Archive for the ‘personal hell’ Category

« Older Entries

Is a black girl in a white, white world.

2012/01/16

It’s cold in Massachusetts right now. Not North Dakota cold, but pretty cold, nevertheless. And, as I’ve mentioned, my old winter coat is no longer a viable option. Not only am I too big for it, it’s also ripped at the zipper and been sent back to North Face for repair. A normal person might just tell me to buy a new coat and soldier on, but that normal person might not know how broke I am / how much I love my North Face. It might not be surprising, then, that I’ve managed the winter thus far with just a fleece jacket, the one with the cigarette burn in the left arm that vents like an ice luge right up my sleeve. I’m nothing if not determined.

It was ten degrees when I pulled up to my parents’ house this past Sunday, clad in an equally inappropriate winter garment and with wet hair to boot. My mom, being a mom, kind of freaked out. Midway through our visit, she disappeared into the basement and returned, some fifteen minutes later, the proud bearer of a lightly-used (by her), puffy, white coat.

White. WHITE!

w h i t e

There are seven hundred and fifteen pictures of me on Facebook, and the only ones where I’m wearing white were taken on my wedding day. Other than that, in twenty-something years of dressing myself, I’ve never voluntarily worn white. I’m really more of a black girl: black tank tops, black socks, and, yes, black underwear. I bought a tan sweatshirt a couple months ago. That was branching out. So the idea of wearing white ANYTHING, much less a GIGANTIC WHITE COAT, is just about as appealing as sporting my skin inside-out.

That said, it’s really been pretty cold here. So I took it.

Seriously, I feel like a cross between the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and Pippi Longstocking. It’s like having some other person’s body, or trying to cook in somebody else’s kitchen. I mean, God, I love my mom, but this coat is like the worst thing I’ve ever worn in my life. North Face! Hurry back with my jacket! I promise to be slim enough to wear it when it comes!!

Posted in fashion, I enjoy being a girl, personal hell | 1 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 »

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 »

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 »

How Not To Spend Your Time: Pt 1

2011/04/01

B! and I went down to see my parents the other Saturday. Seeing the wretched state of my forearms, covered, as they were, in tiny red bumps, my mom gently steered me to the Minute Clinic at CVS. Together we waited there for about 40 minutes, observing the vast and varied pharmacy clientele, and were finally seen by a very nice Nurse Practitioner. After tallying off my boutique of psychoactive medications, she silently added “anxiety disorder” to my profile and then asked, in a very matter-of-fact way, if I was depressed.

“I think I might have mono,” I told the nurse.

The nurse produced a large binder from somewhere behind her computer, and flipped over to a page tabbed with “INFECTIOUS MONONUCLEOSIS”. It had more pictures than text. This did not instill confidence.

“We’ll do a test,” she said.

To me it seemed like spending a hundred dollars on nothing at all – there’s no cure for mono except just chilling out, and, realistically, I can’t afford to just chill out right now. But my mother persisted, and I gave in.

Carefully, with the air of a new hire navigating the supply closet, the nurse brought down a box labeled “MONO TEST” and began to read the printed directions. There was a needle, a vial, and three glass jars involved. She seemed a little confused.

“Um,” she said, squeezing dryly at the eyedropper bottle, and kind of trailed off. Turns out, they had run out of the solution that tests for mono, and so she couldn’t tell me anything at all.

Free advice: if you have a mysterious rash covering your entire body, are fairly sure you don’t have measles, and would like medical validation for why you’ve been sleeping 10 hours a day, don’t bother going to the Minute Clinic in my parents’ town. It’s totally not worth it.

Posted in anecdotal, free advice, how i am awesome, meds, personal hell | Leave a Comment »

Is it Monday already?

2011/03/29

So I’m crawling out from under the bed – my, how you’ve changed since I’ve been gone! You’ve got that new haircut and, hey, wait a minute, have you lost weight?

Hey, I’ve got a new haircut, too! I did it in my bathroom, with an old pair of Fiskars! No, just kidding, I used my Shun kitchen shears for the final touches. Who would seriously cut their whole head of hair with Fiskars? Come on now, you’re being ridiculous.

After learning the details of my health insurance policy, which could best be compared to hanging naked from a second story window, cuffed by your wrists and covered with birdseed, I promptly broke out in hives. I owe a substantial sum to my therapist, who, luckily, is being cool about this whole thing, and I don’t even want to think about how much McLean Hospital is going to bite in for. I’m sure my psychiatrist doesn’t come cheap. To add icing to the proverbial cake, these hives have been sticking around for over a week now, so I’ll have to spend another $170 for some dude at the health clinic to tell me he has no idea what’s wrong with me.

Yes, sometimes life is good, my friends. And, sometimes, it’s like being kicked repeatedly in the teeth.

Posted in personal hell, tiniest violin, worst week ever | 5 Comments »

FML. Really. No, REALLY really.

2011/03/18

Imagine we’re on Facebook here.

Erinire A…

Just found out she has a health insurance deductible of $4,000. Good thing she’s not at all dependent on weekly therapy and expensive medication to keep her alive!

… Oh, wait.

Well, at least she’s incredibly wealthy, right?

… She’s not? Shit, OK, well…

At least she hasn’t racked up a lot of service charges, thinking she actually had REAL ACTUAL health insurance!

… oh, so you mean, she DID think she actually had real actual health insurance.

Alright… So then, um, at least she has that tax rebate coming back, huh?

Oh, she OWES.

Wait, what? FIVE GRAND? Get out of here, you can’t be serious.

You are serious. OK. Um…

So, then, like…

Yeah hey, know what, I have this, um, thing… around the corner, so… yeah. Gotta go. Sorry. Here’s my last Miller High Life.

… No, no really, take it. Least I can do, considering.

Oh, come on now, don’t start crying! Oh, man…

Shit.

Posted in Depression, insomnia, meds, money, personal hell, therapy, tiniest violin, work, worst week ever | 3 Comments »

You’ve made your bed.

2011/02/24

I cried all the way home from work tonight. I cried down Pleasant St in Marblehead, I cried down Shore Drive through Swampscott, and I cried all the way down 1A, to Wonderland. I could be forgiven for the last — that stretch on 1A is pretty grim — but why the tears on what is otherwise a very lovely commute?

I think I miss my husband. And not in a “turn back the clock, I made a mistake” sort of way, but more in the way that you sometimes get very homesick, even after you’ve immersed yourself thoroughly in college life. It’s silent weeping more than open sobbing, it’s sniffling rather than blowing your nose. But it still hurts.

Anyone who’s met Katsu will tell you: he is the absolute sweetest, smartest, kindest person you could ever hope to meet. I talked to him this evening, for about 20 minutes, while he was on layover at Logan and I was sprawled out on my boss’ floor. I had questions about enterprise-level storage solutions, I wanted to know WTF Java was (like, really), and I was curious to hear his solutions for some work-related tech issues I’ve been trying to wrap my head around. He was very helpful, as always, and we made plans to grab drinks next week.

And the whole way home, I just pictured him alone in the airport. All alone. If I hadn’t been so crazy, if I hadn’t gotten so sick, maybe he wouldn’t have to be alone in an airport on a Thursday night. Maybe he’d be back at our apartment, enjoying a homemade dinner and getting ready to watch some anime. Maybe he’d be happier, or maybe he’s happier now. I don’t know. There’s no going back, I suppose, and no crystal ball.

So is this love, then, this selfless hope for the other? Maybe this is what happens when time heals the wounds and we see things clearly. I like the me that is now — I like her much better than the arrogant, mercurial, selfish me that used to be. And I have so much regret that the person I married, the person I loved, got stuck with the evil twin. SO much regret. I hope that one day I’ll be forgiven. I hope that one day I’ll forgive myself.

Who’s got my absolution?

 

Posted in confession, matrimony, personal hell | 5 Comments »

Barking at shadows

2011/02/15

It’s tough, because I know when things are right and I know when things are wrong. I can feel when things start *thinking* about heading wrong. I can taste it in the wind. I know it before it’s there, like how you can feel a thunderstorm. But I’m helpless.

I didn’t associate it with the Abilify withdrawal, not immediately, and I still don’t know if I do, but there’s an undercurrent of terror that runs through every breath. This faceless, nameless, panic that has no root and has no salve. I remember this, I remember from before, and I’m troubled that it hasn’t gone away. Even after all the changes.

But am getting by it, getting through it, carrying on. You know.

All is well until it isn’t, and, after that, it is again.

Posted in charming neurosis, Depression, meds, personal hell, progress? | 3 Comments »

I can’t figure out how to feel about this.

2011/01/11

“You know this is gonna be pricey, right?” asked the cashier at CVS this evening.

Oh, I knew alright. Last time I filled my Effexor it took an eighty-dollar bite out of my wallet, and this time I was also refilling my Abilify – my only nongeneric. I smiled and nodded, ready for whatever.

“Five hundred and fifteen dollars.” she said.

OK, I wasn’t ready for that.

Needless to say, I did not complete the purchase. I mean, that’s ridiculous. That’s like, half my rent. That’s like, more than I spend on groceries. And, point blank, I don’t HAVE five hundred dollars. Not even close.

So welcome to Crazy again, I guess.

“Buckle your seatbelts, ha ha,” said B!, when I told him the good news. That was going to be the title of this post. Then I remembered how terrible I’m about to feel in about three or four days, and I decided it wasn’t a funny joke.

Posted in Depression, manifesto, meds, money, personal hell | 4 Comments »

« Older Entries
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 122 other followers