of course I've tried before to focus on being more "present", living in the moment, etc. But not so pointedly I guess. Not with a specific intention such as "notice what emotion you're feeling, and then notice, separately, what you're thinking about that emotion. Then take it a step further and challenge your thinking on that emotion. Oh, and do all of this while watching your two kids plus two more and taking care of the house and job-hunting all day." My emotion about this prospect is one of overwhelming...overwhelmness. And my thoughts about that emotion are that it is completely appropriate.
But try I did and you know what? I had a pretty good day. I was happy with my Done List 'round about lunchtime, but still motivated to add to it. I only lost my temper with my son once (that's good for me, in case you don't know me that well) and somehow it didn't set a pattern for the entire day like it usually does. I had a less-than-pleasant conversation with my spouse, but when the conversation was over I was surprisingly able to let it go. Apparently its not even necessary to change either your emotions or your reactions to them, just questioning those reactions can give you the space to have a really good day.

6.17.2009

The Done List

I don't really do to-do lists. First of all, I fail at them. They never really get finished, mostly because I'm over-ambitious when writing them in the first place. I'll put things like "reorganize downstairs closet" on a list on a Tuesday when my kids need bathed and I'm baby-sitting for friends. So of course I never get to cross everything off.
Frankly, that makes me feel like a failure. And worse yet is the fact that I now have this physical evidence - this list - to prove my failure. Its indelible. It can't be denied. Failure.
So I do 'done' lists instead. Okay, laugh...no, no, its okay, I'll wait....you done? Oh, no, okay....too damn bad. My Done List works really well for me. First of all I don't have to start it until mid-morning, which is a plus in itself. And I can put stuff on it that just fits my priorities alot better than the usual 'to-do' fare. Things that, at the end of the day, its just important that I did, like "read to Sam for 30 minutes" or "wrestled with Anna on floor". Would you put them on a to-do list? Probably not. But at the end of the day, if your children are your priority, they are very real accomplishments.
The great thing about The Done List is as you add more to it you feel better & better, and more & more motivated to keep adding. So I review it at lunch, mid-afternoon, and after dinner. Its amazing how much gumption to keep going it provides. For anyone with depression, trust me - its a real ambivalence killer.
So here's today's list, just as a random example:

Morning stretch
Took the dog for a walk
Had "me time" on computer before kids got up
Unloaded & reloaded dishwasher
Made eggs for breakfast - yay!
Played "kitchen" with kids for 1/2 hour
Emailed husband
Ran dishwasher
Took kids to see free movie - Tale of Desperaux
Took kids to lunch at McD's - let them play in tunnels for 45 minutes.
Read Anna 3 books, put down for nap
Read to big kids - 45 reading minutes for summer reading program
Made sloppy joe's & salad
Colored with kids
cleaned up in kitchen
Talked with Sam about the dog and being nice
Got Anna up, comforted
Checked in on a troubled friend
Washed berries
Went to therapy - breakthrough: stop feeling guilty for making decisions that are best for you.
Got kids ready for bed
Blogged

Now I realize this is a list that, to someone who is very hung-up on stuff around a house getting done, may seem incomplete. But when I think about MY top priorities in this life - this represents a well-lived day. And when I look at it, I feel good about my accomplishments, a success. And I've got the evidence to back it up.

cross-reference test

j9.minti.com

that should work

6.16.2009

Lonliness fights dirty

Loneliness is a mean bastard, and he fights dirty.
There's the surprise attack - when you're in a crowded mall or at a hoppin' party, surrounded by people and suddenly BAM - kick in the gut, you realize you feel utterly, entirely alone. You look around at the sea of faces and feel disconnected from each & every one of them. You can think of nothing save the need for oxygen and sustenance that you could possibly have in common with these people. You're the alien in the crowded room, and therefore lonely in a crowd.
There's the lonely-with-your-kids moments, when you're just dying for an adult conversation. These are the moments that led me to watch CNN 24-hours/day straight for 2 1/2 years. You just want to hear another grown up talk about something other than poop or the Blues Clues guy. This particular brand of loneliness - BONUS - comes with guilt as well, as you will no doubt feel awful for not enjoying your children's company enough. Never enough.
Tonight I'm wrangling with the worst kind of loneliness: the self-induced state of loneliness. I was seeking solitude, I went to great lengths to find it. I inconvenienced some people, and just plain hurt others - all in search of my solitude. Now I have it - and I'm lonely.
Mean bastard.

6.14.2009

Addendum & Erratum to Booze Post

Okay, so the Booze Post, (which has been removed from blog, sorry) generated quite the response, many discussions with friends, and much introspection. Good job, Booze Post. You did your job well.

BUT there is something I feel the need to clear up, re: self-medicating. In the post I discussed the running commentary in my head - in all our heads, I believe - and compared it to the crawl (that's the ticker, folks) at the bottom of the CNN screen (an analogy that, secretly, I think is genius ;) I went on to say that part of the reason I drink one too many glasses of wine from time to time is to turn the crawl off. This generated much concern from many friends.

Here's my spiel: isn't that why people do anything to excess? Weight-lifting, drinking, working, praying, reading, eating, having sex, shopping, yoga, scrap-booking, blogging, cross-word puzzles, swimming, movie-watching, list-making, over-scheduling our children, running...whatever your obsession: don't you do in part to turn off your crawl?

Now the discussions included another school of thought where it wasn't how I turn my crawl off that generated concern so much as the content of the crawl. To this I say, wisely : Phhhhllllbbbbtttttt!!!

Everyone's crawl is crazy. Grab some paper and a pencil and jot it down word for word sometime. I fiercely believe that you're all as nuts I am ;)

5.29.2009

Yay! A happy post!

I love how fresh and promising everything is in the early morning. The birds are singing (and its a good thing for me I enjoy it, as my neighborhood is practically over-run), the sun has just begun to pull itself up into my world, and my mind is quiet and hopeful, somehow dreamy and alert all at once.
My children are dozing snugly in the little cocoons they've created for themselves, Sam surrounded by Kung Fu Panda stuffed animals, Anna with the 3 or 4 baby blankets she likes to hug beneath her as she sleeps. I have the bed all to myself - heaven! - and am free to spend 5 or 10 or 20 minutes breathing in the morning, stretching, preparing my mind for the day.
I don't know that I could call what I do each morning meditating. From the many times I've begun a meditation practice in my life, that word conjures up for me a constant struggle to force thoughts out of my mind, or worse yet a struggle to not struggle or force it, followed by exasperation, frustration and a stinging sense of failure. So instead I think of myself armoring my mind for the day: I want to dwell as deeply in this morning peace as i can, and use it to refill my well so that when the day's havoc is too much for me i can drink it in then, when i need it the most.
On days like this I find myself even looking forward to my children waking up, anxiously awaiting Sam's sleepy footsteps or Anna's insistent "Baba Mama!" from her crib. Anyone with children knows you don't always look forward to that; there are days when all you're thinking is "oh please just let them sleep late so I can have another cup of coffee in peace." I have lots of those days.
But today isn't one of them. I'm grateful for today, open to what it will bring, hopeful about how I will feel about it tonight when I snuggle into my own cocoon.

5.24.2009

thunderstorm

I love a good thunderstorm. I love how slowly the fat clouds roll in, almost too heavy to move; how they hold out until they can't possibly hold out any longer, and then...release. Imagine what relief they must feel when they finally burst...
So I'm on a weather kick, I know...
Last weekend, over the holiday, the husband, kids and I went to visit my in-laws. I always like this trip, not just because my in-laws are nice people (if a little wacky about religion) but because it gives me a real break from the constant attentions of parenting. We show up, they shower the kids with kisses, I crack open a magazine and nod off on the sofa.
AND as a bonus, I can usually get some alone-time. So Sunday, while my father-in-law took my son to the grocery store and my mother-in-law picked up the spoon my daughter threw from her high chair 792 times, I snuck out to the back porch with my book, just in time to see some fat, round clouds rolling in. The back porch having a roof, I wasn't too concerned when the drops started falling. By the time I realized that I'd have to walk around the outside of the house to get in (due to some oddity of architecture) it was pouring, pounding really, and for a moment I felt pure relief. "I'm stuck out here. Alone. No one would expect me to run through this storm and get soaked when my kids are obviously being well-cared-for...awesome."
As things slowly improve with my depression, and they are improving (dear god what will i write about?!) I notice the irritability and fatigue lightening...lifting, a bit. And while this is of course a very good thing, it leaves room for my mind to dwell on a more disturbing symptom: I miss joy.
Time was, being alone, outside but sheltered, in a thunderstorm would have filled me with joy. I'm weird that way, but its true. I would have sat still & quiet and breathed in the rain smell, watched the little rivers form in the street, felt my hair starting to curl and been filled with anticipation for the next lightening bolt or thunderclap. Now, I merely welcomed this as an excuse not to care for my children.
Time was, I didn't want a break from my kids, or at least not so many breaks, because spending time with them filled me with a pure joy. Of course there were exasperating moments. Of course it was tiring and sometimes mundane - the feeding, the changing, the getting them to sleep. But still, in the back somewhere past all that, there was joy.
I don't really feel like the joy isn't there anymore so much as I can't get past 'all that' to the back to dwell in it...
I have storm clouds gathering in my life right now, and watching them slowly roll in, almost too heavy to move, fills me with a dread that thunderstorms haven't inspired in me since I was a child myself.

5.22.2009

The Eye of the Tornado

Sylvia Plath wrote, "I felt very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo." I revisited that gem last week, as I was gorging myself on books rather than packing them up for a yard sale as I'd promised. I don't think I've ever heard depression described more elegantly or more accurately.

For me the storm is my marriage, my dishes, my kids, my laundry, my (once-thriving-now-nearly-forgotten) career...what's for dinner? How long will it be until my husband and I have officially been in counseling for HALF of our marriage? Can I afford to have my carpet shampooed rather than scrubbing it on my hands and knees AGAIN? Where did all these toys come from? Am I actually considering medication for my 5 year old son? Can I squeeze $15 out of the grocery budget for sushi this week?

This is the...debris my particular storm throws about. And, just like an actual tornado, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to which parts of my life it will leave intact, which it will flatten.

I wonder, does the eye of the tornado steer the storm, or is it steered by the storm?

4.30.2009

little mirrors


Oh these children. Little mirrors.
My five year old and I walked to the grocery store yesterday - just a few blocks from the house. We were both having pretty awful days, and I thought the change of scenery might do us some good.
As required by our previously adjudicated contract, I had to buy him a gumball if he was well-behaved during our shopping trip. I considered arguing the point that, since we were only at the store for 10 minutes, I technically didn't owe him a gumball but...what the heck. I really didn't have the energy; he's a vicious negotiator.
He's also a severely negative boy who can find something to complain about ANYWHERE. Trust me on this, I just took the kid to Disney world. So of course the first problem is that after inserting the quarter into the filthy machine, he is unable to turn the knob and must watch, disgusted with himself, as I do it for him. Then - o calamity of calamities! - a yellow gumball pops out. I remind him that a yellow gumball is better than no gumball, and he seems okay with that.
I've been thinking a lot lately about my inability to recover from disappointment. Some misfortune visits my emotional doorstep before 9:00am, and my day is shot. Recuperation is a pipe dream. So that's where my mind was when I glanced down just in time to see the yellow gumball, still intact, fall out of my son's mouth onto the parking lot and roll away.
I watch his face register the stages of grief - the denial, followed by the anger... and as he nears the bargaining stage he turns his teared up eyes to me. Realizing the need to nip this in the bud (I briefly considered the five-second-rule, then thought better of it) I say "I'm sorry Sam, we can't pick it up, and I don't have any more quarters."
He blinks, the tears fall, and he whispers "But I was just so happy."
You said a mouthful there, baby boy.

4.20.2009

A very small window

Today was to start my triumphant return to the YMCA, knowing as I do that few things put a dent in depression like some good old-fashioned exercise. Well, that, and the baby-sitting room. 1 hour of alone-time is heaven, even if I have to spend it doing squats & lunges.

In typical Jeanine-fashion, I probably attached a little too much importance, emotionally, to the beginning of a new Y session. I'm about a week into trying Lexapro again (kick in any time now...really...) so my mind is full of "fresh start" hopes and "this time will be different" dreams. I have my own personal New Year's on a quarterly basis, at least.

Life had other plans. Infant daughter is fussy and fighting infection - only available doctor's appointment is during my new exercise class. Grr. Son, age 5 and starting Kindergarten in 3 months, announces that he hates (pre) school and will no longer love me if I make him go. Grrrrrrr. Husband texting with questions re: credit card bill. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. PUPPY HAS DIAREA.

Its too much. This is the part, for me, that comes off as weakness. The part I really can't stand. Its 8:30am, and the day has beaten me. The day I'd been looking forward to for the better half of a week as a 'tabula rasa' of sorts.

I ensure my children are safely gated in the baby-proof living room with some Yo Gabba Gabba, I lock my crap-spewing puppy in the bathroom, and I head to the garage with my coffee. Its the only place I can think of that's far enough away to approximate escape, yet close enough to avoid child abandonment charges.

As soon as I sit down I realize my mistake. The garage is not an appropriate place to escape. Its full of unfinished projects, given-up hobbies, and clutter. It virtually screams "lack of follow-through!" It is the physical manifestation of a to-do list I've been avoiding my entire adult life. If I thought about it, there are few places in the world I could go to feel more like a failure than my garage, really. And here I sit, coffee in hand, trying to cheer myself up.

There is a very small window in my garage. Through it, this morning, I can see part of my cherry tree, pink buds ready to burst. I can also see some of my Maple tree, whose light green leaves have just begun unfurling the last day or two. And, though its raining, the sky is still kinda bright this morning.

This is what "moderate depression" is like. I feel constantly weighed down by failure - those things I can't do but feel I should, or can do but don't do well enough, or can do really well but lack the discipline to see through to fruition. And by guilt - for losing my temper and yelling at my five-year-old, for forgetting my Dad's birthday, for crawling into a bottle of wine. I carry these feelings around with me everywhere, drag them behind me or throw them on my back, and its exhausting. And if I can muster the energy to look up or glance around, I can usually find a very small window with a happy view.

I imagine "severe depression" is similar, but without the window, and for that - I count myself lucky.

4.15.2009

Lunch with professionals

Surprisingly, I'm not talking about my therapist (though, she could definitely afford to take me out to lunch once in awhile...)



Today I had the bittersweet pleasure of lunch with my former boss and coworker. I say bittersweet because I love these women. They are intelligent, upbeat, informed women who give back to their communities - they are precisely the kind of people I choose surround myself with when given a choice. Unfortunately they bring to the surface the dichotomy that is me: career Jeanine and mommy Jeanine are still not the same person, still not capable of peaceful coexistence. Its like I have to kill one in order for the other to thrive...



This duality was strangely easier to live with when I worked "outside the home" (awful, awful phrase). Take off one hat, put on another...I never really felt the need to dip into the resources of one to tackle the challenges of the other. Different roles, different people. Simple. The only time they bumped into each other was at the occasional holiday party or company picnic.



When I finally made the gut-wrenching, pride-swallowing, almost martyr-making decision to stay at home, I imagined myself tackling it like a new job. I bought calendars, scheduled my days (with an infant! woman plans: infant laughs.) I signed up for story time at the library, classes at the Y. I had learned from my professional life that I require a certain...framework, I guess...in order to excel. A system. And in my professional life that system served me well . Why has is failed me so miserably at home?

I think it might be because I'm Lisa Simpson.

I'm thinking of a particular clip where she's begging her teacher "judge me! evaluate me! please!" There's no eval time in the life of a stay-at-home-Mom (awful, awful phrase...) Well, there's the judgemental husband that begins his family time with a look around the living room and a "so...what did you DO all day?" - but that doesn't really count. He really doesn't know what you've done all day. And that's a post in itself...

But a good boss...geez I miss that. Which is strange - people say "so what do you miss most about work" and i think "having a boss"...but a good boss is a cheerleader, is invested in your success because your success means their success. They encourage you, they challenge you, they may even bribe you from time to time if necessary...and even when they're critical, you know its because they want you to succeed. Its not because they're passive-aggressive and pissed off that you drank a bottle of wine and stayed up on Facebook until 2:00am...again...but I digress...

Point is, I think I may be in the market for a Mommy Mentor. Any takers?

Oh - and stay tuned for future "so what did you do all day" post, apparently congealing as we speak...

Disney on anti-depressants

Ah....the happiest place on earth. no pressure.

Let's make this post useful, and in the form of a list.

Jeanine's Top Ten Tips for Clinically Depressed Mommies at Disney World:

10. Try not to obsess over finding the hidden mickeys. They don't actually exist - its all just a sick joke someone came up with torture those of us who aren't very good at 'i-spy' but can't resist playing anyway.

9. Repeat after me: Waiting is an opportunity to build patience. Waiting is an opportunity to build patience. Waiting is an opportunity to build patience. Now breathe...

8. Nap when your children nap. And make your children nap everyday.

7. Allow the most mentally stable adult in your party to take your kids on the 'Its a Small World' ride. You sit it out. It is not for those of us already teetering on the edge of sanity.

6. Every meal at Disney comes with a desert. Accept this in the beginning, enjoy it during, and do not give it a second thought until you're home unpacking the clothes that no longer fit you.

5. Try not to constantly remind yourself how much the trip is costing so you'd better enjoy every freakin' minute of it starting NOW damn it. It doesn't help.

4. Seek out the calmer areas of each park, and take some solace there from the constant over-stimulation. I suggest: the nature trails in Animal Kingdom, Robinson Caruso's treehouse in Magic Kingdom, Streets of America in Hollywood Studios and in Epcot - the Canada pavilion. That place was practically deserted...

3. Look at the expressions on little kids faces - they really are almost always happy, and it really is kinda contagious.

2. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR MEDICATION AT HOME.

1. The characters probably aren't actually smiling in those giant stuffed-animal costumes. That alone should make you feel a little bit better.

3.13.2009

When it gets bad

Let me preface this post by assuring you that what i mean is, 'when it gets bad FOR ME'. My depression is moderate, so 'when it gets bad' does not involve me learning how to tie a noose, experimenting with too many pills, or googling "leave car running in garage" (which, funnily enough, yields a "yahoo answers" video clip?!). No, i am of the mind that that sort of thing is just too selfish, even for one so selfish as me.



But bad for me can still be...difficult to face. And uncomfortable to disect, and tortorously embarassing to share. So let's do that, shall we?




When it gets bad, my kids still get fed. And, more often than not, dressed. My 5-yr-old makes it to preschool; my 1-yr-old's diaper gets changed. They are safe. BUT - that's about it. For example, it's gotten bad this week. We skipped all the non-mandatory stuff: no preschool story-time at the library, no mommy-and-me. Didn't make it to the Y, despite being uber-aware of the fact that we are taking a vacation which requires me to don a swimsuit in less than 3 weeks. (Update - returned from vacation - more on that later. trying on swimsuits not recommended for women suffering from moderate depression) No grocery store - we actually broke out powdered creamer at one point, previously relegated to camping supplies. And WAY too much television. Despite what the ads say, its not REALLY "preschool on TV".



Most of that is related to ambivalence: zombie mommy going through the motions, trying to make it through till after dinner when I can safely start counting the minutes until sleep. (although once the opportunity to sleep is upon me it will no longer appeal to me).



The irritability part is more disturbing. That's the part that's got me saving money for my son's eventual therapy bills. The screaming - literally mad-woman screaming - at my five year old to PLEASE JUST CALM DOWN DAMNIT! All while clearly hearing a very calm, rational voice in my mind saying "why are you screaming at this child?" Or yelling at an 18-month old baby to stop crying. That's a classic. And super effective!



And the cycle continues and feeds itself and grows, as anyone who has been dealt this depression bullshit knows firsthand. The ambivalence & irritability lead inevitably to guilt, feelings of inferiority, those "oh my god i am the worst mother on the planet" moments that seem to apply equally to loosing your temper or serving peanut butter with trans fats. And here's where you need to break the cycle because while i have somehow maintained enough Reason to back off of that edge, that guilt leads to very dangerous questions: am i doing more harm than good? would they be better off without me?



Happily for me, my answer to that question is always a resounding 'no'. But I get it. And just getting it, really, is scary enough.



When it gets bad I literally want to sleep 20 hours a day. BUT - I always want to wake up again.

3.06.2009

Ambivilance

Ambivilance can look a lot like laziness, to the untrained eye. And there's always that danger of slipping from one to the other...how do you explain to someone seemingly in control of their emotions that you're not too lazy to vacuum, you just don't care enough about the carpet to bother?
I am genetically predispositioned to laziness. I have to remain vigilant because, like most women I know, I am terrified of turning into my mother. Lately though, I could spend six hours on the sofa and not think twice about it. Well, that's not entirely true - I DO think about. The internal dialogue goes something like this:
Jeanine's Reason: you can't just sit here all day. Remember the list you made yesterday? Lots to do - let's get going!
Jeanine's Emotion: I know you're right, I'm just SO tired. I deserve a pajama day.
Reason: there's no reason for you to be tired. You got 9 straight hours of sleep last night. Let's get moving!
Emotion: I know, you're right. Got plenty of sleep, but now that the idea of a pajama day hit me, I can't shake it. What's the point in cleaning up when the kids are just going to trash the place again?
Reason (recognizing the downward spiral): forget cleaning up then - its a really nice day out. Get dressed, put some jackets on the kids, and take them for a walk. The sun is shining! Let's get a move on!
Emotion: you're right, I should do that...but I can't play outside when I have so much work to do in here!
Reason (exasperated): BUT YOU'RE NOT DOING ANY WORK!
Emotion: I know, isn't awful? I'm just so beat - maybe I'll lay here and make another list, then we can reevaluate in an hour?
Reason, exhausted, leaves the room...

2.23.2009

the history pt. 2

Well, it was more than that really. I sort of...forgot to be melancholy all the sudden. Things just didn't seem that bleak. I wish I could provide a more detailed description...it wasn't that things were great all the sudden, it was just that they didn't always suck.
And that left me all sorts of...well, empty. In a good way. What was gonna fill the void of all that 'sucking'? I realized that I could decide that. I had time, I had the interest, the inclination and the just-plain-ooomph to do the things I previously enjoyed talking about wishing for.
Before & after the zyban, I'd wake up in the morning and think "I'd love to take a hike today." That didn't change. What did change is the thought I'd have before bed that night: before antidepressants it was "I really should have taken a hike today"...and after anti-depressants that thought would be "wow - I'm so glad i decided to get up and take a hike." It occurred to me that perhaps I'd been depressed? Maybe this is what life was supposed to feel like?
Eventually, of course, the refills ran out, and my doctor wanted to have a real conversation with me before calling it in again (after all, I hadn't smoked in months...) To sit in front of my doctor and say out loud "I think maybe I'm depressed."....ugh. I practiced out loud in the car on the way there, imagined all sorts of reactions and questions, and felt a little guilty even - I had never curled up in the fetal position on my floor and dreamt up ways to off myself...did I have a right to that word, "depressed"? Was I just being - dare I say it - dramatic? In my naivete I imagined a health care system where doctors would try to dissuade patients from using pharmaceuticals except as a last resort...ha ha. Needless to say, no one wanted to talk me out it.
That was six years (and more than a couple doctors) ago. Medications & dosages have changed as those six have been my baby-bearing years. Different combinations of pills, therapy, and habits have helped me maintain...well, my sanity, I guess. Or maybe I'm just being dramatic?

the history pt. 1

i've always enjoyed melancholy, even as a child. My favorite tv shows - Little House on the Prairie, Our House, Life Goes On...tearjerkers everyone. So when I hit puberty and the real angst kicked in - heaven. I enjoyed every minute of it: painted my fingernails black, listened to The Cure, REM, and The Smiths for hours on end...I was really in my element.
When I got to high school and came across an awesome English teacher (thanks Mr. Boehne) - of course I fell in love with Shakespeare, Frost & Plath, and decided to write...you know (are you gonna make me say it?)...the great American novel. And all of the sudden it made sense - all the melancholy. o\Of course! I was a tortured artist. I felt things more deeply than others. Suffered for my art. It was my cross to (proudly, enthusiastically even) bear.
College brought a little maturity - I realized that the discipline required for novel writing was WAY out of my league, at any rate. It also brought something magical: the discovery of self-medicating. I was a drinker and occasional pot smoker in high school, but college was a whole new ball game. I soon found a reason & method to obtain an altered state of mind at least 4 out of 7 nights a week. And life was good.
Six years later (yes, six - no surprise) I graduated, engaged to my now-husband, and - for reasons I won't delve into here - ended up back in my hometown. Apparently I have a fondness for cliche. A couple years go by, there's a wedding (a gorgeous one, btw) and talk of having babies. I realize it suddenly matters how I take care of my body, so I decide to quit smoking. After, i don't know...eight attempts, we'll say, I start this brand-new, raved-about drug called Zyban. And everything - I mean EVERYTHING - changed...again.
For one, I no longer enjoyed melancholy. Whatever kick it was that I got out of wallowing in misery...the Zyban (wellbutrin) blocked the receptor in my brain that made it possible. There was just no emotional pay-off all of the sudden. At first, this was heart-breaking. The only thing I ever really enjoyed - misery - and now I couldn't even enjoy that. What's more, I couldn't even muster up any righteous indignation over the loss of my love...of...er, misery. I was too damn...content.
No, really - happy. I had become one of those women iI so prided myself on despising: trying on wedding dresses, tasting cakes, reading (insert shudder of disgust) women's magazines - and loving every minute of it. What had become of me?

2.22.2009

Intro

Hmmmm....I guess more than anything this will be a blog about living life as a stay-at-home-Mom (HATE that phrase, btw) who also happens to have (rather than 'suffer from') moderate depression, and is medicated accordingly. Its a niche, I know.
But I can't help but be surprised when I look for kindred spirits in the the great big "out there" and find so few. If you google "Mom Depression" three out of the top four results have to do with the affects on the families - "Mom's depression affects baby's sleep" or "Mom's depression leads to children's misbehavior". Are you kidding me? How about "Mom's Depression leads a generation of women to stumble through their half-lived lives wondering why they don't have the gumption to improve them"? That's the link I'm looking for. That's the link people need.
Not that I have any hope that "people" will benefit or respond. This is, more than anything, a creative outlet for a self-absorbed woman who spends her days focused on others, and must make up for it at night with a glass of wine (or two) and a blog. I have no misconceptions about that.
But - if you've ever lied to your children about bedtime because you knew a half hour more would lead to a meltdown (yours, not theirs), braved a conversation with your 60-year-old, male family doctor about whether or not its normal to crave sleep 14 hours of the day, or faked a quiet, serene voice through gritted teeth when your husband asks why you'd rather stay up till midnight on Facebook then go to bed with him...then you might find something entertaining here. I hope you do. Entertained is, at least, better than ambivalent ;)