Friday, February 19, 2010

Depression, and What it Really Means to Me

I am setting aside the anxiety and OCD issues that accompany my depression, and just addressing the depression in this particular post. Warning: there is some swearing and some generally awesome bitchiness here. If you don't want to read it, stop NOW.

If you've ever been depressed- truly depressed, not just sad for a few days because you broke up with a boyfriend/girlfriend or didn't get a job- maybe someone has said some pretty stupid things to you. I've had people say them to me. These are people I am close to, people who are educated, and people who know me. Yet they still think it's helpful to say these things. (And no, I have never actually responded in the ways listed below. I just want to sometimes.)

Why don't you just snap out of it?
Um, really? Gee, I hadn't thought of that. I wish I could snap out of it, just like all those people with diabetes just snap out of it. 

Have you tried St. John's wort?
Yeah. Okay. I don't really know where to start with this. Lets go with the fact that a plant has variable potency from plant to plant, there isn't an agency that controls the distribution, dosage, etc and takes into account this variability, and also, why would I take a plant that may or may not have the right amount of the right KIND of biochemical regulation that my brain needs to function properly when I can take a scientifically tested and proven medication instead? 

I think my spouse/friend/cousin is depressed. He/she/it cries a lot because someone just died last week/they lost their job/they broke up with someone/their pet hamster died. What do you suggest they do?
I'm not a doctor but I suggest a good fuck. Really. Unless they are seriously depressed, can't sleep, can't function normally, and feel like they are being kept prisoner by some psycho sad person in their body for like more than a few weeks, then they are probably just SAD. It's part of the human condition. DEAL WITH IT, you fucking pussy.

Okay. That was cathartic. Well, not really. See, I ran out of my meds on Sunday. Grandma died on Tuesday. I'm PMSing like nobody's business. These three things combined make me one hot fucking mess. I haven't really allowed myself to cry yet for my grandma, because I am afraid that if I start I won't be able to stop. I haven't been able to sleep well since Monday, and I am tired all.the.fucking.time. C tries to help but he's suddenly become Mr. Horny and it's driving me crazy. Thank God I've started spotting so I don't have to have sex with him right now. Yes, that's how I feel. Did you miss the part about me being out of my fucking mind with depression right now? I actually cried on the phone with the insurance company last night while I was trying to 1, find out WTF happened to the PCP I had picked out, and 2, get an appointment for today to get my meds refilled. I forget how much I appreciate being *normal* until I run out of meds. Yes, it's my fault. I should have paid more attention and taken care of this shit last week. Whatever. It's too fucking late now.

I did meet with my new Kaiser doctor today for the sole purpose of getting my meds back on track. Whee. I wish I'd met with her under better mental health circumstances, because I'd have liked to seem like a nicer person than I feel like I am right now, and she seems very nice, but whatever. I had to do this stupid "are you depressed" questionnaire. Um, YES I am depressed, you stupid asses! I ran out of the medication I have taken (almost) every day for the last 4 years for my depression and my grandma died this week. Of course I am depressed. Your stupid fucking questionnaire isn't going to tell you a fucking thing that I couldn't tell you in about 30 seconds about my medical history. Also, the MA made me weigh in when I got there. Yeah. Nothing boosts my mood like getting on a scale fully dressed with my shoes on and weighing in at 4 pounds MORE than I actually weigh naked, and then it being in my fucking medical record now that I'm overweight. It recorded my BMI at 25.2, which IT ISN'T any more. I know, I know, it's a seriously stupid thing to get pissed about. But I have busted my ass (well, sometimes) to lose that 7 pounds since Christmas and to have the fucking doctor's office screw me over on that and make me out to be fat is NOT cool right now. Yeah I said 7, I gained back 2.

Of course, J is being a normal 2 year old and throwing occasional (daily) fits. I am in the worst possible mental state to deal with that. So I yelled at him today for crying because he didn't want to put his coat on so we could go to the doctor. Go me. Great mothering, stupid. Then of course, he cried harder and I started crying. This is such a fucking joke.

My Zoloft had better start working soon. I can't take much more of this bullshit. I doubt it will really kick in until Sunday though, it usually takes a couple days to get me back to normal if I miss a dose or two, let alone 5. Whoever in the cosmic scheme of things invented depression needs to have their fucking balls cut off with a pair of chicken scissors. Oh yes, I went there. Yes I did. Thank you Mr. Sigler for that bit of imagery.

And on that note, I bid you adieu. I can't really see myself benefiting from further internet ranting right now.

1 comment:

Caeseria said...

Um - been there. Runs in my family, so my dad totally understands me, fortunately. The summer before I went to college, I started getting weird, getting angry (I get pissy more than sad), one day I threw a tantrum and broke a TV remote, my dad handed me a beer and said, "You need this." (I was 18, that was a shock!) And we had a really long talk about depression, how it works, what can help, what doesn't, the fact that (for us at least) it does get better after a time, etc. He and I both married people, though, who tend to hang around looking concerned until we want to scream. My husband has learned, when I'm depressed, to NOT bring me treats and then smile anxiously like an eager-to-please puppy asking, "Do you feel better now?"
And mine is JUST depression, nothing else, and isn't an all-the-time thing, it comes and goes - I could be good for a year or so and then spend a few months really volatile for no reason, kind of thing.
I've looked into the herbal route a little, just to have a temporary "take the edge off when I know what's coming" thing, but it rather scares me, in part because of the unregulatedness (I know that's not a word), in part because I've had weird reactions to hormonal birth control and just can't fathom taking something on a whim that will further mess with my brain in any way unless I know exactly what the possible effects are, and in part because the people who advocate it won't admit there ARE side effects, because "it's natural". Yeah, so's salicylic acid, but there are warnings about when and when not to take aspirin. Oh, but wait, that's because aspirin's a regulated and researched medication, unlike, say, St. John's wort.
(Actually, the "further messing with my brain" worry is why I'm determined as heck to not do meds if I can avoid it, because if my growing list of "will not take" drugs can mess with me, I'm terrified to think what I would go through finding the RIGHT drug and the RIGHT dose, for something that's not a CONSTANT problem. Is the medicine working, or am I just not depressed now?)
I remember screaming at my son to SHUT UP when he was, I don't know, less than a year, and then bawling my eyes out for hours afterwards. THAT was a low point. Seems for me that every time I get low enough to think it's time for medication, that's when the tide starts to turn. Thank God.
When he's a couple years older (thinking five years old?), I think we'll be talking about why Mommy is sometimes angry/crying/irrational, and that it's not him.
What worked for my dad, and I try to use it on my own, was cognitive behavioral therapy - he said it helped just to remind himself that what he was feeling wasn't him, but the depression, and then consciously work around it. Helps a little. But that's us, no anxiety or OCD in the mix, and not bad enough for meds. That's AWESOME that you do have something that works, and works predictably.

Here's to the Zoloft kicking in!