An apology

I feel like a shit (even though I'm sure some of you are likely to chime in and tell me to cut myself some slack) because I'm not... all here.  I'm not replying to blog comments (which I feel awful about).  I'm not commenting on other people's blogs like I usually do.  I'm still tweeting here and there, but I'm not interacting as much as normal.  Part of it is an inability to focus, pay attention, be present; and, unfortunately, part of it is the effort involved in doing anything more than brushing my teeth.

I just wanted to say thank you so much for the support: it means more to me than I can adequately express.  I'm sorry I'm not interacting with you all like I normally would, but I'll get back there eventually.  I just don't want anyone to think I'm not reading - appreciating - the supportive comments you've been leaving for me.

HYC: Week 39

I'm not really sure what to write.  I worked out three times last week, and we got a 2km walk by the river in on Saturday, but only because I forced myself: the apathy isn't quite as strong as it was before, but my give a damn's still busted.  I've been... okay with food, but haven't been as mindful as I was (and, again, just. don't. care.).  I'm continuing to "force" myself to workout because a) I know I feel better when I'm done, b) it helps me feel a little more normal, and c) it's easier than dealing with the guilt trip and beating myself up I'll inevitably do if I skip said workout.

I started stacking my BCPs this past month; if I hadn't, I would have gotten my period on the 20th and been done around the 22nd.  Instead, I've had this weird... half-spotting, half-really-light-period THING that started on the 22nd aaaaaand still doesn't seem to be completely done.  As well, "normally" if I'm going to get a post-period IBS flare-up, it will happen around the Friday after my period finishes, and is usually (mostly) gone by the time work starts up again on the following Monday.  Because of this weirdness, I started getting really gassy (for the record, when I say I'm really gassy, I mean pain, pressure, and stomach gurgle-noises, NOT farty - if I'm farty, I'll tell ya I'm farty... hehe), which got really painful (but that could have also been a mother-stress side effect).  

I don't really know what else to say.  I'm really not feeling this right now.  I keep toying with taking a blogging break because my heart's not in it, but I'm worried it will be too hard to pick it back up (and sometimes it is cathartic for me to just purge my emo-word-vomit).  I kind of feel guilty, though, because normally I write more often than I have been, but then the whole "you should write for YOURSELF, not your readers" argument kicks in.  Bah.  I'll write what I want when and if I feel like it, right?

Stifled and suffocated

(I started writing this last night, but apparently simply writing about it gave me a freaking panic attack.)

I was overcome by this feeling of... restlessness yesterday afternoon.  I felt this overwhelming need to go, do, see, make, drink, listen, read, experience something different.  I've felt that way once before, moments before a particularly intense panic attack (not this time, thankfully, as I was (alone) at work).  It's this... feeling of wanting to crawl right out of my skin.  My mind races, but won't stop long enough to process an entire thought.  My eyes dart around, but can't focus on any one thing.  My heart picks up speed.  I feel jittery.  I need to just GO, just get out and go - walk, run, drive: doesn't matter.  Where?  No clue.  ANYWHERE.  It's like the good, old fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, and honestly feels like I could outrun... whatever it is that seems to be chasing me.

Even just writing about it is making my heart race.

I wanted to jump in the car and go do something spontaneous.  Adventurous.  Irresponsible.  But I am none of those things.  Which is maybe why I wanted to do all of those things, because that would certainly be different for me.

I'm not myself.  I don't feel "normal."  I'm not sure what normal IS anymore, and I'm not entirely secure in the knowledge that I will know what normal is again some day.

*     *     *

I ended up talking to Chebbar about all manner of things Friday evening, ranging from my mother (emailed her  ten days ago: still haven't heard from her - this is a HUGE slap in the face for me), to "normal," to wanting to eat my feelings all the damned time, to working out.  Honestly, I felt like Jessie Spano on her caffeine pills, literally falling apart as I spun out of control.  I was "fine" until he told me I didn't have to work out - that I was allowed to take a break, a night off.  Cue big, hiccuping, can't-catch-my-breath sobs because I already had taken breaks - a bunch of them - and somehow failing to take care of my health is the end all, be all ultimate failure.  FUN TIMES.  (I ended up working out because a) I knew the endorphins would make me feel better and that b) I'd beat myself up if I didn't.)

He asked if this antsiness was a side-effect of the Cipralex: I scoffed, because that didn't make sense (to me). Besides!  I've been on this stuff for eight! whole! days!  He gave me that look he likes to give me, so I pulled out the insert and read that, yes, feelings of impulsiveness and restlessness can occur.  I still think it's more related to the panic attack/Mom thing (she kept rolling through  my head Friday at work when I was feeling most make-a-break-for-it, like I couldn't run TO my mom for comfort, so I just wanted to run AWAY).

Yesterday was fine allllll day long.  Then, a combination of writing this and Chebbar's loud, intense, repetitive music (read: sensory overload) had me fleeing the room with my fingers in my ears because I had to get away from the noise.  Unfortunately, he had no clue what was going on so didn't turn it off right away, and the apartment's not very big, so I ended up out on the deck.  I was able to calm myself down after spending a few minutes enjoying the balmy wind storm.  However, when I came back into the office and sat down, the old ticker started going and I had to run again, ending up in the bedroom sobbing my face off again.

I'm tired of this roller coaster of emotions.  At this point, I don't know if it's the depression, hormones (even though I started the birth control pill stacking this month, I still had some jacked-up not quite spotting, but not quite a full period thing that was late to start and lasted longer than usual), or a combination of the two (oh, you can throw in the "my mother's giving me the silent treatment" stress for good measure, too).  I feel so fucking abnormal - I feel broken.  I don't feel like me.  I don't know when, where, or how I lost me, so I have no clue how to find me or get me back.  I worry that Chebbar will get tired of dealing with spun-sugar me.  I worry that this WON'T get better.  I hate it.  A lot.

Beeeee NiIiIice!

(FYI: When I do the stupid-ass little letter/capital letter combo, I'm trying to denote that sing-song-y tone of voice.)


I just commented on Miss Grace's post (well, I tried to: I can't see it at the moment... ) about nice being overrated because nice will get you walked all over like a doormat.  That's another issue for another day when my give a damn ain't busted, but it did remind me of a LOVELY memory from my childhood.

Because Mom had me so young, I was the same age as three of her cousins: the boys were my age, one, and two years older than me.  At family functions, we were expected to play together.  So, picture an only (female) child trying to figure out how to play with three rambunctious boys.  Yeah.  Apparently, I was often heard pleading with them to "be nice."

I guess their mother took exception to my request, because that became my nickname: every time she'd see me, she'd say something along the lines of "Oh, look! It's beeeee niIiIice!" in this god awful, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice - it was CLEAR (even to me at the age of three) that she was NOT being nice/funny/cute.  This continued on until I was ten or so.

She still talks in that one of voice.  Harpy.

HYC: Week 38

(This post is likely going to be all over the place: I apologize in advance.)

Things are... a little better since my last post?  I end that sentence with a question mark because, for the most part, things ARE better, but if I'm in a low moment or having a bad day, things just seem sucktastical (like today, for instance, although I'm relatively certain that's more a by-product of not enough sleep for the second night in a row - really need to get a handle on the whole sleep thing).  I do feel mostly slug-like and would rather just flop in a chair and stay there, but it's getting easier to do stuff.  I'm slowly starting to care about things again, which is good.

I "confessed" my news to my mother via email on... Thursday night? Friday morning?  I still haven't heard from her.  Now?  I'm kind of pissed (because pissed is easier than hurt, y'all).  I can't think of a logical reason for her to have stayed silent for five days (even though the wise @whatsananna suggested that she may feel the need to *fix* things and doesn't know how, so doesn't know what to say).  If it's a matter of her not approving and/or not feeling able to support me, that's just fine: I'm doing what MY DOCTOR thinks is the best course of action for me, and if I'm okay with it, that's all that matters.  If she doesn't like it?  Too damned bad: this is MY life and I'll be damned if I suffer because someone else might not like it.

We had Chebbar's family over for dinner on Sunday for Nana's birthday, mostly because a) we couldn't think of a suitable gift, b) she couldn't either, c) she loves family dinners, and d) she shouldn't have to cook her OWN birthday dinner (and no one else was gonna offer to do it).  It went well, and I felt a little more like my old self having pulled it off (with help from Chebbar, of course).  

I had told Chebbar on Friday that I was giving myself the weekend to... wallow, but I was planning on getting back into the swing of things (including getting back on the (elliptical) horse - I worked out last Monday, and that was it) on Monday.  He kiiiiind of missed my point because he cut me off mid-sentence to emphatically state that I don't HAVE to do anything - I don't HAVE to "get back" to anything if I don't want to or aren't ready.  (Isn't he great?  He's really great.  I'm sure you're getting sick of how awesome he is, but he really is that awesome.)  It wasn't so much a "ZOMG! I HAVE TO DO IT ALLLLL!" as it was a cut-off point to leave the pity party: I know it's not as easy as just turning it off (duh), but at the same time, I also feel that I have to at least try to exert a little control over myself and not *let* myself wallow in that dark, dirty hole, y'know?  Does that make sense?

And I did.  Despite being so. freaking. exhausted. I was honestly worried I'd fall asleep at my desk at work, I did my workout yesterday.  I also was a rock star in the kitchen with dinner/dishes/lunches.  I felt like I had actually accomplished something when I was done - I felt efficient again.

NSV for me last week?  Totally had a DUH moment when I was trying to figure out why my shirt was longer than it used to be, and realized it's because there's less of me for it get hung up on.  DUH!  My pants are "longer," too.  :)

Down in a dark, dirty hole

I saw Dr. GP yesterday.  After my emo-word-vomit-brain-dump last week (which freaked me out enough that I made said appointment with Dr. GP the very next morning), I was feeling better by Thursday, so I contemplated cancelling the appointment - I was going to give it a few more days before making a decision - but a couple of wise women threatened convinced me to keep it.  Friday and Saturday were okay.  Sunday sucked.  Monday and Tuesday were okay.  Wednesday sucked.  Yesterday was AWFUL.

I know part of my... anxiety yesterday was the thought that I'd go into Dr. GP, pour my heart out onto her floor, and have her tell me to just tough it out until my appointment with mental health.  But, as I emphatically told her yesterday, I cannot live another six weeks like this...

• I'm exhausted.  I'm sleeping like shit and I'm tired all the damned time.  I have zero energy, which gives me zero desire to do anything more than the barest of minimums.  I feel like I could sleep for a week and still be fatigued.
• I'm miserable.  It takes all I have just to be polite to people, never mind crack a smile (SO not me).
• Everything seems to take enormous effort, from making dinner to brushing my teeth before bed.
• I've been working out four to five times a week, doing really well, seeing results, and really enjoying it!  Except now, I could give a rat's ass if I ever stepped foot on the elliptical again.
• Nothing interests me.  Nothing holds my attention.  I can't focus.  I can't concentrate.
• I either have zero appetite (but force myself to eat something, otherwise I'm liable to eat someone's face off), or want to eat my feelings and never stop (but don't because of that little voice inside my head that reminds me I'm NOT hungry).
• And the biggest - and scariest, to me - thing is that I just. don't. care.  Don't want to do your make-up?  WHO CARES!  Don't feel like doing your hair?  SO WHAT!  If I could get away with going to work unwashed and in my pajamas, I would.  I'm completely apathetic about absolutely everything and I don't even care that I don't care (not *entirely* true, but pretty damned close), and that's NOT me: I'm the girl who gets in trouble because she cares too much about too much.

"Sooooo, what you're describing is depression... "  *snort*  Y'don't say?!?  She asked if I was having thoughts of hurting myself or anyone else (very emphatic NO).  She asked if anything major had happened or changed (the only thing I can think of (which coincides to when this first started) is the official IBS diagnosis, which is silly since it's SO much better than the stuff I was worrying about - yay! this won't kill me!).  She asked about my support system (Chebbar's beyond wonderful; I don't tell Mom a hell of a lot because of her negative opinions about prescriptions after dealing with the Grandmonster (I totally chickened out when I told Mom this morning.  Via email.) - don't get me wrong: I don't think she'd be all "DEVIL PILLS! GIT OFFA DEM!" but I'm not sure she'd say the things I need to hear right now (as opposed to unintentionally saying things that would convince me I don't/shouldn't need them); calling up a friend just feels like too much effort - I don't have it in me to talk about this, but I don't have it in me to ignore and talk around this either).  She encouraged me to keep the appointment with mental health (I told her I had every intention of following through with that because I feel that a good part of my... stress/anxiety can be managed once I have some coping mechanisms under my belt).  She told me I had to actively "seek out joy": that she knew it sounded corny, but depression makes you want to isolate yourself (no shit), and you really have to make an effort to look for/make bright(er) spots in your day when and where you can (I suppressed a snort-laugh).

She gave me a two-week sample of Cipralex, a questionnaire to fill out (I scored 19 out of a possible... 24? 30? I can't remember - it's at home pinned to the fridge for my next appointment), and a follow-up appointment for the 30th, and urgings to call sooner if need be.

I left there feeling confused and overwhelmed and tired and sad and relieved.  This is a Big Deal for me: my perfectionist tendencies make me think/feel that I have to control and fix myself, and that if I can't, I'm a failed failure from Fuckupville.  I've had bad days - hell, even bad weeks - but they always go away: I'm always able to beat the doldrums.  This time, though?  This time is different.  I just can't shake the funk.  It just won't go away.  And the longer it goes on, the more I beat myself up for the fact that I haven't been able to "rein myself in," and worry that I'll NEVER shake the funk on my own.  I've told Chebbar repeatedly since last Tuesday that I don't want to be the "broken girl" (and before anyone gets all up in my grill, I am NOT saying that people with depression are broken: I'm saying that's how *I* feel because I'm unable to "control" my thoughts and feelings - this isn't about you, I swear to Ceiling Cat, so puh-lease don't get your knickers in a twist, okay?).

I slept last night.  Hard.  I woke up a couple of times and felt completely groggy and disoriented.  I'm not sure if it was the anti-depressant, the combo of that and my antihistamine, the emotional let-down of this finally being (somewhat) "over," or a combination of all three.  Today?  Much better.  As I told Chebbar on the phone this morning, I'm not naive or stupid enough to think that half a pill 12 hours ago made me all! better!, but just knowing that a) I've taken steps to take care of this, b) I'm taking care of ME, and c) I will feel back to normal soon is just such a huge freaking relief.  Call it wishful thinking or a placebo effect or whatever you'd like, but I'll take it.  

I don't feel so god damned alone and hopeless today.  I don't feel like such a worthless failure today.  I'll take that, too, thank you very much.

Swam all across the ocean blue

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight

So, Mom moved out, Dad moved in, and I became Insta-Pseudo-WifeMother.  I made sure Nick and Taylor were up, fed, and dressed in the morning before leaving for school.  After school, I'd go to the daycare to pick them and walk them home.  Once there, I looked after them (while trying to do my own homework) and made dinner before Dad came home.  I made sure Taylor was bathed, read her stories, and put her to bed.  Even though her room was right across the hall from Dad's, he never heard her if she woke during the night; instead, me - in the basement at the opposite end of the house - would "sleep" with one ear open, flying up the stairs to her at the slightest noise.  (I swear to this day that that is the source of my sleep issues.)  That was my life.  Day in and day out.  For two years.  At the age of twelve.

Needless to say, I didn't have a "normal" teenagehood.  When my friends were out gaining independence, learning from mistakes, and obtaining problem-solving skills, I was making Hamburger Helper (still can't eat that crap to this day) and helping Nick with his homework, making sure to constantly toe the line and be a "good" kid.  He would do things like agree to pay me $125! whole! dollars! per month to babysit Nick and Taylor all day, all summer, then either borrow money from me (which I'd have to chase down in order to be paid back), or try to convince me he'd already paid me - I must have "forgotten" and "spent it all" already.

It was never good for me when Taylor would choose me over Dad, or when Nick would listen to me instead of Dad.  I lost count of the number of times he would SCREAM at me "YOU'RE not the parent, *I* am!  Do YOU want to start paying the bills?!?" in reply to totally and completely unrelated things - I guess he was stressed: that's how he chose to deal with it.  Oh, and going out looking for a new girlfriend multiple nights a week.

Yeah, remember the last entry?  The one where Mom stayed out all night on a school night and scared the living hell out of me?  And how I alluded to it coming back to bite me in the ass?  The first time Dad did it, I freaked.  Again.  Thought he was dead in a ditch somewhere.  Told him so: he apologized and promised it wouldn't happen again.  The second time, I was still a little worried, but mostly annoyed.  Told him so: he  promised it wouldn't happen again.  The third time, I was pissed off and and told him so.  He threw it back in my face all, "What, so it's okay for your mother to do it, but not me?"  Um, hello?  Dude, you were THERE: you saw FIRST HAND how NOT okay it was for Mom to do it.  The fourth time it happened, he figured he'd "make it easier" on me by taking Nick and Taylor with him (so instead, I just worried about whether or not they were fed and put to bed at a decent time).  Fed up by his failing to be home at the promised time, I called Mom: her and Brad came to pick me up.  I locked my bedroom door* and went to their house for the night.  It wasn't until the school called looking for me the next day at 11am that he realized I wasn't home.

*The lock on the door was to keep him out.  I got my own phone line for my 13th birthday (with the understanding that the monthly bills were MY responsibility - I was far from a spoiled brat, thank you veddy much).  The following Christmas, Mom and Brad gave me a cordless phone.  Dad didn't have one.  I'd come home from school to find that he had gone into my room, taken my phone, and was using my line.  No matter how many times I asked him not to, he still did it.  There was also the incident in which he was driving me to a party (read: a bunch of awkward, pre-pubescent boys and girls running around like fools, listening to music, and eating potato chips, pretending we were sooooo mature) and he asked me all sing-song like "So, is RyYyYyAaAaAn gonna be therrrrrre?" in a way that you just KNEW he knew something he shouldn't.  When I asked him how he knew about Ryan, he stammered and said I must have told him.  I looked him dead in the eye and told him that the ONLY way he'd know anything about RyYyYyAaAaAn was if he had read my diary.  His M.O. is to get blustery and righteously self-indignant, flipping things around so you end up confused and come out feeling like you've done something wrong, all at top volume for maximum disorienting effect: "I didn't do that!  I would NEV!ER! do that!  YOUUUUUU told me!"

The lock went on my door the next day.

Living away from Mom was hardest on Taylor.  Every time she'd spend the night with Mom and Brad, she'd end up in hysterics when they brought her home (where she would only take comfort from me, which didn't go over well with Dad - he already had issues in the not-good-enough department).  About two years after he moved in, Taylor went to live with Mom and Brad.  Of course, then the weekends she'd come to stay with us, she'd spend them upset and missing Mom and wanting to go "home."  She would cry: he would yell at her.  She would run to me: he would yell at me.  One night, the screaming and yelling at us got so bad, I went down to my room and called Mom to come pick Taylor up.  That didn't go over well, and things went downhill fast from there.

The end would come not long after while I was in the middle of my daily after-school phone call with Mom.

HYC: Week 37

I did a bad thing last week.  Sort of.  You see, Friday was supposed to be my weigh-in day.  However, Chebbar had just gotten a new video game and I didn't want to work out anyhow be all "hey, chump!  MY TURN for the TV!"  So I hopped on the Wii Fit first thing Saturday morning.  After eating delivery pizza for dinner the night before.  Not only was my weight up for the low weight I saw Wednesday, it was higher than what I weighed two weeks ago (in case that was too hard to follow, I weighed in at 209.9 two weeks ago, and was down to 208.7 on Wednesday, but UP to 210.Idon'twannathinkaboutit on Saturday morning).  I figured it was water weight (even still, totally bummed me out ALL DAY - wienie), so I waited AGAIN and hopped back on the Wii Fit Sunday morning...

207.9

Down another 2lbs!  Yay!  And?  I was taking my measurements and was getting further bummed because the losses I was seeing were tiny - a quarter of an inch here, half an inch there; however, when I added them up, I was down 4.75" for the month!  That's a total of 18.1lbs and 23.75" lost so far!  At this rate, I may very well be on track for my goal tattoo!  :)

Uuuuunfortunately, I'm taking it easy right now.  Again.  *two thumbs down*  I've slept like absolute garbage the last three nights in a row (Chebbar's on nights this week, and I. just. can't. sleep when I know he's up - I don't know why: think I'm gonna miss something?  WHO KNOWS), starting with Saturday night.  I'd gone to bed at 10:30 because I couldn't keep my eyes open, only to still be awake at 2:30.  I had just gotten to sleep when the A/C started beeping because the reservoir was full.  Being the obstinate stubborn dumbass that I am, I opted to lug the many, many liters of water through the bedroom, down the hall, into the bathroom, and heave 'em up over the edge of the tub (instead of waking Chebbar because HEAVEN FORBID I admit I need help).  So guess who's been nursing a pulled muscle in her back since Sunday?  *cough*dumbass*cough*  (We did walk yesterday because it's low-impact, and I was feeling a bit better today so contemplated the elliptical, but considering I put my back out bad enough when I first started using it that I had to go to the chiro, I figured I'd take it easy one more day.)

On that note, has anyone successfully used guided meditation (specifically for sleep issues/insomnia)?  I bought an app for my iPod, but this little voice in my head spends the time I should be relaxing giggling and sing-songing "this isn't gonna woOoOork!"  How do I... make my damned brain be more open to the experience?  Or am I wasting my time?  I know meditation works for TONS of people, but if my mind isn't open to possibility of it helping, is there any point to even trying?

Also, anyone familiar with 5-HTP (ignore all the sales-pitch crap on the site)?  I'm really intrigued, but... 

Bits & Bites

• I'm feeling MUCH better than I was on Tuesday.  I called and made an appointment with Dr. GP for next Thursday, but now I'm not sure if I should keep it?  I figure I'll give it until next week, and if I'm still feeling (this) good, I'll cancel.  For now.
• I have an appointment with mental health for October 21st.  It's a ways off, but at least it's a firm date, and better than what I had expected (November-ish).
• I booked holidays for the week of October 10th.  I'm reeeeeally hoping I don't get The Plague like the last time I took holidays.  D:  
• I've been talking about my next tattoo for over a year.  I have the money set aside, but still haven't gotten around to making the appointment.  Because I'm getting so close to my first goal of losing 10% of my body weight (approximately six weeks, if my pattern of losing a pound of week holds?), I thought I would reward myself when I get there with said tattoo.  Well.  Those holidays?  Five weeks away.  I'm going to book that appointment.  (I'm just hoping I'm not jinxing myself!  hehe)
• Angry Birds owns my soul.  And my iPod's battery life.
• I don't think I mentioned it here (I know I asked the wisdom that is Twitter), but Chebbar's suit jacket - the one we took to the store's "professional" seamstress - came back with the sleeves so short he looked like he was a bear stuffed into a midget's jacket if he raised his arms (it was seriously AWFUL).  He wanted to just get another jacket.  I went into OH HAY-UL NO! cheapskate mode and said no freaking way - not before we saw if she could fix it, and if she couldn't, I'd be calling the store and speaking to the manager.  After all, it's not like *I* tried to do it and fucked it up (which is exactly why I didn't attempt to shorten the sleeves: I know my limitations).  I called and spoke to the manager who asked that he bring the jacket back in for the seamstress to look at - apparently they might be able to do a ribbon hem to drop the length?  If not, they would... work with me (I don't think she wanted to commit to replacing the jacket right off the bat).  He was taking it in today before his doctor's appointment, so hopefully it's fixable.
• I was invited to the bachelorette party of someone I've met twice.  While I'm honoured to even be thought of (the guest list is already over 30 people), I... GAH.  Let's see: social anxiety around a bunch of people I don't know?  Check.  Oh, dressing up in a COSTUME you say?  My most hated... party gimmick-thing?  Check.  A big-city location with big-city hotel/bar/food costs after a big-city limo ride equaling hundreds of dollars?  Check.  I hate that, even though my instantaneous gut reaction is "NO THANK YOU!", it's instantly followed up with The Guilt.  I feel baaaaad for not going (but I don't want to go).
• I feel like there's something... big-ish I'm forgetting... to tell you? about this weekend? that I have to do?  THE GREEN PIGGIES STOLE MAH BRAIN!  D:

HYC: Week 36

16 out of 28... ehhhh, not so great.  I don't remember why now, but the first week of the month sucked.  The last week of the month also sucked.  Chebbar ended up staying home sick from work Tuesday night - we had to go to the walk-in clinic (sinus infection), so no workout for me.  Wednesday... I just wasn't feeling it?  I don't even know.  Thursday I was home early because I had my appointment with Dr. GP; even though Chebbar and I spent some time discussing the appointment at length, I dragged my ass onto the elliptical (even though I really didn't want to).  Friday?  Not feeling well: I ended up with massive gas pains that turned into constipation and a bout of stomach cramps Saturday.  Sound familiar?  I was half-wondering if I hadn't worried myself (doctor's appointment/call to mental health) into another IBS attack...  :-s

The more I think about this and talk to people and read, the more I'm thinking maybe I do need some kind of... chemical intervention, even if it is only temporary.  As Dawn so succinctly put it, I need a chance to level out the chemicals in my old brain so I can see/learn that I don't have to worry about everything because not everything's a Big Deal.  In my ruminations, the Big D-Word has popped into my mind.  EVERYTHING does feel like a Big Deal.  I feel like I'm in stress mode all the time, and when I'm not, I feel completely down in the dumps.  I feel like I need to try harder/faster/better/longer at everything I do - NOTHING feels like it's good enough (in my own mind: no one else is giving me this impression whatsoever).  I've lost interest in... stuff?  My drive to exercise and enjoyment of said workouts has pretty much completely abandoned me (and at this point?  I just don't give a shit).  I have all these books to read about IBS, stress management, coping with anxiety, etc. that I want to read, but just can't be bothered to pick up.  There are all these things that I would/could/should be doing (and normally would like/want to do), and I just don't give a rat's ass.  I feel like I could plop my ass on the couch and just stay here.  Forever.  Not eating/bathing/exercising/working/caring.  And that?  Is NOT me.  If I don't feel completely overwhelmed or sad, I feel totally apathetic.  I feel like I'm just going through the motions just enough so no one notices.

*deep breath*  Holy shit.  

Yeah, so!  Totally didn't intend to turn this into a Debbie Downer post, but I'm going to leave it as-is for my benefit so I can see it later if need be.  I did my workout today and pushed myself harder than I maybe should have considering I skipped five whole days (that's awful).  I'm planning on working out Wednesday through Friday at a minimum.  

Have a good week, everybody.

Learning to ask for help

I saw my GP yesterday to ask follow-up questions from my gastro appointment.  She's on board with the stacking of the birth control pills, but couldn't really give me much by the way of information about (long term) side-effects because not many of her patients stack pills long term - most will stack a couple of packs to avoid the dreaded Vacation Period, etc. but that's it.  I had asked Dr. Gastro if putting off my period for 9 weeks might make potential IBS flare-ups worse, but he wasn't sure; along the same line, Chebbar asked if putting off my period for 9 weeks means my period will be worse/heavier/last longer, but I have no clue.  (So, if you have info for me, once again, I would be grateful if you shared your knowledge with me!)

She allayed my concerns about the domperidone: basically, because I don't have any pre-existing cardiac concerns, I should be fine.  She told me to keep an eye out for anything different, and to try to use the two scripts only as necessary.  She seemed to find natural/alternative treatments favourable to drugs, but she didn't really give me any ideas/suggestions as to what (and, of course, I didn't realize this until AFTER I had left the office).

I also brought up the whole stress management/coping with anxiety thing.  She had said that anti-anxiety medication is definitely an option, and one we'll revisit if I feel the need, but it's not our first option: she gave me the number for mental health and suggested I talk to someone before potentially adding another chemical to my body.  She said that, in terms of "cure" rate, the success rate for stress management via therapy is far higher than, say, for depression - she very strongly recommended I make the call to talk to someone about learning some "coping" skills.

When I got home and talked to Chebbar about the appointment, I broke down (as usual).  The whole thing scares me - medication, therapy, etc. - for a variety of reasons.  I don't know HOW to ask for help, never mind when.  While I would NEVER do the same to a loved one (and would encourage them to do whatever they need to take care of themselves), I beat myself up because I think I should just be able to control my brain and just fix myself.  And I told him that the thought of going on anti-anxiety medication, even if just temporarily, isn't appealing because I'm worried that I won't have support: those nearest and dearest to me (namely him and my mom) have VERY negative opinions where anti-depressants, etc. are concerned (Mom because of Grandmonster's history with pill popping).

Chebbar told me that his opinion is based on one person who wasn't taking the medication as prescribed; drank heavily; experimented with all sort of illicit substances; and pretty much assumed they wouldn't help him - Chebbar recognizes the bias in his opinion.  He told me that there's nothing to be ashamed of, that no one would judge me for not being able to "fix" myself, and that if he had to, he'd punch Mom in the mouth (*snort*).

I made the call this afternoon and was told that they would review my information and call me back.  Now I guess we wait and see.


Update:  Hoo boy.  The one-on-one sessions are filled up through October.  The group sessions have wait lists 20+ people deep.  She was talking a 12-week program on Tuesday/Thursday mornings: I can't miss 24 mornings of work.  That's just not acceptable.  She said she'd keep looking to see if she can find me a one-on-one session closer to the end of the day, and assured me that I will likely only need a few sessions because I'll "catch on quick."  Apparently (according to her intake interview), because I don't have thoughts of suicide/harming myself/harming others; because I don't have problems with alcohol/drugs/other addictions; because I have a support system; and because I already have an idea of what is "wrong" and how I can "fix" it, I'm "a step ahead of most people [they] see."

The thought of a group session makes my stomach hurt.  The thought of waiting another two months makes me think why bother?  I might as well just give up on this idea now.  However.  I'll keep plugging through the various books I've gotten from the library and try to make progress on my own until I get a spot of some sort: I'll go to at least ONE session and will do my best to keep an open mind.

Yea or nay?

Grey flats!  Yea or nay? 

(The... upper(?) almost seems sort of long, and that knot-type thing kiiiiind of reminds of a nipple.  Shoe nipple.  HOWEVER!  Regular $44.99 on sale for $26.99!  Keep 'em, or keep looking?)

Yea or nay?
Keep 'em! Keep looking!
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GTT: Back to school!

Back to school: love it or hate it?  I'm not a student anymore (anymore)(thank Ceiling Cat) and I don't have kids, but I loved back to school.  Mostly, I just loved the new school supplies and clothes... hehe  And working in retail?  DANGEROUS.  Not only did I see all the cool, new stuff as it came, but I also knew what was going on sale when - let's just say I worked for close to FREE often.  

Since I'm not going back to school and I don't have little ones to shop for, I did some vicarious online window shopping.  Here are some of the things I'd take back to school with me...

Kermit Lunch Box $13.95

Yes, I'm an overgrown dork.  What?

Nose Pencil Sharpener $1.95

I also have the humour of an 8-year old boy...

Dry Erase Magnet Board $12.95

Perfect for the inside of your locker door!

The Seven-Year Pen $7.50

Seven years' worth of ink?!?  Now to just make sure I don't lose it before that!

Doctor Visit Notepad $6.99

This could come in handy.  Now to convince teachers it's legit...  *shifty eyes*

Oh The Places You'll Go Water Bottle $12.95

If you know me at all, you know I rarely go anywhere without a water bottle.  I love Dr. Seuss and this line seems appropriate for a school-bound youngster.

Waterproof Shower Notebook $12.99

Forget school: with the attention span of a gnat and the memory retention of a goldfish, I could use this NOW.  

Rainy day grey

It's not raining at the moment, but it was this morning.  It was dark and grey and rather gross.  I don't know how or why it put the thought in my head, but I decided that I need a pair of grey flats.  (I'm actually hitting up Sears tomorrow to see if they have a pair I saw in their flyer that are on sale, but uh, don't tell Chebbar, m'kay?)

Skechers Jubilee - Impresario $49.95

These are sportier than what I had in mind, but I have this... thing for Skechers.

Blowfish Saddle $39.95

And these are darker than what I was thinking of, but I like the lace detail.

Blowfish Genie $51.95

LOVE these.  Like, a lot a lot.

Aldo Scantlen $50

These look more... pewter(?) than grey to me, but I like the strappy buckle details.  It's all about the details, people!