Archive for the ‘Depression’ Category

« Older Entries

I’m not ashamed to admit I was wrong.

2012/02/15

So just when I was about to give up on exercise, I lost five pounds! Or at least, that’s what my scale tells me, when it’s not telling me I’m fifteen pounds lighter than I know I am. But woah! Hey! This whole “moving around” thing really works!

The concept of losing weight, of course, got me thinking more about being eating disordered. I’d have thought it would be triggering, gaining all this weight, and then I thought that losing weight also might set me off-kilter. Thankfully, I’m not finding that to be the case. I don’t like the gym quite enough for it to become a negative behavior, and, since I’m burning off some calories working out, I don’t feel as compelled to use other bad habits to offset my long-standing love affair with food.

Not it was ever about food, really, it was about feelings – feelings I didn’t want to have. I ate to distract myself and the other was a release. I did it when I was angry sometimes, when I wasn’t sure what else to do, and then it just became a utilitarian function. A fact of life. A habit. This is what I feel like my shrinks don’t get: by the end, it was just something I did. It had no meaning! And maybe that’s why it has been (relatively) easy for me to give it up.

This is all very new to me, right, so let’s re-evaluate in a month or two, but I’m beginning to think that my little sister might have been on to something with this exercise thing. Her and a bajillion other people.

Posted in Depression, eatin', work it | Leave a Comment »

Lost Weekend

2012/01/21

Most people think of a lost weekend as a drinking binge. Something hedonistic, something wild. But a lost weekend can happen with depression, too, and it’s a lot less fun than you think. I know, how fun could it be, right? It’s depression! But trust me, it’s less fun than that.

I’m tempted to start at the very beginning – the trigger, in shrinkspeak – but I won’t. Let’s just say that a confluence of unfortunate circumstance caused me to retire at 9:30 Thursday evening and not emerge until 8 on Friday night. That’s how I deal, sometimes. Sleeping. I managed to stay up for a few hours, long enough to watch a movie, before trudging back to bed to read Mashable on my iPhone. I didn’t want to sit up, even, all my limbs were heavy and my chest felt like a lead brick. So I lay there, pinned, until I fell asleep.

I guess it’s Saturday now, and I’m up. We can thank the quasi-anorexic in me for that – I only got out of bed so I could go to the gym. But then I ran some errands and installed a new hard drive in B!’s MacBook. I did these things because they are What I’m Supposed To Do, they are supposed to Make Me Feel Better. And I guess they have, kind of. But when things are as they are, all we can do is keep trying… and wait for the storm to lift.

Tags:, ,
Posted in Depression, i hate technology | Leave a Comment »

2012/01/09

I called my shrink today. My insurance changed effective January 1 and, me being me, I’d put off calling my treaters until the last possible minute. (Our appointment was the following morning at 8:15.) She actually picked up, which threw me off guard a little, and brought up a very good point: with new insurance, I’d have a new deductible.

A new DEDUCTIBLE – not a new COPAY.

So I hopped on over to the insurance website and, sure enough, there it was right there in the sidebar. $900. Hey! $900! And three medications to refill this week! Now, that’s a way to really ring in 2012.

I mean, I’d just forgotten about it, the whole deductible thing. I guess I never had one before last year, and, we’ll remember, that was no picnic either. So I don’t know, I guess I’m just bad at being a grownup or something.

But, nevertheless, I counseled myself, breathing deeply and trying to keep my heart rate down, I’m very lucky to actually have the money at this moment in time. Like, barely have the money, but still. One could also say that I’m lucky to have insurance at ALL – even though not having it is just not an option for me anymore. So I’ve got a number of things going for me, here, on what would seem to be an inauspicious start to 2012.

I nixed the appointment with my therapist (needlessly, in hindsight – my medication will more than reach my deductible), and she was gracious enough to accept the late cancellation.  The other piece of good news? She takes my new insurance. Thank God.

Posted in Depression, money, therapy | Leave a Comment »

And another thing, while I’m on a roll here,

2012/01/06

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=the-truth-about-borderline

This article, found through a Twitter feed I follow at work, made me at least 6% less productive on Tuesday. I remained devoted to my job, turning my attention back to more relevant Tweets, but something about it stuck with me long after the day was done.

Now, let’s be up front. I’ve never been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. I have a lot of other official diagnoses, but BPD is not one of them. However, they did teach Dialectical Behavior Therapy, a treatment schemata for those *with* BPD, in The Bin while I was there. I found the techniques very helpful: mindfulness, awareness, cultivated skills and concentration. I’m not saying it works every time, but, really, it’s not supposed to. Emotions are normal, and, we learn, they come and go.

The horrible thing about depression is that it seems to NEVER let go. Being depressed is like being trapped under a heavy, moist, 1-ton bale of stinking farm hay, and not even having the energy to wedge yourself out. And when you’re treating someone depressed, I’d imagine, the first order of business is to lift up that load and help the person stand. So in the hospital, every bit the picture of classical depression, it’s no wonder that they diagnosed me thusly.

So I’ve not been depressed lately. But I haven’t been great, either. Where my moods were once a one-note hum, they’re now a jazz arpeggio. Like, that kind of crazy jazz I hate. I’ll be fine one minute, just OK the next, and then feel myself slipping over the edge into something dark and mushy. Sometimes I’m able to catapult myself back out – sometimes I’m not.

None of this is like depression. But a lot of it is like borderline. Although I’m able to maintain relationships, it has more to do with my resolve to stay healthy and the infinite patience of my companions. Although I’m usually able to compose myself, I generally feel just on the verge of going technicolor. And impulse control? Let’s not even talk about all the ways I venture to excess.

I feel bad about it, really. I feel like I conquered one horrid beast only to be faced with another, more jostling foe. And anyone can tell you, the worst thing about feeling bad is feeling bad about feeling bad. But this article, instead of bringing me down, gave me some measure of hope and self-forgiveness. It’s exhausting to manage these moods – the euphoria and the depths – and since I’ve now been trained to bring awareness to every flicker, each movement is obvious to me.

So maybe it’s OK to be exhausted. Maybe it’s OK to be sad sometimes. And maybe it’s OK that my on-off switch flips at the speed of a strobe light. Maybe this is just the new me, and now I just have to learn how to handle her.

Tags:, , ,
Posted in charming neurosis, confession, Depression, manifesto, personal hell | 2 Comments »

Tried to go to the gym. Swear to God.

2011/12/11

It was not a good morning. More or less overwhelmed with my mental list of menial tasks to accomplish, I lay in bed pondering my next move. I wanted to go to the gym. I didn’t want to shower. I hated my gym shoes. I had a wedding at 6. I needed a push, a spark, something to thrill me on my way, because seriously we just got these flannel sheets and they are like WOAH comfortable.

I bargained myself into rising for the sole purpose of buying new sneakers. My old ones are fine, I suppose, but they’re just a touch too big for me and I can’t run in them. So really, they suck. ”I deserve it,” I thought, “it will be what gets me back in the groove.” $39.99 later, I was on my way to Planet Fitness, ready to keep up the other half of the bargain.

Except at Planet Fitness, the 17-year-old girl behind the counter informed me that I had an eighty dollar balance. Apparently I’d gotten a new debit card and neglected to let them know. I was all ready to pay it until I stopped and thought about it for a second. Planet Fitness is ten bucks a month. I hadn’t been gone that long.

“Can I see that itemized?” I asked, in an uncharacteristic display of gumption.

The bastards had been charging me every time a charge didn’t go through, effectively doubling my monthly payment. Plus, they charged me a membership renewal fee – just before they closed my account. Sweet!

“I’m not paying that,” I told the girl. “That’s insane.”

I’m all about losing this extra jiggle, but $120 in one day is a little much. Wouldn’t you agree?

 

 

Posted in Depression, how i am awesome, money | Leave a Comment »

Is having a problem over here.

2011/11/07

So I’m writing this essay for this contest, and it’s about my personal journey from sickness to health. Well, I mean, it could be about anyone’s journey to any old place, really, but for me it’s about that. There’s a cash prize, also, so I’m especially motivated to make it a good read. And, as usual, I’m fine with talking about my depression, my anger, my marriage, my stay in the Bin, but it is SO HARD to describe how I got well. The journey from there to here is impossible to relate, and, in some ways, more painful to remember than my days in despair.

I mean, how do you describe how your husband left you, and you were living in the apartment alone with a cat who pissed not just everywhere but EVERYWHERE, and you barely had heat and you slept on the pull-out couch, but how during that time the Universe saw fit to give you amazing friends, shiny fun toys, and a brand-new lease on life? How do you describe how you were actually GRATEFUL to your husband for leaving, and how much sorrow you felt about how everything turned out? And then, if you can manage all that, how do you convey the beginning with B! – how a phone call from an old friend turned into capital L-O-V-E in a matter of weeks? Like, crazy fast but it was gravity, and the realization hit like a crash-test dummy faced with 65mph of brick wall.

Maybe it’s hard because those last days with Katsu were so hazy and strange. Maybe it’s because the months after were stranger yet. Maybe it’s this way because I’ve yet to figure it all out. I never want to come at my story from a position of being totally well – I mean, I’m still amazed by each day without utter catastrophe – but it’s true that my mind is much better now. Regardless of whether I win or not, regardless of how I tell the story, the essay will bubble up here eventually. It’s good to have things to rely on.

Posted in Depression, jake, life story, manifesto, matrimony, meds, moving home, personal hell, therapy | 1 Comment »

Needs a new coat. Preferably something in a nice shade of mustard.

2011/10/31

So my winter jacket is too small for me, now. Read that: my WINTER JACKET. How is a winter jacket too small? And, moreover, how is a winter jacket too small FOR ME?

I’ve always been tiny. Always been short, skinny, petite. During the high days of my eating disorder, one might have added frail, bony, and skeletal to the list, but those times are long gone. All in all, I was always on the slighter side of normal. Now, I might be plump. And, you know, that’s cool. A sign of healthy eating, or, at the very least, EATING, which I didn’t really do for awhile. So we take that as a positive, I suppose, in our moments of darkness.

But the question, really: as a person who was once so eating disordered, how am I not constantly tortured by this weight? I mean, we’re not talking a month or two of overzealous dieting here, we are talking, like, sixteen YEARS of bloated nightmares come to reality in one solid flesh. The answer came to me last night, merging onto rte 16 at dusk, having just purchased a wardrobe’s worth of size-medium shirts from the local Target.

I’m just happier now.

Before, my weight, whatever it was, was a bone of contention. Another way I had failed, or, conversely, a measure of how I’d achieved superiority. I could be 98 pounds, I could be 118, but, depressed, neither was acceptable. Neither was attained by conventional means, so my weight, my body, became a symbol of my illness. Now, with the depression more (or less) under control, I can begin to be OK with who and how I am otherwise. I’m not saying I don’t wish it weren’t so – some mornings I think I’d take a week of misery for a day out in my size-24 skinny jeans – but I’m not compelled to make drastic changes to my eating patterns as a result.

Unless “drastic changes” means “more apple crisp”, in which case I’m totally game.

Posted in charming neurosis, cookin', Depression, eatin', gettin old, I enjoy being a girl, progress?, therapy | 1 Comment »

hates everything sometimes. I can’t be the only one.

2011/09/20

Driving home after a crazy day of work, you pick up your boyfriend on the way to the gym. The mere fact that you have to pick him up kind of sets you sideways – you like to be direct in your errands, and this stopoff has you crimped. Then you have to swing by FedEx, which always sucks, and your boyfriend’s bought salmon for dinner when what you really wanted was restaurant pizza. And it’s raining, right, and dark, and there’s all sorts of traffic on 1A so you take this back route through Eastie which brings you through Chelsea which gets you very lost. And of course your boyfriend’s GPS just SAVES THE FREAKING DAY, which irks you tremendously.

By the time you get to the gym, you’re in a “throwing-this-goddamn-mimosa-right-across-the-room” mood. So you decide to use the treadmill and really whip yourself calm. Except the treadmill aggravates your shinsplints and is a lot harder than the elliptical. Seriously. Ten agonizing minutes later, you retreat, red-faced and panting, to your usual machine, and sweat out the next half-hour in a fury of self-loathing and despair at your lack of athletic prowess. And the rain. And especially the GPS.

It occurs to me, however, that I used to live my whole LIFE with this kind of angst. Every minute of every day was spent restraining myself from completely freaking out. So, in that respect, one snowball of frustration isn’t so bad after all. And maybe I should just chill out and be grateful that it’s not how it used to be.

Posted in aberrant behavior, charming neurosis, Depression, meds, tiniest violin | 2 Comments »

An anecdote

2011/07/07

Driving home from work today, I heard something behind me that sounded like a cross between a garbage disposal and a poorly-made hairdryer. The noise got louder and passed me on the left: a road-worn red Mustang piloted by the largest woman I’d ever seen. Her passenger was no less corpulent. As they pulled their way ahead, I noticed that the rear tire was a spare, and that the rear chassis of the sled was decorated with twee flower decals, chipped away from years of gravel.

Try as I might, I COULD NOT get away from this car. The whole commute, I was confronted with this monstrosity of a vehicle and its interminable, grating roar. Even so, I started to feel bad about being so judgemental. I mean, maybe they were happy, this pair, in their tank tops that remind me of a dollar store in Fargo. Maybe they were just joyriding down 1A at sunset, taking a break from their husbands and their kids, enjoying a smoke and some girl talk.

As I finally pulled by them on the left, I took one last look.

They were both eating double cheeseburgers.

There’s nothing bitchier than an eating-disordered girl who sees other people eating double cheeseburgers. A sick combination of jealousy and horror, marked with a hearty side helping of despair.

*sigh*

We still have some work to do, I guess.

Posted in anecdotal, charming neurosis, confession, Depression, eatin', manifesto, personal hell, progress? | 1 Comment »

They call me E Money. At least, some of them do.

2011/05/26

So this started out as a comment over at DefineFunctioning, but it got really long and awkward and then I was like, hey, why don’t I just make it a blog post and link back. So that’s what I’m doing.

To paraphrase, we are talking about how mental illness may or may not have impacted our ability to care for ourselves (and others) financially. So here’s my deal:

Katsu and I were making good money, towards the end there. Like, GOOD money. It was nice. We ate fancy food, I wore beautiful shoes, and we were paying down debt hand over fist. Then, you know, I lost it. I quit my job, I went to The Bin, and I was there for six weeks. During those six weeks, of course, I was ineligible for unemployment, and it took another four weeks after that for the state to approve my check. So ten weeks with no income.

(Very) Thankfully, I had my husband to take care of the rent and utilities, and our health insurance covered most of the costs associated with my hospitalization. But it was a hit nonetheless, and we had to take a very uncomfortable look at our budget. But I wondered, you know, what do other people do? People who don’t have a Katsu to float them when they’re waiting for the dole? People with families? People without insurance? I was thankful.

Then, of course, Katsu and I split up. Making only a fraction of my previous income, I chose to move back in with my parents rather than continue squatting in the apartment we once shared. Having second-interviewed for many jobs and gotten no offers, in April 2010, as an experiment, I posted an ad on Craigslist for wedding videography. Within a week, I’d booked my first gig. So that helped out. Living at home, I was able to save money like who knows what – especially after I landed two part-time summer jobs with two local producers.

Meanwhile, as we all know, I was planning to drag B! across the country. I’d saved enough to get us an apartment, and I’d saved enough to allow us to make it our own. One of my part-time jobs turned full, which was awesome, but somewhere around Christmas I realized that the money I was making wasn’t actually… enough. Not saying anything bad about my pay rate, mind you, but footing the bill for two smokers can really drain one’s resources. Then there was the whole insurance deductible thing, which definitely brought the rain to my already-soggy parade.

Now, I’m not complaining. I’m comfortable. I have two cats, I have wine when I want it, and I smoke as many cigarettes as I please. Far be it from me to cry poverty. But in terms of mental health, I’m very aware that what happened to me in summer ’09 had a severe impact on my financial status and my earning potential. Like, my name is totally on this site, which one could count as questionable, and a google search of me links back to some weird old ghost page that somebody hacked and reformatted. Also, I’m aware that my particular blend of crazies can be as limiting as it is prolific.

My therapist asked me, the other week, if I ever hoped to reattain the standard of living I enjoyed before my breakdown.

“No,” I answered, not blinking a lash.

I’d rather be happy than rich.

Posted in aberrant behavior, boozin', charming neurosis, Depression, eatin', matrimony, money, moving home, therapy, tiniest violin, work | 3 Comments »

« Older Entries
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 122 other followers