not-so-blue-mama

the backslide

2011-12-15T20:53:00.002-05:00

forgive me zoloft for i have sinned. it has been nearly 6 weeks since my last pill.

i have committed the following sins against depression self-care, in no particular order:

i have not avoided negativity. while a particularly nasty facebook exchange that i know much better than to have gotten involved in prompted a brief hiatus, it did not last long. upon returning to facebook i did a fairly good job of ignoring political and/or negative posts...for about two weeks. also i have engaged in an unhealthy helping of negative self-talk, copious amounts of comparing myself to greater (or skinnier) people, and three full-fledged pity parties.

i have not avoided alcohol. while i have artfully arranged for my intoxication to be "social" in nature (therefore ruling out alcoholism) i have nonetheless utilized said intoxication and after-effects to provide a narrative of my continuous failures (see above sin).

i have neglected exercise. well, i mean, i don't know if neglect is necessarily the right word. i was aware of Exercise's whereabouts at all times. but i refused to engage it nonetheless.

i have abused my sleep patterns. i have reveled in the decadence of 12 hour sleep marathons as well as cursed insomnia on numerous occasions.

i do not recall the last time i gave meditation more than a half-assed 2-minute try, and even that ended with me cussing at myself silently in my head.

i have eaten total crap.

i have relied solely on the power of coffee and (gasp!) 5-hour energies to get through my day in even the most minimally effective way.

i have perfected the art of changing of the subject.

i have perfected the art of silently resenting people for allowing me to change the subject.

i have embraced numbness as an alternative to...well, anything.

Ah, well.

Is this the part where I say "it was a good run" and call the pharmacy?

No. No, dear anonymous readers if you do indeed exist, it is not. Because when i call the pharmacy, that will be that. The fight will be over. The next time i rely on pharmaceuticals to buffer the effects of life on my psyche - it will be forever. i will cease to be a person who has occasional bouts of depression and instead become a depressed person. someone who "HAS DEPRESSION." like, all the time. I will be on meds for the rest of my life because 1)i have a good doctor who will only allow me to "give it a shot w/o the meds one last time"...one last time. 2)it can't be good for my body or my brain - the weaning off, the spiral, the weaning back on, the even keel, the weaning off...over and over and over again. 3)i know the ridiculousness of this, but i just naggingly believe (like, almost a faith type thing) that the only way to really get to the light at the end of this tunnel is to go the whole way through the damn tunnel and come out on the other side. 4)i made a deal with myself, and i intend to keep it. i am going to do EVERYTHING in my power to control (?) my symptoms through better self care. routine. exercise. daylight. fresh air. breathing. fucking ginseng or some shit, i don't know. But i do know:

i have not missed work, any work assignments/goals, paying a bill on time, getting my kids where they need to be, etc.

i have laughed, even when not intoxicated.

i have not had a crying jag lasting more than 40 minutes, and i have not had more than 3 of those in the past month.

i have enjoyed making & keeping plans with friends & family, and have only isolated myself emotionally just a teensy-weensy little bit.

i. like. feeling. things.

2 steps forward, 1 step back. its called the backslide. give it a catchy beat and it will be all the rage.

So. took the two steps forward, this just happens to be the one step back part, which means the next two steps forward should be juuuuuussssttttt around the bend...

kindly disregard this completely incoherent rambling.

2011-10-27T22:05:00.004-04:00

yesterday i was lamenting - and oh do i love me some lamenting - that my depression often rears its ugly head in the form of anger, and i fear that that particular symptom is especially damaging to my children.
and yesterday was bad. yesterday my son said he was "scared of me when i yell like that and make that scary face." i looked in the mirror to see my scary face, which was a very, very bad idea.
so when i woke up blue this morning, it was quite a relief. blue i can do. blue i can fake my way through. i indulge in the illusion that because i don't actively entertain the idea of offing myself, somehow how blue is under my command.
blue began this morning as a very pretty, self-indulgent shade of indigo.
it was cold. it was dark. it was raining. it was a perfect day for blue.
i put on a disingenuous smile and got the kids up & ready. anna had to put on her costume for her preschool halloween party, which nicely complimented my complete inability to enjoy something thoroughly enjoyable, as she was tickled pink and ridiculously cute and all that. i was less-than-usually annoyed with the "ouch your pulling!" whine that begins before i open the drawer with the brush in it, and was grateful for numbness.
blue settled in nicely on the cold, wet drive to drop anna off in spring grove. i was devising a plan. call off sick from work (i can proudly say this is the first time i've called off for depression with this particular employer. i coughed a lot during the call. kindly disregard, lone co-worker allowed this peek into my life) i was thinking of complimentary blue music to listen to on the way home. (ended up going with Ben Folds, which was an excellent choice) i was thinking of maybe watching Moulin Rouge, or What Dreams May Come, or Dead Poet Society, or some other movie guaranteed to turn on the water works. perhaps Sopie's Choice is available On Demand? i was, quite frankly, really looking forward to it.
on the way home, though, a detour - quite literally. an suv turned over on its roof on moulstown road. the following realizations unfolded, in this order:
1. i said a small prayer for the folks in the car. which is bizarre, as i'm not a Christian, and haven't "prayed" in the traditional sense since, maybe, early middle-school. is it weird that, in hind-sight, i fear this might be some sort of red flag?
2. wow i completely forgot to get freaked out about driving in the rain, particularly on moulstown, as i have every time since totalling my car (on that road, in the rain) last fall.
3. shit they're making me turn right and i don't know how to get home from there. this is such a pretty road. jigsaw-puzzle-picture road. all yellows & oranges. woods. red barns. stone houses. i want a stone house! i wonder if i'll ever have a stone house? would i be happy in a stone house? hogwash. attachment. ridiculous. i'll be happy when i develop the wherewithal to put into practice my steadfast belief that i am in control of my own happiness...
4. um...i should probably be feeling some sort of, i don't know, gratitude? that i'm alive and well and not in that suv? some inkling that that could have just as easily been me and how awful would that be?
the problem is...okay. the really very scary problem is that i couldn't muster that. i didn't necessarily wholly adopt the warm, welcoming idea that "well, shit, they won't have to worry about anything anymore". but i felt it there, sort of in a far corner of my brain, starting to gel, and put the kibosh on it before it had the chance to fully come to fruition. sort of a...pre-thought, that i stopped mid-melding. which i must say i enjoy a particular knack at doing. always have. if you stop yourself somewhere between sensing it and actually giving it an internal voice, then it doesn't really count. we all know that.
my pretty indigo was transmogrifying into a deep, midnight-y, ultra-marinish, harder-to-escape color. (this is where i went in search of the right term, which still escapes me: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Shades_of_blue)
the bulk of my blue day was fairly disappointing. did some work, because, well, i just can't not do some work. allowed myself to get lost on Huffington Post, completely avoiding my melancholy, when what i really wanted to do was revel in it. even rearranged my dresser which is oddly energetic for this mood, brought little solace, and which i still don't completely understand.
but then i got to pick to sam up from school, and because i didn't have the cd in my car that he wanted to listen to, and because, well, he's sam, i enjoyed a berating of "i hate you"s and "i wish you weren't my mommy"s that managed to get me back on track. my little guy. thank you. i was looking for a broken heart all day...
the drive back from sam's after-school-thursday gig was just an almost orgasmic outpouring of tears, complimented beautifully by 'Still Fighting It' and 'Fred Jones Pt. 2'. (please, if you need a good cry: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PnU3zuqncwo) but then, you know, i had to pick up anna, and she was all exited about her party, and i had to, you know, feed her & bathe her and stuff. and then the ex showed up with sam, who he apparently fed halloween candy to for dinner, which annoyingly pre-empted the gratifying spiral into self-hating internal dialogue that i can usually count on his presence to inspire.
and now they're asleep. i told them a story about goblins and squinkees and candy. sam cried because he felt bad about telling me (again, at bedtime) that he hates me.
random thoughts that flashed in my mind today:

its possible i do my kids more harm than good

work will eventually figure out that i'm totally half-assing it

no way the electric bill gets paid on time

you are getting ridiculously fat. like, freshman year, second semester fat

you really can't afford this $6.99 bottle of wine, which is funny & sad

you have no real reason to be sad, you selfish, selfish bitch

you're not good at much. you're not even good at being depressed

you shouldn't post another blog so soon, you are emotionally exhausting your friends. how can they not be sick of you? i'm sick of you.

guy will be home soon, and damn it if he won't make me smile. a girl just can't enjoy a proper downward spiral with all these fucking distractions.
i may need to try again tomorrow.

a minimalistic approach

2011-10-26T22:38:00.003-04:00

Maybe i just need to start small.
Today, for instance, i really wanted to go for a run. Okay, not go for a run so much as feel good, later, about having gone for a run. But i knew it wasn't in the cards; i simply did not have it in me to sweat today. Instead of my usual lunch break though - a nap or Huffington Post - i took the dog for a walk. A decent one, too - a good mile at least, moderate pace. Got warm enough to lose the jacket, but didn't get out of breath. And while i don't feel as good about myself as i would if i'd gone for a run, i feel a lot better about myself than i would if i'd napped. As a bonus, it was fairly easy and enjoyable so i feel there's a good chance i'll do it again tomorrow.
Perhaps i can bring this approach to the rest of my life? Lose the all-or-nothing modus operandi that inevitably leaves me reeking of failure?
I'm already pretty good at "scraping by" or doing the bare minimum at work. Luckily for me, my bare minimum in that particular arena is pretty damn good. So i'm covered there.
I've stayed on top of tackling housework this way as well lately - a load of laundry here, a sink of dishes there...beats the hell outta spending 2 days cleaning what i've essentially allowed to become a shithole. (though i really do need to address the closet/dresser situation - sick to death of living out of laundry baskets)
Where else can i apply this? My biggest challenge, and the one with the weightiest consequences by far, is parenting. How could i apply this there?
It seems anathema to say i'm shooting for being "a good enough mom", but waking up every morning and setting the bar at "i won't raise my voice today" is not serving me well. By noon (at the latest) i've blown it, and inevitably feel like my chances at being "a good mom" that day are shot. Its generally downhill from there...
The thing is, you know - our kids, they deserve perfect parents. Why would we strive to be anything less?
Why? Because its unattainable. And because beating your head against that particular brick wall will only serve to make you more frustrated and more prone to lose your temper, now that you've piled certain failure on to your parenting to-do list.
And, while i can't say with any certainty whether i truly believe this or its just a handy rationalization, i have a sneaking suspicion that the children of perfect parents, if such a thing existed, would grow up to be assholes. I mean, think of the lessons you've learned second-hand from the mistakes your parents have made.
This is all well & good in theory, but didn't bring me much comfort last night as i realized my neighbors actually heard me say to my son, through gritted teeth, after seven meltdowns about trick or treating, "would you please just pretend to be a kid who likes free candy long enough for me to take this stupid picture?!"
So i don't know. Maybe there's some forgiveness there that needs to take place. Maybe i - dare i say "we"? - need to forgive ourselves, from time to time, for not being perfect parents. And maybe smaller, more attainable goals would help me boost my confidence a bit, be a little more comfortable in my "mom suit".
Am i seriously considering lower my standards as a parent?

hi i'll be your psycho-girlfriend this evening...

2011-10-22T22:15:00.003-04:00

So i try to keep up with this Depression issue. Read the studies (and by studies i mean blogs referencing studies)...keep my finger on the pulse, so to speak. And i've heard talk of paranoia rearing its ugly head, conveniently allowing me to feel a little LESS fucked up than some folks out there...
Then tonight: paranoia, albeit totally understandable paranoia. (that makes sense in my head! cause i'm nuts!)
Without betraying the juicy details i'm saving for my memoir, today my guy went golfing with my soon-to-be-ex-husband (its SO much cheaper to just keep calling him that). Trust me, the nuance with which this particular Three's Company storyline materialized is not that interesting. Suffice it to say, it just...is.
Now we all get along amazingly well and spend probably an inordinate amount of time together. And I won't comment on that except to say that it has by and large eliminated the "loyalty complex" that often plagues sons when hanging with mom's new beau, so its a good thing.
This afternoon, I snapped. I learned that despite my best efforts to be the uber-cool laid-back girlfriend i like to think of myself as, there is, in fact, a tiny little psycho inside of me.
At 2:00 i hoped they were all getting along well. At 3:00 i wondered what they could possibly be talking about? By 4:00 i wondered how much beer was involved, and by 5:00 i was pretty well convinced than my guy had learned some here-to-fore unrealized truth about me that set him running to the hills.
Now, I could've been talked down at this point, so i texted no less than 7 of my best friends in hopes of a distraction conversation. life, and my timing, being what they are...i got a few wholly-appreciated responses that none the less only managed to distract my spiraling mind for a few moments.
The imaginary conversations gelling in my head were of mythic, if Seinfeldian, proportions.
All is well. Man is home and happy for it, having had a fun day but missed me. Truly the best one could hope for from such an afternoon.
I am doing my "look in from outside dance" and spending copious amounts of time on WebMD and AOL Health. Stumbled across this golden nugget: "Depression and Paranoia may appear together. When they do, they are often signs of serious psychotic illness such as Schizophrenia, bipolar disorder (also called manic depression) or psychotic depression."
eh....fuck it. Pretty sure it'll be fine. In any case, i'll look further back to find some time-tested wisdom (a generation, anyway). From the Desiderata: "Don't trouble yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born from fatigue and loneliness."

On my non-existent 10-year anniversary...

2011-10-06T12:30:00.002-04:00

I would've preferred not to wake up to a text this morning, from my soon-to-be-ex-husband, wishing me a Happy Anniversary.

10 years ago today, I was preparing my wedding. The florist was setting up, the cake was being delivered, I was having my hair done. I gotta say...I was pretty psyched (and not just from the breakfast mimosas). Instead of preparing for my wedding, though, turns out I should've been preparing for my marriage.

What a bitter-sweet day today is. I feel border-line guilty about this, but you know what? I had a gorgeous wedding. It was a beautiful day. I looked amazing. I was surrounded by family and friends, some of whom I haven't seen since. Is it weird that I remember my wedding so fondly, given it was the start of an unsuccessful marriage? And just how tacky would it be to display a pic of me on that day? Cause let's face it, I'll likely never look that good again...

At the same time, the sentiment of that day falls flat in my memory. Words said, promises made... I've spent many the hour of alone-time wondering: did I mean the words when I said them, then allowed life and time to change my mind? Or were they hollow from the get-go? Did the path veer off course, or was it the wrong path to begin with? Today, predictably, brings those questions to mind again (though it feels like well-traveled ground).

I'm trying t determine the value of answering those questions now. I'm a true believer in learning from mistakes. It seems perfectly sensible that I might make better decisions in my relationships moving forward if I can cultivate some lessons from the ghosts of relationships past. But then, I've already moved forward (with an amazingly loving man) and dwelling feels like... holding back. I imagine if I were dating (okay, living with) me, I probably wouldn't be too happy about me spending much time dissecting my previous marriage.

In a perfect world, these are questions I would've asked and answered previous to moving on. Timing seldom being perfect, Love presented itself to me before I had the chance to work through all that. And Love, the kind of Love I have now...well, you really need to grab it when you have the chance, perfect timing or not.

I guess I'm seeking...finality. Completion. I want to close this chapter of my life, confident that won't have to open that book again.

Unfortunately for me, finality runs a minimum $1000.00 retainer these days...

our mirrors

2011-10-02T19:41:00.004-04:00

Do you ever give any thought to the quantity and quality of the mirrors you look into?
We can spend unlimited energy and time trying to know ourselves (if your narcissism approaches mine, really - unlimited energy & time) but do we ever approach any kind of objective assessment? No, we don't. So we rely on mirrors.
Our parents, our friends, our children, our lovers. These are our true mirrors. How do they see us? How do they experience us? How much import do we award these mirrors, and how accurate are they?
I've spent some time, as of late, putting myself in the shoes of my trusted mirrors, trying to see what they see. As...difficult, and let's say, well, painful as this exercise can be...surely there's a lesson of value there. But the results are so diverse, and so...filtered.
FIRST let me say - an honest mirror is worth its weight in gold. Flattering or not, there is no one in your life of as much value as your honest mirror.
My mirrors are varied any many.
My father, I think, while proud, probably views me as somewhat...impulsive. Lacking a plan. Certainly lacking a budget (as i am). There are things I could do better at.
My mother, I fear, thinks I am a bit superior. Big for my britches, in a way, much the way I think of my daughter, often.
My ex. He finds me lazy, a poor housekeeper, and probably a bit of a know-it-all.
My friends.
My friends are varied. I have one that thinks I sold out. I have one that thinks I should sell out and haven't yet. And, I recently learned, I have one that thinks Depression is a little bit of bullshit, and an excuse for my lazy approach to life. This was a...difficult realization. It was difficult because, like most people, I assumed the fact that this person was my friend meant they thought I was pretty, well, fucking cool. Why else would they waste their time on me?
I sat with this a bit. I went through the usual process, anger, denial, resentment, acceptance, what have you. I came out on the other side. Well, not really...I'm on way to coming out on the other side. But I learned something important already.
Those friends that support every choice you make; they're great. They're necessary. They build you up.
Those friends that risk your friendship to speak hard truths to you, knowing you may revolt and leave them (i have a few)...they're great too. They may tear you down, but that's just as important. They're brave. And they should be valued.
Its like...conservatives watching Fox and liberals watching MSNBC. You can't surround yourself solely with people who validate the opinions you already hold. If you do... you're not growing. And, you know, painful or not - growing is important. Its everything, really.
I was recently a less-than-flattering mirror for a friend. I looked for very supportive and loving ways to communicate it. It was...a struggle. I am spending a lot of time, today, hoping it didn't cost me a friend.
But...I've come to believe that there is no higher calling than honesty. That regardless of fall out, of the practical consequences, we're here, ultimately, to learn from one another. To grow. To move forward. When we can do that together - that is the ideal. When we can't, we should still be grateful for the growth. Growing pains and all.

Handy-Dandy field guide to dating depressed women

2011-09-26T20:50:00.003-04:00

You have met and fallen in love with someone who has Depression. Congratulations! I hope you're into three-ways, because your relationship moving forward will be a manage-a-trois: You, her and her depression.

This isn't always a bad thing. Besides being unwaveringly eager to please, self-loathing women tend to...oh nevermind. That's really not the direction I wanted to take this.

There are some terms you should familiarize yourself with:

Ambivilance: uncertainty or fluctuation, especially when caused by inability to make a choice or by a simultaneous desire to say or do two opposite or conflicting things. This is really Loony 101 stuff. It is, frankly, paralyzing in a way that you will probably never fully understand. I assure you it is more frustrating to your Lover than it is to you. It can present as laziness to the untrained eye, so be careful here. Suggesting it may actually be laziness not recommended.

Ambivilance can manifest itself in the following thrilling and fully enjoyable ways:

difficulty concentrating, remembering details and making decisions (you will need to help your Lover find her keys/wallet/phone multiple times daily)

loss of interest in activities or hobbies once pleasureable, including sex (results may vary!)This is important, though. I call it the joy-suck. You literally lose the ability to feel joy. You feel that you should feel joy, and recognize an event as joyous, but...that's not really the same thing.

Irritability/Moodiness: easily annoyed; readily excited to impatience or anger; ill-humored. This is a bigee especially if there are kids around. I'm told kids who like to push emotional buttons can be particularly challanging for people suffering from this symptom.

tread lightly, on eggshells, much of the time, cause this baby pops up out of the blue, 0-120 in 5 seconds, for no rational reason whatsoever. If you have fallen in love with someone who's been depressed for years, they may have mastered the time-honored art of swallowing their anger until it becomes a mildly uncomfortable, festering sore of resentment in the pit of their stomach. Consider yourself lucky.

Appetite: An instinctive physical desire, especially one for food or drink. Um...yeah. Let's break this sucker up to tackle it.

Food - some depressed people have no appetite at all and find it difficult to get enough nutrition. I hate them. Okay, I don't really hate them, but...if you're going to suffer from appetite disturbances this would be the way to go. Personally, I eat like a Dickens character. Like I may never get food again....sometimes 4 or 5 times a day. The kicker? That whole ambivilance thing above really puts a kink in the ol' exercise routine...so, remember: Big girls need love too.

Drink - Ah, the drink. The world's most socially acceptable form of self-medication. Many women suffering from Depression, I'm told, find the the warm, numbing glow of a bottle of red irresistible...understand: we know that drinking doesn't solve any of our problems. We just like that it helps us forget about them for a few useless hours...(in all seriousness, for a momment - this is a real problem as alcohol renders anti-depressants less effective. If you're shelling out $100/month for Zoloft & Welbutrin, you're pissing it away when you chase it with a Yuengling. Not that that's likely to change your mind.)

Sleep Disturbances: a medical disorder of the sleep patterns of a person or animal, serious enough to interfere with normal physical, mental and emotional functioning. This can be getting too much sleep or not enough, or a mixture of both at different times, and it is fucking awful.

"Sleep - its such a bitter form of refuge" - The Killers. This is alot like the drink, really. When you feel pretty crappy much of the time, sleep is a great way to not feel anything. I could be happy as a clam sleeping 12-16 hours/day. In fact, now that I'm giving it some thought (yay for blog!) some of my happiest momments are lying in bed or on the sofa fully aware that I can sleep for the next 10 hours (or so). I love everything about it - the drifting, the groginess, the dreaming...the knowing that I am not responsible for doing anything when I'm asleep.

Insomnia - chronic inability to fall asleep or remain asleep for an adequate length of time. She's a bitch. She visits a couple times a year and renders you completely incapable of working, parenting, living...insomnia is often the symptom of Depression that will make people actually call off work, cancel appointments, and otherwise let their life turn to shit.

Self-Loathing: Strong feelings of worthlessness or guilt. Harshly criticizing oneself for perceived faults and mistakes. This is where the trajectory turns on itself and becomes an inescapable loop: the symptoms above all feed the self-loathing, and the self-loathing feeds all the symptoms above. And its something I can't explain.

There have been amazing men & women - heros, actors, writers, world leaders - who have suffered from this. If it were as easy as saying "but wait - you're awesome!" then Depression wouldn't even be an issue. Its not rational. You often recognize it as detrimental behavior. But you do it anyway. Which, niftily, provides another weakness to judge yourself for...

So what to do? My advice, in no particular order:

Run. If you can still get out, do it. This is no fun. Just sayin'.

Realize that you can't love someone out of Depression. Depression isn't caused by a lack of people loving you or that love lacking quality - thus, it can't be cured by love either.

Encourage your partner. Suggest a hike rather than a trip to the bar. Sign the two of you up for a class. Encourage your partner in any way you can to participate, to be engaged in life. Frankly, they don't have the gumption to do it themselves.

Just hold them when they cry for no reason and let them do it. Its cathartic. Unless it continues for more than a day or two...in that case call for back-up. The Mom, the best friend, the shrink who's home number is programmed in their phone, whatever...

Cover their ass, because they will surely fuck shit up. Let work slide, skip laundry for a month, what have you...but at the same time -

Hold them responsible. Its o-so-tempting to romanticize Depression, to come to depend on it. Its such a great crutch.

Realize that Depression is an illness, not a characteristic or a character flaw or even a great, under utlizied way of life/philosophy. Its none of those things. Its neurons in your brain that fire when they shouldn't, and don't fire when they should.

Avoid the 'pull yourself up by your boot straps' approach, as it generally just feeds that whole self-loathing thing we talked about.

That said, there are definite upsides. If you've ever wished you had a partner who was more sensitive, a depressed gal may just be for you! We feel things more deeply than most people do - sorry, but its true - and as such we (generally) have great reserves of empathy. Empathy and narcissism....we can appreciate the irony, even if we're not laughing.

Throwing in the towel

2011-05-11T17:13:00.000-04:00

I think I may be ready to throw in the towel.
Its an interesting expression...derived from managers of combatants in prize fights throwing their towel into the ring to indicate surrender...if the fight is over, they no longer need the towel.
And a fight is exactly what I have on my hands.
The battlefields are many, but the bloodiest assaults take place in two distinct combat zones: Motivation and Control.
Motivation is needed to overcome the debilitating ambivalence that rides shotgun with Depression. My default, when I'm depressed, is "I don't care." I don't care about my job, my rent or my laundry. I have the presence of mind to realize that I should care - I sometimes even take steps to make it appear to the outside world as if I do care (often in the form of brainstorming credible excuses)...but that's not quite the same thing as caring. Its more like...house-sitting Care. Keeping things kosher for some time at which I hope to care again. The Done List (http://notsobluemama.blogspot.com/2009/06/done-list.html) usually helps with this but this time - not even scratching the surface. Frankly I can't bring myself to bother.
I am losing it. Piles of laundry in the basement and nothing to wear. Rent paid 10 days late for no reason other than I just didn't get around to writing the check. Even the recent invasion of black ants barely inspired more than a half-hearted swabbing of the kitchen deck. I am amazed, frankly, that I manage to pull this shit off for as long as I do - always with that nagging compulsion in a dark corner of my mind to see it through to fruition. Get fired. Get evicted. Get a vacation at the nearest residential mental health facility. It sounds oddly...inviting. And easy. Which disgusts me, of course, and scares the living shit out of me as well. All I want to do, really, is sleep. "Pull up! Pull up!...no? Well then we'll need to stop at the state store."
Control is a bloodbath. Controlling the frequency & duration of my temper tantrums as well as my meltdowns is...exhausting. Its how I imagine it would be to live in a foreign country and have to speak a second language all the time. You can do it, but damn if it doesn't take a shit ton of effort.
I crave an effortless even keel.
So I am throwing in the towel and picking up the Zoloft once again (with a sidecar of Welbutrin, please, barkeep).
I hate that it tastes like defeat.

This looks familiar...

2011-04-26T22:40:00.007-04:00

Again. Its a word I loathe, "again". In my experience, very few momments lived well bear repeating. So if I'm living the same ones over and over again - it's because I haven't quite nailed them yet.
She's seeping in again, that bitch, Depression. We're playing our usual coy little games - the games in which I'm constantly second-guessing myself, afraid that if I give myself an inch I'll take a mile. Keeping a close eye, keeping score, keeping tabs on things like how often I lose my cool. How often I feel overwhelmed, or worse - ambivilant. How many times in a week I question whether or not pharmaceuticals made me a better parent, a better lover, or a better friend.
It starts with the negative self-talk. I'll notice my internal dialogue, as I inch closer to bedtime (when IS that, btw?) starts to become a list of things I didn't do. "I really should've done the dishes. Why didn't I just finish that proposal today? Fuck, I forgot to schedule Sam's appointment. How hard would it have been to just switch the laundry one more time?"
I don't know anymore - don't remember - where this comes from. Some of its BS from my ex (that internal dialogue is eerily similar to 10 years of dinner conversation/pillow talk) and some it is completely ligit (I am regrettably, genetically lazy) and frankly, trying to untangle the two has become a dizzingly mind-numbing exericise that I can't bring myself to believe is healthy AT ALL. I mean, I just don't get what I'm really gaining from trying to figure it out. Is it me? Is it him? At the end of the day...does it matter?
There are two ways to look at this past year.
1 - I was medicated - numbed really to the joy as much as the sorrow of life. I broke up my family. I look at my kids, I listen to them, and I realize that all the hopes I had for their experiences of growing up - all I envisioned for them as a childhood - is now beyond reach. They'll never be those kids I wanted to be - those kids whose parents were still together. Those kids who had a family I just didn't get dealt myself - and always, always covetted. I left a job I loved with colleagues I feel guilty about missing every day. I left my home. My grandfather, and hero, died. I totalled a car. Hell, I broke an ankle and couldn't drive for a month and still can't run - and as a consequence have put on 20 lbs that compliment these dire circumstances well. And, frankly, a good-sized heap of shit I'm just not willing to share here but - take my word for it - the pity-party, while pathetic, is well-earned.
Conversely...
2. - I am pharmaceutical free (yes, I'm quite fond of that rather ambiguous term). I found the courage to leave a life that left me unhappy, unfulfilled, and going through the motions. I left a relationship that, through fault of its own or not, made me feel pretty crappy about myself pretty much most of the time. My kids are both just peeking around corners they're about to turn, happier now in many ways I never saw coming. I got a job that, not to illicit envy or anything, most people would kill for. I work from home; I make good money. It's creative and engaging - I get to reasearch, and I get to write with the intent to persuade which is so challanging & fun - it's Rhetoric, really, my all-time favorite college class. I got a new car. I got a new place and some schnazzy shit to fill it up with, which was a lot of fun. I've got a guy that - God, I can't even think of a way to explain it without invoking cliche. He just...I get it now, these people that think Love is so imnportant. I see where they're coming from.
Its a no-brainer, right?
I could kill most of scenerio #1 with the right combo of Zoloft & Welbutrin...but at what cost to scenerio #2?

Blogging

2011-03-28T08:53:00.009-04:00

Blogging is cool. Won't someone please pay me to do this all day long?
So Blogger has this great 'Stats' page where you can check how many pageviews you're getting, what sites are sending people to your page, and where readers are located. There are no less than 55 Not-So-Blue-Mama readers in Russia. How fuckin cool is that? Other countries include Latvia, France, Canada...it blows my mind. What value can these people possibly be finding here?
Its completely selfish. Bloodletting, nothing more. Purge it. Get it out, so it can't fester inside. If, in the process, I can feed my Narcissism as well, well...all the better! Its cheaper than therapy. It allows my interpersonal relationships some breathing room - I mean, really, who wants to listen to me go on and on about this shit everyday? 55 Russians, that's who!
My family has some concerns. They run pretty far to the phobic side of the technology spectrum. How can I put this stuff out there? What if it costs me a job? custody? What if a reader burgles my home? Geesh. I thought I allowed too many dark imaginings to see the light of the day...
My blog runs on the very longest end of The Long Tail. There is SO much content available - its no longer about trying to appeal to a mass audience. Its about helping your niche audience find you. There's all sorts of tricks of the trade - SEO, posting across different social media platforms...I don't bother with any of it. Hell I don't even tag most of my posts. Google 'Depression and Motherhood' and not-so-blue-mama doesn't even make the first 10 pages of results - though the results are around 60% blogs. With bloggers who are much more attuned to SEO, tagging, etc. than I am...
So, I'm pondering putting some time into this. Tagging my posts. Signing up for other Social Media sites and posting there. Actually trying to improve my Google ranking. Perhaps even getting off Blogger and onto my own URL at some point. You know...work. Of course doing all that only makes sense if I'm going to post consistently which, let's face it, I tend to ebb & flow.
Any advice/success stories/cautionary tales from fellow almost-bloggers? (Cause feedback on not-so-blue-mama is not-so-great)
I imagine it would blogging for me. Can you take what you love to do, turn it into work, and still love it?

Meds

2011-03-22T22:20:00.003-04:00

Enough with all this romance, I have a blog about depression to maintain.
What are our thoughts on meds?
I've gone from the die-hard naturalist taking St. John's and refusing 'Profit-ceuticals' to that neighbor that can list every side effect of every SSRI out there - and recommend 2 or 3 good therapists. And I've had layovers at just about every stop in between. And I settled in and called home a place where I would utter things like "I don't understand these depressed people that just 'go off their meds' cause they think they're cured. You're happy? Yeah - its cause they're working..." I grabbed hold of the "if you had diabetes you'd take pills to help" argument and eventually found I'd come to believe that its downright irresponsible to stop medicating yourself.
I can still remember basking in the glow of a therapist's comment, "You really have to be an advocate for your own health, Jeanine - you're very good at that." (i am such a lisa simpson)
I recall a very different conversation in a trusted doctor's office. He eventually said to me, "Jeanine, we can try every anti-depressant out there, you're still going to be in a crappy marriage."
Bbubbubbuuut...I have a disease! I had it long before I was in a crappy marriage and...(Quick: how do you finish this sentence? Does your mind immediately go to:)...I'll have it long after! Cause that's some serious optimism for you. (optimism being in short supply among this crowd)

About a month ago, I travelled for work. Almost a week. Forgot my pills.
Now, out of the blue, my Welbutrin had recently started kicking up a good bit of Anxiety. Very physical - elevated heart rate, nervous stomach - I actually gave up caffeine for a few weeks because I thought that might be the culprit. Solution, of course, was to re-balance: increasing my Zoloft dosage should counter that (those are the only two, btw...don't need a "pill a day" box to hold 'em all yet).
But...I told myself I was in a pretty good place. I felt great even after my week with no meds - new job was amazing, things with my Ex were amiably pleasant, almost, and Guy was...well, pretty fucking perfect. I felt very much...in control, I guess, of my life. For the first time in a really really long time.
So I let it go. A week had already passed, I just...stopped.
And its been about a month.
And I'm feeling pretty good...but, well...pretty terrified, too.
Paranoid - every passing grumpy moment is a red flag. Every dark thought a flashing DANGER sign - SPIRAL COMING. And sometimes its bullshit. And sometimes its not. And figuring out the difference is difficult.

Addendum to Independence Post

2011-03-22T22:07:00.005-04:00

This is too good to keep to myself.
Rereading my last post, as I do (due to painfully bloated sense of self), I questioned my contrast of 'needing help' vs. 'weakness'. In double-checking my word choice, as I do (due to painfully bloated sense of self) I thought perhaps 'needing help' might actually be in the definition of 'weakness' and checked the Favorites drop-down for my trusty Dictionary.com. Among the entries there, I found my new favorite definition for 'weakness':

4. An object of special desire; something very hard to resist.
Chocolates were her weakness.

Independance Day has come and gone...

2011-03-21T17:13:00.003-04:00

I have a little...problem, we'll say, with depending on others. And in leaving my husband late last year I was pretty sure I'd solved it...after all, if you don't have anyone to depend on, then its not really an issue, is it? Certainly I have friends I rely on for emotional support, and I'd be dead in the water without them. But I like to shovel my own walks, carry my own pack, and change my own oil (once the warranty's up, of course).
Life/The Universe/Cruel Fate have, as is their custom, stepped in to correct this misbehavior on my part. 2-story slide, impending collision with son, foot out to stop it, snap-crackle-pop, ER, crutches and no driving minimum 3 weeks.
Ouch.
Luckily for me I was traveling with Guy. Yes, we're just going to call him that. Protect the innocent.
Poor Guy.
Guy wanted to carry me the 70 yards to the car but do you think I could live with that sort of thing? Hogwash. Just give me your shoulder, Guy, and I'll hop along on my own...(I'm pretty sure it would've been much easier on Guy to just carry me, in hind sight.)
But see that's important right there - did you catch it? My persistent need for independence is completely selfish. It was never about making it easier on him, but entirely about my own stubborn discomfort with needing/accepting help. Hmmmm....
Enter the ER, where Guy, who has spent limited time with the kids - an afternoon or evening here and there - will, for the first time, be in charge of them. And, just for shits and giggles, they were expecting a fun day at the park followed by dinner at Texas Roadhouse (joy of joys). Instead they get the ER waiting room with one toy to fight over and lots of furniture to jump on.
Guy held his own. I, meanwhile, laid in a bed in the ER and cried, not because of the pain (ok maybe a little because of the pain) but mostly because of the complete & utter helplessness. Helplessness, I discovered, makes me angry. Very very angry. I threw a temper tantrum that would put Anna to shame. I can only thank the Hanover ER for the awful wait time which allowed me to have this little breakdown sans audience.
Where does this come from?
A good bit of it probably comes from my marriage, in which I constantly played the role of the one who needs help, the one who can't do it on her own, the one who will fuck it up if she tries. I played this role because I was married to someone who very much needed to be The One Who Is Needed. And he needed that role more than I did, so I acquiesced, mistakenly believing that that was what a good spouse does. So now, with my taste of freedom under my belt, the LAST role I want to play is The One Who Needs Help. Some people aspire to mediocrity, and some have mediocrity thrust upon them...
And there it is, still, this insistence that needing help equals weakness. A friend recently mentioned to me (okay..."posted") that accepting help gives others the opportunity to show kindness, which in turn enriches their lives...I like that. I just need to find someone gimpier than myself to help out...

Questioning...pt. 2

2011-01-02T22:00:00.002-05:00

So I spent the last blog post all but congratulating myself on the wisdom behind "Its better to have happy parents living apart than miserable parents living together." This is something I gleaned from my own experience - and as such should be viewed with much skepticism...
Common opinion holds that this is nonsense - feel-good psycho-babble that allows shallow, selfish women such as myself to tear their families limb from limb with a minimum of guilt. If that were true, I must say it doesn't work very well.
I suspect, like most things, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.
My father (happily married to his fourth wife - oy) puts it this way: "Fish or cut bait." I take this to mean that, as I proposed in my last post, we have some responsibility to live our lives to their fullest potential. Get busy living or get busy dying. In other words, work to make your marriage a happy one, or get out.
Then it becomes a question of degree. How long do you work? How hard? How do you measure the results? Days without tears or Days with smiles?
I'm stuck there.
Days without tears v. Days with smiles.
I ask myself this question all the time: was it that bad? Was it bad enough to leave? People want an easy explanation. He beat me. He gambled away our life savings. He screwed the babysitter. I don't have that easy answer. My answers are hard, and vague, and subjective.
In a nutshell, for reasons I won't enumerate here out of respect for his privacy, I realized that I could not live my life to its fullest potential and remain in the marriage. I couldn't be the best Mom, the best friend, the best employee or even the best wife while devoting myself to that very unhealthy relationship.
Whether or not is was bad enough to leave, it wasn't good enough to stay.
Days without tears aren't enough.
I need Days with smiles.
Barring that, I need the possibility of Days with smiles in my future. The line, I think, may be when the end game changed. When we both admitted we were biding our time until the kids were older to divorce. When 'growing old together' was no longer a realistic goal for either of us.
I knew that marriage would be challenging - alot of hard work, lots of bad days. I knew I wouldn't always feel appreciated or intellectually stimulated or even loved. But - I never expected to feel so utterly, completely alone. (This is no accusation, it may very well be entirely my fault that my marriage made me feel that way.)
I thought that marriage was about putting someone else before yourself. Wishing & working for their happiness - and all the while they're putting you first, wishing & working for yours. I was so unbelievably naive.
Maybe those partnerships exist, outside of chick-lit and rom-coms. I'm sure I don't know. In my limited experience...people just aren't wired that way. And by people I mean men.
No no - I'm kidding there. Really, as much as I'd like to throw in the towel and give up on the entire gender...I'm just not wired that way.
It may be, though, that I'm not wired for marriage. That I'm too selfish. That the idea that "happy parents" are better for kids than "married parents" really is just a piss-poor excuse for me to go out and seek more Days with smiles.
We put 5 years into marriage counselling, and what we got out of it was the ability to co-habitate and co-parent with a minimum of raised voices. Is it selfish to want more than that out of life? Or is it just selfish to act on that desire? Would it really be...kinder, i guess...to stay, wanting more but knowing you won't have it?
Just what I need. More questions...

Questioning that decision

2010-12-30T10:27:00.003-05:00

Let me tell you a little bit about the role Divorce played in my life up until 10 years ago, when I entered into my own marriage contract...
By all accounts (I am the youngest by 8 years, so I've had to rely on my siblings' retelling for much of this) my parents once had a happy marriage. I do recall a lovely home in Mt. Wolf, home-cooked dinners together every night, that sort of thing.
When I was 8 my father moved the entire family to El Paso, TX following a lucrative career opportunity. It also happened to be where his mistress lived, and chaos ensued. My parents separated & reunited a number of times - each one requiring a "fresh start" - and I found myself the new kid at school after school. At least 6 different districts between third and eighth grade - its a bit of blur.
I don't regret any of this one bit, and wouldn't change this family history for the world - its why I start conversations with strangers at the grocery store, why I've been to nearly every state in the country, why I'm good at sales. Its why I love to travel and why I can pack a suitcase like no body's business. Its a huge part of who I am.
The homelife, however, could've been better. I recall alot of slamming doors, broken photo frames, and crying. I was beyond relieved when my parents told me they were getting divorced - I would've been maybe 12 at the time. I loved (love) both my parents very much and it was clear to me that they could not both live happy, fulfilling lives under the same roof. I can remember very clearly the moment when I embraced this lesson: Its better to have happy parents living apart than miserable parents living together. I internalized that almost immediately, and it has informed every decision I've made in my romantic life since that day.
As a child, divorce improved my life immensely. It improved my homelife, my feeling of security in my parents' love...it solidified for me the idea that everyone deserves to be happy, and that they are committing a sin of the highest degree if they don't do everything in their power to make that happen.
Then I got married and had kids.
I had it all figured out. I was NOT going to make the same mistakes my parents did; I was NEVER going to get divorced. I believed that since I knew first hand how much hard work & attention marriage required, I'd be successful at it. I wasn't one of these over-the-moon, starry-eyed brides-to-be you see in the magazines & movies. I was practical.
First and foremost - and I really can't say how conscious this was - I chose a man who I was absolutely certain would never, never cheat on me. Infidelity curse knocked out right there. And I was right; he never did.
Secondly - I didn't fall for that romance bullshit. Don't get me wrong - there were of course warm fuzzies, tender moments - but I chose my best friend.
On my wedding day before the ceremony, my mother pulled me aside to inform me that I didn't "have to do this". Well-meaning, I am sure. My response to her was very deliberate. "Mom, you married for romantic love and look where it got you. I'm marrying my best friend, so we're in it for the long haul." I cannot tell you how many times I've heard those words in my head over these last few months.
I find myself in the unenviable position of questioning that decision every day. Not that I would take it back anyway - the world would've missed out on two incredible children if I had chosen differently. Outside of that, though (always, always outside of that) I wonder: did my marriage veer off course somewhere, or did I choose the wrong road to begin with?

Merry Merry :)

2010-12-24T22:34:00.004-05:00

What a difference a day makes...
I had lunch with a dear friend last week, and was busy enumerating all the many reasons this would be an awful Christmas for me (see previous post, if you must). He - very kindly, mind you - interrupted my pity party to offer a shift in perspective. A much-needed one.
His suggestion was along the lines of this: I should welcome this lonely Christmas Eve as an opportunity to celebrate the difficult & invaluable (yet rather expensive!) gift I've given myself this year: the gift of independence. Of standing (or falling) on my own two feet. Of having no one to answer to, no one to blame. Of freedom.
And he's absolutely right. What a year its been. I spent the whole of it struggling with a gut-wrenching decision that would not only change my life, but those of my husband, our children, our extended families and even our friends. An entire year in flux - at work, at home. Unsettled. Until finally I made my choice. And bore down to ride out the consequences.
And you know what? I should celebrate that. It was brave, and honest. And I deserve it.
So, now I'd like to enumerate the many things I'm grateful for this Christmas:

I truly appreciate each and every moment I get to spend with my children, even the tedious ones.

I have an amazing job in which I am the only obstacle standing between me and success.

I have the opportunity to model for both of my children what a strong, independent woman can accomplish on her own.

I answer to...me.

I can try to help my husband - for whom I care very much and wish nothing but good things - adapt to these changes and find his own way to gratitude & happiness.

I have an amazingly intelligent and sensitive son, and he is responding well to having less tension in his homelife.

I have wonderful friends. They offer love, encouragement & support - not pity.

I can provide a home, food, clothing & humble amusement for my children - which in itself makes me 1 in 100 people in this world of ours.

I work with the most supportive & helpful coworkers I ever have.

I love poetry, appreciate the beauty it brings to my life daily, and can instill this appreciation in my children.

I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world. I am 5 minutes from the woods but can visit any of 3 major cities as a day trip. I am free from worry about earthquakes, tornados, hurricaines, monsoons, what have you.

I can literally free my daughter from pain with nothing but a kiss. Because she believes in me that much.

I'm confident its going to be an amazing year.

Ho Ho...hum

2010-12-21T21:22:00.002-05:00

The need to swallow your wallow and deck the halls is probably THE most depressing thing about the Holidays. Wondering if I should even post...eh...fuck it. Gotta bleed it out, you know? Not like anyone actually reads this shit ;)
So I am having a REALLY hard time looking forward to Christmas. The most obvious trigger is the fact that this is my first Christmas without the kids. I'll see them, of course - at 4:00pm Christmas day. I'll spend Christmas Eve alone in my apartment - most likely with a bottle of red and Law & Order reruns. Difficult to get warm & fuzzy about that.
Trigger #2 - money. I am broke. And yes I understand that its not about the presents and yes I understand that its not a competition. But those facts are little comfort when your kids are opening Dollar General toys (and are old enough to know it). So what do I do? Spend too much money and pay the electric bill late. Great. Just what my newly-seperated credit rating needs.
Trigger #3 - regret. In case I wasn't having a hard enough time holding my head up around the office with my less than stellar sales performance, I decided to be THAT GUY and get loaded at the company Christmas party. Well, 'decided' is probably not the word...I completely lacked even my usual too-late realization that I'm not nearly as entertaining as I think I am. Ouch.
Trigger #4 - Social engagements. Picture it: a Holiday tradition of girls-night-out only with the husbands. 13 couples, me, and an empty place setting next to me. Which actually was not that bad...until the pity vibe set in. Nicest gals in the world and I'm sure its at least 70% in my head. But when I got the wine in the white elephant and NO ONE tried to steal...I knew there was some serious pity going on. Didn't even need the "don't steal that - she needs it more than you do!" comment to realize that I was a downer on the whole damn crowd. Made my exit early.
And I guess that's the theme. I feel....contagious. The need to make my exit early so as not to bring down the rest of the world. Depression is lonely. Depression during the holidays is self-imposed banishment. I'm like a leper. Everyone is hoping for snow, cuddling with their loved ones in front of fires with hot chocolate listening to Bing Crosby. Or so it seems. The last thing they want or need is me and my relentless bitching.
I do not begrudge my friends this hapiness. I wish it for them from the bottom of my heart - even if its beyond me. Its not envy - its not that I want that feeling for myself so much as I hate that I'm not contributing to it for my loved ones.
So, I should make some lame attempt to bring this full circle and provide a positive take-away per my usual blog posts.
Well, for one, its real. I mean, I know the few people who read these have experienced this. Depression doesn't have great timing.
There is one thing I'm looking forward to.
I am an absolute sucker for New Year's. Not New Year's Eve - god knows what hole in the wall will find me 5 whiskeys in and sucking at pool that night - but New Year's Day. I'm the resolution queen and I buy it every time (see post "cycles" for some insight on resolutions).
I'll start with the utterly predictable - I'm gonna exercise. I'm trying to be realistic and start with yoga 3 times a week. Seems reasonable. I'll throw the cardio in when it becomes a well-established habbit.
I'm going to reinstate my previous ban on fast food, which has been relaxed in the face of "eating for one". This will be difficult as Big Macs have suddenly taken on the gleam of cocaine.
Mostly, I'm looking forward to routine. That is what I know I need. Come home. Cook myself dinner. Do some yoga. Go to bed and read. Repeat.
Throw myself into work with utter abandon on the weeks I don't have the kids. This will require my ex to pick up our daughter, which will mean a less-than-pleasant conversation. Oh well.
Be honest with myself. Stop buying my own bullshit. If I were that good a salesman I'd be making more money.
Discipline. Stick to it. See it through. Follow up. Quit scheduling tasks and actually do some.
Oh I do love me some New Year's resolutions. I buy it, too - hook, line & sinker. I love it.
So that's the shooting star I'm currently hanging my hopes on. Its a thin veneer but sometimes that's all that's needed.

Losing Control

2010-11-22T21:15:00.002-05:00

Many incidents in the last two weeks have me thinking about loss of control, the most obvious being the car accident Anna & I were in last week. Driving in the rain, lots of wet leaves on the road - cell phone tucked away in my purse, both hands on the wheel, and in no hurry. I was doing pretty much exactly what I was supposed to be doing. Nevertheless, lost control around a curve and hit an oncoming car - both vehicles totalled. No injuries beyond scrapes & bruises, thankfully - but a terrifying experience.

Earlier this week I spoke with a friend who struggles with depression and was spiraling. I imagine her thinking to herself 'pull up! pull up!' like I do in those times - thinking it but being helpless to make it happen.

My husband and I recently separated, and split custody means I go an entire week without having my kids under my roof. During those weeks I have no say in matters of diet, discipline, hygiene, what have you. Its not that I think he'll do a bad job - I know he won't - its the loss of control that's hard to swallow.

And today my Sam had 'an episode' - which are occurring with increased frequency and passion these days. Reading over this now...it sounds like I'm about to lament the fact that I can't control these episodes - I am not. I lament the fact that he can't control them.

This evening it was about football jerseys. His (Eagles, of course) has seen alot of action on game day and at recess the following Mondays - the Eagle head and letters are wearing a bit here and there. A bit. If you look at them under the microscope, you can see it. But his friend at school has an Eagles jersey which is in mint condition apparently (or "fancy" in Sam-speak). Just like Sam's - mind you this is the NFL sanctioned, official, $60 for a yard of mesh jersey, not some Walmart knockoff - except that none of the letters or numbers are cracking. Sam is dismayed. He must get a fancy jersey in order to save face at school (he's a 7 year old boy, btw, not a 14 year old girl). All evening this was bubbling up and his father and I were tap dancing, hoping to keep it from reaching the surface. We tried the "your birthday is less than a month away" angle - no luck. I explained to Sam that its much cooler to have a worn jersey cause it shows you've been a fan a long time (a la my circa 1993 DMB concert tee) to no avail. We even played the Santa card. Sam was struggling to hold back tears the entire evening.

Luckily, or so I thought, we had a belt test at karate to keep his mind engaged. While we're at it, I decided - let's walk there! Who cares if its dark - its only 4 blocks away and relatively warm outside. So I grab the stroller, Anna & Sam and head off to Tae Kwon Do (pretty sure I've misspelled that). Belt test is stellar. Sam does all the moves, the hits, the kicks, even breaks a thick wooden board with his fist. He's beaming. I couldn't be prouder. He runs over and hugs me like he just took the gold at Sydney. AMAZING 3 seconds. Walking home, we must pass 'Instant Replay' - sports apparel. He pleads. Can we just look - for his birthday maybe? He worked so hard. I relent - a huge mistake. There's a jersey, its $60, he must have it. Now, I'm thinking too much, which I often do as a parent, and in this case I'm thinking there's a larger lesson here. His jersey is fine - its a want, not a need. Perhaps he could earn it by doing some chores around the house or displaying exemplary behavior for a set period of time? Um, no. Meltdown ensues.

But 'meltdown' means many different things to many different Moms. (Disclaimer: yes, there are times when my son throws fits in order to manipulate me and get what he wants. I know the difference. This is not one of those times.) Tonight, it looks something like this: Sam is crying. Real tears, not fake ones. He is fixated on this jersey. He is sobbing almost violently and is in very real danger of hyperventilating. I hug. I cajole. I promise everything will be okay. In his mind, this is the end of the world. He keeps saying "I'll never get a new jersey and I'll have to live with the beat-up one i have until I'm 100 years old and i hate it and its not fair. and its because I'm a bad boy, if i were a good boy you would get it for me. I'm a bad boy and i hate that I'm a bad boy and i hate myself." At this point I have to physically restrain Sam, on the street mind you, because he is punching & scratching himself. (See it: I'm on North Franklin, with the brakes on the umbrella stroller and Anna saying 'look at the moon mommy!' as people on their porch accross the street wonder if there's "something" wrong with my kid, whose hands i have pinned to his side to keep him from doing any real damange to himself.) The anger turns on me: "I hate you. I wish you weren't my Mama. I wish someone would tie you up and leave you in the road and a car would run over you with a bomb and blow you up and i would get a new mama." This, surprisingly, is easier to take. I would so much rather this horrendous rage be directed at me than himself. Then the regret: "Mama I'm so sorry and i love you and I'm just a bad bad boy and i hate myself for it." This I can't take. This is the part where I turn and hide my face because it will only make things worse for Sam to see me crying.

The four seconds between realizing I was out of control of the car and the impact felt like an hour. I recall hearing my father's voice say "turn into the skid!" But nothing I did with the steering wheel or brakes had any effect on the vehicle's trajectory. I recall thinking "land in the cornfield to the right!" But no amount of wishing made it so. I remember chastising myself for the fact that Anna's car seat was expired (yes, car seats expire) but there was nothing I could do about it now. And I could paint you a picture of my face the moment I realized "I'm going to hit that car." All that in four seconds.

I don't remember the impact. I went straight from "I'm going to hit that car" to "The air bags worked. Anna is crying. Is that other girl okay?" But it doesn't matter. Nothing is scarier - not the cop, not the fact that I just totalled a company car, not the spike my insurance is going to take, not even the fact that I now have a 30-day supply of muscle relaxers at hand ;) - nothing is scarier than that loss of control. Than knowing that there is absolutely nothing you can do to affect the outcome of a situation.

Depression, of course, is the same. You can read the car's instruction manual cover to cover (insert self-help guru of your choice here). You can purchase additional insurance coverage (read: meds). You can take pre-emptive measures like avoiding your cell phone and keeping both hands on the wheel (exercise, meditation, blog - what have you.) At the end of the day when you're spiraling - there's simply nothing you can do to affect the trajectory. Even knowing what to do is miles away from bringing yourself to do it.

Talking to Sam at home this evening, after he finally calmed down...i tried to explain, in 7 year old terms, about thinking something in your head before you say it out loud. when you have the impulse to hit someone, for instance, if you stop yourself and think first "is it a good idea or a bad idea to hit this person? will it get me what i want? will it get me in trouble?" That space, that thinking ahead leads to making better choices. And then we don't have to feel so bad about our choices later. (not bad about ourselves, bad about our choices - which i fool myself into believing makes a difference for him)

And it occurs to me - what utter bullshit. Its like someone saying to me "why didn't you turn the wheel? why didn't you pump the brakes instead of slamming them? If it happens again, turn into the skid..." Its completely fucking irrelevant. I watched my son this evening - his eyes, his physicality, his jaw, the tension...he was terrified. he is as terrified by his inability to control his reactions to his emotions (because no one can control the actual emotions themselves) as I was by my inability to control my car. We are, all of us, spinning out of control and terrified by our inability to impact our trajectories.

2010-07-21T21:40:00.003-04:00

4:45 Tuesday afternoon found me standing outside an Exxon station at some random exit off of 83, drinking a Frappacino and smoking a Marlboro Light 100. I had just bought my first pack of cigarettes in over 7 years. If I was looking for rock bottom...something tells me I'm headed the right way.

Now, I don't know if its because I was in Maryland, or if this is just what you crazy kids pay these days, but $7.50 for a pack of smokes? How long has this been going on? I didn't care. Took 'em outside and started packing them - whack whack whack - on the side of my left hand. 3 whacks, turn the pack, 3 whacks. Pulled the top plastic off, opened the pack, and did away with the front foil. Pulled out the second to last cigarette in the back left, turned it upside down, and put it back in to save for last. Do adults do that?

There was no conscious thought involved in this ritual, it was like...what athletes call 'muscle memory'. My hands so easily remembered how to hold a cigarette, how to flick the ash and bring it back between my thumb and forefinger like a joint, have another hit, and nestle in between my first two fingers. flick, grasp, suck, nestle. flick, grasp, suck, nestle. Without a blink.

Immediately following the heavenly cigarette buzz (around hit #4) I start panicking. Seriously panicking - like "what the hell are you doing Jeanine?" I'm sitting there, in my professional skirt, blouse and heels, on a curb at an Exxon trying not to flash the people getting gas and smoking a cigarette. I watched it in my mind, like a scene from a movie. Flick, grasp, suck, nestle, sip...who is that girl?

The reason quitting was so hard the last time (which was, say, the 12th time) was because "smoker" was such a big part of who I was. Wife. Daughter. Poetry Lover. Mountain-pie Maker. Smoker. Student. What have you. And to spite every trick in the book - including meds & hypnosis - I couldn't break the habit until I began to build an self identity as a non-smoker. Not even ex-smoker - that's a perilous condition - but a non-smoker. And with one purchase...poof. Up in smoke.

5:10 Tuesday evening found me driving home, having my first-ever, true-blue panic attack. Now, the cigarette so lovingly eulogized above was probably the 12th I've had in the last 10 days or so, so I can't really blame this on a physiological response. I'm driving (back on 83 now) and I can literally feel my veins constricting. I realize my heart is racing and figure the Frappucino, my 7th 'coffee' of the day, is to blame. But while my heart is racing I'm simultaneously SO sleepy all the sudden. Barely able to hold my eyes open. Then I realize I'm sweating. So as I turn the AC to max and put on some loud music, I realize that my hands are shaking.

I can't really put words to the thoughts that were going through my mind. I vaguely recall blaming the cigarette, the coffee, the long drives. I remember feeling sympathy for my husband, thinking "this is a panic attack? this is what it feels like? this sucks! how does he deal with this?" I ended up pulling over and meditating for 10 minutes (yes, on the side of 83, next to an "emergency stopping only" sign).

So, while I'm lamenting the lack of clearly marked "Now entering Rock Bottom" signs, I'm grateful for the arrows along the way. They line that 1-lane highway that divides 'flirting with addition' from 'addiction'. Stay tuned, I'm thinking maybe crack next week.

2010-07-13T23:46:00.005-04:00

Down. I am just...down. And while I'm down I know that sometime in the hopefully-not-too-distant future I'll be up again, or at least even. And when I'm there, I'll look back on here and say things like, "If I would've stuck with my exercise routine, that would've helped," or "I forgot to take my pills on that camping trip and I think it threw me," or "when I started drinking 4 glasses of wine a night I should've seen that as a sign; I should've known I was heading into a spiral."

The thing is I did know. But till you recognize the spiral you're usually too far into it to pull up.

I don't really want to, either. Pull up, I mean. This is what really gets me - really gets to me - about Depression. Not 'depression' but 'Depression' - this is how the character of Jeanine interacts with the character of Depression in the play that is my lie. I know we'll have it out but honestly there is something inside of me that just...requires that I see it through to rock bottom. Like the tragically, mythically unhappy housewife that can't bring herself to leave because things "just aren't that bad yet." And of course there's the children. (Not the real children; I'm referring to the children that the characters Jeanine and Depression share.) I love the children and if I leave, I have to leave them: Martyrdom. Booze (a nice name for a girl?) Identity. And the beautiful Excuse for those things at which I fail for lack of trying because - lucky me - ambivalence is a classic symptom of depression. ('depression,' not 'Depression')

So I don't 'pull up' - I really prefer to ride it out to the bitter end. For one, it makes a much more believable excuse that way. A much better crutch. Can you really claim to be struggling because of your depression if you never hit a slump, ride a low or go on a binge?

It's part of me. It seems...somehow...dishonest, I guess, to try to disown it. I'm so many things - mother, wife, daughter, friend, employee - and woman with depression. This was the case before I started the blog, though I suspect that...cements it, a bit. And lucky me I can claim, with some honesty too, that battling the stigma of depression is important enough to me to continue with the blog anyway. Throw a little more honesty at it, though, and it's likely just the self-absorbed ramblings of an egomaniac that likes to pretend that people connect with what she has to say.

I see this in my son - this need to hit rock bottom. It's an anxiety thing for him. For example, he's currently obsessed with Lego Star Wars on the Wii. When I way 'obsessed' I mean, quite clinically, 'engaging in obsessive behavior'. So we only play Wii on the weekends and after a warning or two about keeping our cool (yelling, throwing the remote, etc) we lose the Wii for the day. Funny thing is anytime you even glance at the kid he asks, in a freaked-out, anxiety-ridden voice, "Did I lose the Wii?" This goes on for quite awhile until he actually loses theWii. Then, following a short tantrum - no more anxiety. It's gone. Because worrying about losing the Wii is worse than actually losing the Wii. He needs to hit rock bottom.

So I am with my spirals. I almost welcome them because I've been worrying - when's my next Bout going to show up? When will Depression and Jeanine have it out again? and when it shows up...well, I don't have to wonder anymore. And that, honestly, is a bit of a relief.

And, since I'm being brutally, sadistically, humiliatingly honest here - come on. I loves me some melancholy. It so plays into this "oh I'm such a misunderstood genius" lie I like to tell myself. Virginia Wolfe, Sylvia Plath and me. We're quite a bunch. Imagine what havoc Zoloft would've wreaked on the literary world had it been available to Virginia and Sylvia! Imagine what we would've missed out on!

This is the part where I romanticize Depression. "Yes, I know he beats me when he's angry," I say, "but he really loves me and I'm usually asking for it." This is the relationship Depression and I share. Its not a disease to feel things more acutely...it's an...artistic bent. A necessity. I suffer for my art. (Really, dear reader, you're supposed t laugh out loud at that.)

So, bring on the spiral, though the timing sucks. (When is a good time, really, for a Bout?) It makes me feel...honest. Real. Flawed and Human and Genuine. What would I be, really, without it? Is it possible I've become addicted to Depression?

potential

2010-07-11T22:00:00.005-04:00

There are few double-edged swords sharper than that of "potential".
My whole life I've heard that word. I have potential to spare. So much, in fact, that its seemingly impossible to live up to. Semester after semester - the bane of my report card: Does not work up to potential. Fails to meet potential. Does not meet expectations.
And potential is directly linked to expection, isn't it? My potential dictates your expectation. Your expectation is, really, your assessment of my potential. Which is why I must get much better at that old customer service hat trick: managing expectation.
Webster's (okay, dictionary.com) defines potential as "a latent excellence or ability that may or may not be developed." Through nature or nurture, I've somehow come to view it as "the opportunity to dissapoint." Which is, in itself, dissapointing as I of course pride myself on my positivity...
This week I became one of people that didn't lose their jobs in my company's layoff of 15% of their employees - which is odd as I've been in my current sales position about 6 months. At this point, I've cost the company more in locksmiths and replacement blackberries than I've actually brought in in sales. A senior rep was let go, as was a fellow newbie (but one who had been with the company for 10+ years in another role). The same question keeps rolling through my mind like a mack truck: Why do I still have a job? And the same sickening answering keeps rolling through my stomach like a cement mixer: Oh dear god they think I have potential.
Its terrifying.

Preemptive Pain

2010-07-07T17:28:00.003-04:00

Last week found me in my absolute least favorite place in the world - the dentist's chair. There are a number of things I learned from this experience: Nitrous is not nearly as fun as it used to be, I really should floss, lying down on my back with my mouth open while an old guy hovers above me is just way to submissive for my liking, and there is value in preemptive pain.

So first the nitrous. It wasn't that long ago that I actually looked forward to at least that portion of a visit to the chair - took me back to my younger youth. Memories of buying a dozen cans of whipped cream and a chocolate bar come to mind...only I was much more relaxed then. Now, the internal dialogue goes something like this: "okay so the thing's on my nose...do you think that's just oxygen or did they start the nitrous yet? I hope they didn't start the nitrous yet because I'm still really tense and if they did start it its not on high enough. Oh - okay, a little floaty. But still pretty tense. Maybe I should ask them to turn it up? If I ask them to turn it up will they think I'm a drug addict? Maybe, but if I don't ask them to turn it up then I've squandered my one opportunity this year for whipits. Wow so does that mean I am a drug addict? oh shut up and just listen to the muzac." This disappointing experience was followed by 2 days of vague headaches and somehow getting carsick while I'm driving.

I think the flossing is self-explanatory.

Okay, the creepy submission thing. First let me say that it took 20 years but I did find a dentist I actually like. But still - you're lying there, you have to be perfectly still for fear that if you flinch that drill will somehow slip and permanently disfigure you, you have to choose between keeping your eyes open (which means seeing the creepy magnifying glasses the dentist wears, which always remind me of something out of A Clockwork Orange) and closing your eyes which, let's face it, is even more submissive. You're on your back, there's a spotlight shining on your face, and I have a sneaking suspicion that both the dentist and the hygienist are making judgments about your personal hygiene. AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. Frankly, childbirth is more dignified.

Then there's the shot. One of the reasons I like my dentist is that he takes a cotton swab and numbs my gum before he gives me the Novocaine shot (my last dentist insisted this was only done for children). Of course the shot still hurts, but not as much and you know that in the long run you're avoiding greater pain.

I do this in life. I pick an irrelevant fight with my sister to avoid the heavier topics we should address. If I sense my husband getting annoyed with me, I find a reason to get pissed at him first. And I occasionally push friends away when they get a little too close to whatever tender spot I've been hiding lately. These are all little shots of Novocaine for my psyche - but since the hard work isn't being done (I'm not the 'drill baby drill' type) the problems continue to build. Its like putting on a crown without performing the root canal first.

Cycles

2010-06-03T22:47:00.004-04:00

"Making resolutions is a cleansing ritual of self-assessment and repentance that demands personal honesty and, ultimately, reinforces humility. Breaking them is part of the cycle." Eric Zorn said - or wrote - that. Some columnist for the Chicago tribune. Smart guy, I reckon.

I've got cycles on the brain these days. How they can be so predictable yet...somehow I'm always surprised. The merry-go-round - it doesn't go anywhere. You're gonna pass that same brass ring everytime, and if you've never grabbed it, chances are you never will. But every time you pass it - the same cycle. Hope. Anticipation. Effort. Dissappointment. (Denial, Anger...oh, wait - different cycle. Kind of)

I work in sales and that is a cycle. Lead generation, cold calls, initial appointments, proposals, rejections, cheaper proposals, and (I'm told, from time to time) closes. At this point I've cost my employer more in locksmiths and replacement blackberries than I've brought in, so apparently this is a cycle I have yet to master.

Parenting is a cycle - a one step forward, two steps back sort of cycle. In that case, though, giving up on the brass ring is just not an option.

Marraige - mine, at any rate - cycle. Things are okay. Things are annoying. Things kinda suck. Things suck bad. I'm looking up lawyers on my lunch break. Big fight. More couples therapy. Things improve. Great weekend. Things are awesome. Things are really good. Things are okay...

Depression. Ugh - such an obvious cycle. Stimulus is unpleasant/stressful/reminds you that you were never breastfed/what-have-you (pick your theory). Your brain, dopamine or seratonin deficient, reacts with anger/ambivilance/insomnia/fatigue (pick your symptom). In so doing it creates a neural pathway which it becomes, sadly (pun intended) very comfortable with. The more times you're presented with the stimulus, the more worn in the neural pathway becomes, the more predictable your response.

Medication - beyond cyclical. Start at 10mgs, wait 6 weeks, go to 20, add (excruciatingly overpriced) Abilify...still not working? Perhaps a mood stabalizer...at any rate - it's an efficacy/tolerance/efficacy/tolerance cycle that frankly scares the bejesus out of me because, you know, at some point you just run out of new shit to try.

Throw in the fact that every depressive episode makes another depressive episode more likely...meh. cycles.

So here's my question - why can't we master the cycles? I mean they're so obvious, so predictable...why can't we head them off at the pass? Offer a cheaper proposal to begin with? Skip right to the great weekend? Go straight for the crack?

I'm guessing Eric knows what he's talking about. It's the process. It's the 'cleansing ritual of self-assessment and repentance'. The journey, not the destination. The ride, not the ring (pick your cliche).

I think he's a smart guy, but I get the nagging feeling that I'm missing something. I get the nagging feeling that, perhaps, I should be conisdering new resolutions rather than making and breaking the same ones in a, well, never-ending cycle.

Running on Empty

2010-04-27T22:18:00.004-04:00

I have a sneaking suspicion that the best way to combat that feeling you have when you see someone running and think "man i wish i was that kind of person" might just be to get off your ass and run. Even if you're really, really bad at it.
Let's be clear. I'm not striving for Olympic marathoner here. More like...Forest Gump Running on Empty maybe? Forget it. The point is, on more than one occassion now (and let's just leave it at that) I have gotten off my ass and run. And, utterly predictably, gleaned some seemingly life-changing (but no doubt short-lived) lessons from the ordeal.
A favorite quote, which I've seen attributed to Oprah of all people, states that "Luck is a matter of preparation meeting opportunity." I am not a lucky runner - I have FAR too much opportunity and no preparation to speak of. My first run, in fact the first time I did any kind of exercise at all in the last 6 months, was a 5K two weeks ago. Upon arrival I realized I forgot my still-good-but-nicely-broken-in New Balances, and considered myself lucky to find a beat up pair of Nike's in my trunk (previously relegated to 'unprepared for hike in the mud' duty). Nikes which, by the way, I BEGGED my father to buy for me...for tennis season...in eleventh grade. Are you familiar with Plantar Fasciitis? All my friends are. Intimately. I haven't shut up about it since. Apparently I'll never be able to wear flip flops again? I digress...
A couple of things about my 5K experience. First - I didn't run the whole thing. I ran as long as I could, then I walked. Quickly. When I caught my breath, I ran some more. I never really expected to be able to run the whole thing, so I wasn't dissappointed. (Life Lesson #1 - Manage Expectations).
Also, I went with family who do this sort of thing alot. They have best times they like to try to beat and whatnot. I made it clear to them in advance that they should go for it, and not feel obligated to slow down for me. They were out of my sight before I finished the first block - it was a very lonely 3 miles - but they cheered me on at the finish line. (Life Lesson #2 - Root for your friends, even as they leave you in their dust.)
I have no concept of distance, never have. Even in a car. The idea of 3.106 miles is as forgeign to me as...well...Plantar Fasciitis was 3 weeks ago. So I didn't worry about it. I looked up, and saw a stop sign. "I'm gonna keep running till I get to that stop sign," I'd think. Then I'd put my head down and do it. Sometimes, when I got there, I found I had a little left, so I looked up again. Saw a 'No U-turn' sign. Thought "Ha. That's ironic. Anyway, I'm gonna run until I get to that 'no u-turn' sign." You get the point. (Life Lesson #3 - Tackle the race one block at a time.)
Throughout the race, I imagined myself bringing the house down at the end - sprinting. (I was a sprinter - in high school. Its over quick and doesn't require much commitment. I felt good at it - which isn't to say I was good at it.) I held a little in reserve that whole 3 miles, thinking how good it would feel to burst into a full run at the end. Only..."the end" was preceded by 4 blocks of steep up hill. So much for my reserves. (Life Lesson #4 - Whatever you're doing, do your best the whole time instead of trying too hard to make it look good.)
Those 4 blocks sucked. I almost walked them. Some stranger - a lady who looked to be in her mid-fifties but in MUCH better shape than me - said "we're too close to quit now. Let's keep at it." (Life Lesson #5 - random acts of kindness and support make all the difference in the world.)
Life lessons 6 - 9, in case you're interested, are that sometimes spitting is just necessary, youth really is wasted on the young, and no one - NO ONE - has figured out how to make a decent sports bra in my price range.
In the end, I ran it in 37:28, for an average pace of 12:03, which I'm told is respectable for an unprepared newbie. Today I did 2 miles on my own with an average pace of 12:59. The difference? No audience. (Life Lesson #10 - An actress must never lose her ego - without it she has no talent - Tom Lehrer.)
June 5th is my next 5K. Working on that whole 'preparation' thing. (Life Lesson #11 - just keep running.)

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

2009-12-05T22:19:00.005-05:00

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?

Gutter balls

2009-11-12T21:07:00.004-05:00

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.

finales

2009-06-28T08:14:00.003-04:00

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.

a really good day

2009-06-24T20:35:00.004-04:00

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.

The Done List

2009-06-17T20:39:00.002-04:00

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

2009-06-17T15:21:00.000-04:00

j9.minti.com

that should work

Lonliness fights dirty

2009-06-16T19:54:00.002-04:00

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.

Addendum & Erratum to Booze Post

2009-06-14T06:48:00.003-04:00

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 ;)

Yay! A happy post!

2009-05-29T05:54:00.003-04:00

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.

thunderstorm

2009-05-24T15:27:00.005-04:00

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.

The Eye of the Tornado

2009-05-22T20:59:00.003-04:00

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?

little mirrors

2009-04-30T15:07:00.006-04:00

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.

A very small window

2009-04-20T19:40:00.001-04:00

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.

Lunch with professionals

2009-04-15T22:09:00.002-04:00

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

2009-04-15T00:01:00.004-04:00

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.

When it gets bad

2009-03-13T23:21:00.006-04:00

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.

Ambivilance

2009-03-06T19:08:00.000-05:00

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...

the history pt. 2

2009-02-23T22:29:00.005-05:00

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

2009-02-23T21:29:00.006-05:00

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?

Intro

2009-02-22T21:25:00.000-05:00

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 ;)