I owe many apologies to many people. If I owe you an email, phone call, or some sort of otherwise consistent communication, and I've been completely lax in follow through on those - I'm sorry. If I've sent you texts or emails in a somewhat altered state and/or just pestered you out of a need to not have to listen solely to the voices in my own head - I'm sorry. I think I tend towards extremes. I either can't connect with people when I need to or I over compensate by reaching out to those who don't want/need my witty pesterings. (please note: in my mind, everyone needs my witty pesterings. (this is part of my problem.)) If I owe you anything else, including but not limited to, framing, design advice, a lunch/dinner date, and/or anything else that requires even the smallest output of energy - I'm sorry. Chances are, that shit ain't getting done.
Anyway, I went to see my neurologist the other day and a simple "so, how have you been doing" turned into a steady 20 minute litany on how NOT-well I've been doing and ended with her sending me out of her office with a bag of drug samples and an order to see my doctor for a medication check ASAP. That visit took place three days later and my antidepressant dosage was upped by 50% on a daily basis. We're currently in the "wait and see" stage of this process to see if the increase helps at all.
Helps with what, you may ask? For starters, feeling completely overwhelmed by nothing more than everyday life. For example, getting up and showering. Making dinner. Doing my shot. Paying my bills. Putting gas in my car. Doing laundry. You know, the hard stuff. Way too crazy to tackle.
I'm also waiting to see if the fog lifts. The fog that makes me feel like everything and everyone in my life is somewhat disconnected from myself. Like I am simply a spectator watching the spectacle of my life unfold in all it's banal glory through a pane of smudged and smokey glass. Hard to care what's going on when you can't even see the details clearly, right?
I'm waiting to see if some of the aches and pains subside. You know those commercials where they talk about the "pain" of depression? That shit's for real. Okay, maybe not the little black cartoon cloud that follows people around, but the pain is real. I'm just achey. It's nondescript but completely draining. And it sucks. Sure, I guess it could be MS. But maybe it's depression. And maybe it will go away.
But, the hypocritical part comes in that I talk to students every day who are on similar medications. Students who may be new to these meds or old pros and I tell them all the same thing - be aware of how you're feeling. If something doesn't feel right, find a way to give voice to that disquiet and fix it. Don't settle for feeling sad or alone or helpless - because there are other options and other things that can be tried if your current meds aren't working. And the only person who can assess how well those meds are working, is you.
Um, duh, dumbass. So why did it take so many months to finally, inadvertently, blurt out that you're falling apart?
I don't know.
I guess I'm tired of the bitching too. Tired of feeling like shit and tired of having to give voice to that fact. Most days? I feel like shit. That's my norm now. AND I'M TIRED OF IT. I'm tired of living in the grips of some disease. I'm tired of not just living my life. And mostly, recently, I am very very jealous of those who can get up, get showered, pay their bills, do laundry, don't have to take meds, and don't feel constant aches and pains.
Then, after that small pity party for myself, I feel like a complete tool - because I know there are people who have it way worse than me too. So then I beat myself up for a bit for forgetting that fact.
It's kind of endless like that. Some days are better than others, but most are like that. And it takes a lot of energy to get up, get showered, pay the bills, do laundry, go to work, etc etc, without just curling up all fetal-position-esque and asking in the loudest scream possible to be left alone. Because if I do that? That's when I get the 30 day vacation in the quiet white room with padded walls. And that would be bad.
Well, maybe not all bad. I hear they have the good drugs in there.