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Better Living Through Chemistry

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“It’s time to get off Abilify,” I thought to myself some time ago, and began the (supervised) process of titrating down. Abilify is the miracle drug that keeps me together like glue. It’s also a $500/month prescription that’s only available in brand-name. I mean, I could lease a really nice car for that much money, or rent a second home somewhere in Alabama. Priorities.

15mg down to 7mg? No problems whatsoever. Vitals were fine. Then, this past weekend, I forgot to take my dose for two nights in a row. Ever the overachiever, I decided to ride that wave and try to ditch the helper drug entirely. “What’s 7mg?” I speculated.

What, indeed.

Yesterday marked the 4th day of withdrawal. Waking up at 8:20am, having dead-slept through two alarms, I thought something might be off… just that feeling when you know there is no way you’ll ever be able to get out of bed. Driving to work, I noticed a distinct edge to things: my skin felt too tight, my jeans were itchy. As the day progressed it became clear that my mood was not just dark, but flattened as well – a patina of disaffection shielding the turmoil in my mind. Coffee? No thanks, I’m so over everything.

Small problems began to seem insurmountable. Answering an email became a sisyphean task. That familiar numbing of the brain and extremities that requires you to take life breath by labored breath. I recognized these signs. I knew them. And, though I’ve worked to become strong, I still don’t know how to manage these moments when I can’t pull myself up.

It is a related truth that my car is a disaster area. Unpaired high heels, a video tripod, and a pile of Diet Coke cans that would be shameful if I weren’t so excited about the eventual bottle deposit – people have stopped asking me for rides. Lucky for me, a quick rummage through the mess turned up a half-full bottle of my wonder drug. I knew it would take awhile for my body to absorb the medication, but just knowing I’d taken it made me feel better. And then, later, it made me feel worse. I’ve never had any illusions about being able to go med-free. But I did think I’d really be able to do it with this one thing, this one time.

Kind of disappointing, if not entirely unexpected. Sometimes, I guess, 7mg is at least 5mg too much.

Leave a Comment » | Depression, meds, tiniest violin | Permalink
Posted by erinire

TBH, sometimes it’s like, FML. And that’s OK.

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I had it all set in my head to write this great “I Overcame My Eating Disorder” post, and then, unexpectedly, I had cause to watch some of my wedding video. It totally took the wind out of my sails, people. I was so thin then, and I mean, I LOOKED happy enough.

The gist of it was that my aunts came in to town last weekend – three of them – and of course it made me think about how my body has changed since last they saw me. And like, I don’t go around all the time feeling bad about how I look, but let me tell you I tried on my entire wardrobe before deciding what to wear when the whole family met up.

Thing is, I don’t know how to write about this. I don’t know how to write that sometimes I look in the mirror and literally do not recognize myself. I’ve been eating disordered since I was 14, and I always want to stay positive and light for teh interwebz but sometimes it’s just not that easy. If I want to keep writing, if I want to keep being honest, then I really have to admit. It is not that easy all the time.

Why do I want to share this? Why do I want to expose myself in this way? I mean, everyone’s weird about their body, right, why put it out there? Because nobody TALKS about how they’re weird about their body. Nobody TALKS about how it feels. And I think that’s important. At least, it makes me feel better to think that.

So we went out to dinner, my aunts and my parents and me, and we all had Bloomin’ Onion and steak and what have you, and the whole time I was feeling like this huge whale that probably should have gotten a salad instead of a filet mignon. And at the end of the meal, my aunt leans over to me and tells me how amazing I look. That I really look amazing.

This, from the woman who probably remembers me as I was in my wedding dress, all thin and beautiful. This is me then, just after the wedding, on our honeymoon in Mexico. What you don’t see in that picture is my bulimia. And now I don’t have that. It’s cause to be happy. It’s a reason to be proud.

Right?

5 Comments | confession, Depression, eatin', manifesto, therapy, tiniest violin | Permalink
Posted by erinire

Free Advice: if you don’t know, probably just don’t ask.

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It’s no secret that I’ve gained some weight since B! moved out here. All told, there’s around a 35 pounds from lowest to highest. And, you know, I’m not in love with it, but it’s not like it’s wrecking all my time. I just ate a fro-yo cone with sprinkles. So, there.

But it’s gotten a little awkward lately. More specifically, people have started asking me if I’m pregnant. And I’m not talking like “that random stranger this one time”, I’m talking PEOPLE. Like, best friend people. Like, coworker people. People people. More than a handful. And it’s never just like, oh are you pregnant? It’s always like:

“Boy or girl?”

“When’s the due date?”

“I hope she has your hair!”

For any readers who may themselves have asked the burning question in question: it’s not the asking that bothers me. I’m well aware that I’m no longer the lithe sprite of yesteryear, but I’m also no longer smashing dishes or throwing glasses of wine at things. My eating disorder is in remission. I have a full set of dinner dishes. Weight gain is a small price to pay for sanity, I think, although it’s not always appropriate to say in the moment.

What bothers me is the whole awkwardness of the situation. Like, they say it, and then I have to say, you know, “no”, and then they get all flustered and I just laugh and smile because really – REALLY? It’s funny. Come on, you know it is.

That said, I’m still thinking of getting a couple T-shirts made that say “NOT PREGNANT, JUST FAT”. It’s summertime now. Anything goes.

5 Comments | aberrant behavior, eatin', free advice, gettin old, how i am awesome, I enjoy being a girl, manifesto, tiniest violin | Permalink
Posted by erinire

An Anniversary, of Sorts.

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So I’ve never been much for Valentine’s Day, although I’ve never had a horrible one. I just don’t really need another reason to spend money on people, and they probably don’t need to spend any money on me. Given my ambivalence, it’s a little ironic that my self-selected anniversary with Katsumi fell on 2/14/02. Four years later, we got engaged. Remember that? I do. Vividly.

It seems an ocean of time ago.

And I’m sitting here thinking about it, and it’s kind of blowing my mind. We didn’t have Jake, things hadn’t yet fallen apart, and everything looked pretty damn rosy. Who knew then the way our lives would take us? It’s kind of cruel, when you think about it, that innocence. And it’s all here – it’s documented. Most of it, anyway.

But whatever. Onward and upward. Tonight B! made me broccoli rabe, which he hates and I love, and I’m sipping some Malbec and promising myself I’ll go to bed early tonight. It’s certainly not where I thought I’d be on that night ten years ago when Katsu and I first knocked chopsticks at Betty’s, and definitely not where I thought I’d be the night we got engaged. But it’s not all a downer. I mean, after all, tonight I *did* get the broccoli rabe.

1 Comment | life story, matrimony, tiniest violin | Permalink
Posted by erinire

is fat and happy? Think again.

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So remember how I posted awhile ago about my weight gain and how I was all zen with it?

I’ve now had two separate people ask me if I’m pregnant.

/zen.

Get thee to the gym, you’ll say! And lo, I will agree that more Gym is in my Future. But I *have* been gymming (more or less) and I *have* been limiting my drinking (sometimes)! And it’s all well and good to say you’ll skip lunch and diet, but when your blood sugar bottoms out at 3pm you’ll be singing a different song, believe you me.

Now, I hate people who are all like, wah, woe is me, sad sad and doing nothing about it, and I won’t be endless about the current state of affairs, but, in this case, I’m the victim as much as the curse. I don’t think it would be so bad if I’d wavered all my life, but I’m not USED to this! I AM NOT USED TO LOOKING PREGNANT.

They told me the eating disorder would turn around and bite me in the ass one day. I guess now I’ve gotta believe them.

*sigh*

Leave a Comment » | eatin', gettin old, I enjoy being a girl, progress?, tiniest violin | Permalink
Posted by erinire

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

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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.

2 Comments | aberrant behavior, charming neurosis, Depression, meds, tiniest violin | Permalink
Posted by erinire

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

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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.

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

Is it Monday already?

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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.

5 Comments | personal hell, tiniest violin, worst week ever | Permalink
Posted by erinire

FML. Really. No, REALLY really.

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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.

3 Comments | Depression, insomnia, meds, money, personal hell, therapy, tiniest violin, work, worst week ever | Permalink
Posted by erinire

I guess it’s kind of obligatory to make a show of goal-setting.

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Another day in the bell jar, despite things generally being A-OK. We’re a little behind on our bills because of that oil heat thing, but that’s not so dire, and my boss comes home on Monday, so this is technically my last leisure day for some time. But I don’t think either of those things are really what’s stressing me out. What worries me, truly, is that this feeling seems to be taking root. It’s the patina of panic that shimmers on everything, the veil of spun lead that rests on my heart. Unshakable, also, because it’s got you at your core. It’s somewhere deep inside, past where your good intentions can reach.

I’m going to this party tonight, which in reality will be pretty awesome but to me will probably seem just OK, just like seeing Phish on Monday seemed just OK despite my best efforts to thoroughly enjoy. It’s insidious – this thick ache, this numbed brain, the pull of gravity on your soul. What’s it been, three days? Four? Fifteen? It’s so hard to tell, from the bottom.

I joined a gym yesterday in an effort to take a healthy step towards weight loss, which, I think, will help my self esteem as well as my depression. Every day starts with getting dressed, and the act of getting dressed can’t continue to be my breaking point. So there’s my resolution. At some point, in 2011, I will put on my jeans without crying.

Leave a Comment » | Depression, eatin', fashion, tiniest violin | Permalink
Posted by erinire

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