I’ve been avoiding the Internet — Twitter, Facebook except for my Mafia Wars account, my blog, your blogs, even e-mail when possible. It’s a sign of depression for me. But this time I’m determined to continue blogging, no matter how difficult it is. I’m at least getting out of bed, though I haven’t been showering every day, if at all. My hygiene is at a minimum. I mean, by the time I’m done using the bathroom, I’m pooped. Haha. Seriously, I am drained.
This last bout of depression was beginning to improve, especially because I was also finished PMSing. Then an incident occurred on Saturday morning. We were supposed to take Basil to the vet for a tech appointment (not a full exam) at 10:30. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom yet, and by the time I did, we were running late. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but Brian and I began yelling each other, I began feeling extremely anxious — while on the frickin’ toilet — and scratched up my left arm. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until it was all red and the top blood vessels had burst like they do when I scratch a hive or mosquito bite more than I ought to. It wasn’t my intention to harm myself; it was very much like wringing my hands or working a piece of fabric (like from my shirt hem) between my thumb and forefinger when I’m anxious.
I had already had bad IBS experiences the few days before, and my self-disgust was — is — at an all-time high. I realize this isn’t my fault, that it’s the IBS, but I’m still not convinced because going to the bathroom is something we learn to control at an early age. This incident on Saturday plunged me into yet another depression. I had already seen our family doctor earlier that week, who prescribed something that’s like a preemptive Immodium. I can’t remember what it’s called. I took it for the first time that morning, 15 minutes before eating, as directed. The only real difference was that when I had to go, it wasn’t as incredibly urgent as usual — just that I didn’t have to go early enough to give me time to get ready to leave the apartment.
Anyway, I haven’t even wanted to talk to my therapist on the phone, but I have. I have a follow-up appointment with the doctor in about a month. In the meantime I’m supposed to get an MRI for my ankle and some sort of nerve test that will hopefully explain why my left hand suddenly goes numb sometimes. Not numb like I can’t feel it; more like pins and needles, even though I haven’t been sitting on it.
I’m trying not to stress eat, and it’s been tough. But seriously, the last thing I need is to gain even more weight.
by Patrick O’Brian
What in the world possessed me to read yet another book about a bunch of British guys on a ship (the Royal Navy) in the late 18th century, immediately after reading an edition of Joseph Conrad’s short story, “The Secret Sharer” (complete with representative works of critical essays), that’s also about a bunch of British guys on a ship (the merchant marine) in the late 19th century, which I absolutely hated?
This: last November I saw the DVD, Master and Commander starring Russell Crowe and Paul Bettany, and loved it. (Both also starred in A Beautiful Mind.) Brian told me that our brother-in-law is a fan of Patrick O’Brian’s novels, and since I thought the movie was so awesome, then certainly the book must be even better. Because they usually are, right? Wrong!
Novels, because they aren’t limited to about 2 hours of film time, are far richer and offer background that is cut from the movies. In this case, we learn how Captain Jack Aubrey of the HMS Sophie and Doctor Stephen Maturin become friends. We have the pleasure of reading how Aubrey receives command of the Sophie while grounded in Minorca, and prepares her to set sail.
But instead of receiving orders to pursue and capture a French Naval ship and the setbacks and near misses and heroic battles wonderfully portrayed in full, Hollywood splendor, the Sophie only takes part in several skirmishes, none of which are…all that. About halfway through, the book was a surefire way for me to get to sleep and yet I continued doggedly, waiting for a full-scale battle only to reach an anticlimactic ending.
However, Aubrey and Maturin are well-rounded characters, neither of whom are perfect, which makes Aubrey, to me, especially endearing. If you have an elementary knowledge of Spanish and French you’ll either cringe or laugh at the way he horribly mangles both, using words from each language — plus English — when communicating with non-British characters.
The language O’Brian uses is mind-boggling — he really knows his way around a sloop and more than merely peppers the narrative with “mizzen” here and “topgallantsails” there, whatever those are. You get the full jargon and yet, even though I had no idea what the Sophie’s crew was doing at certain times, the story is so character-driven that it didn’t matter. For all I know, a “poop-deck” is how sailors referred to the ship’s litter box, since it was a long-standing tradition to have a ship’s cat for rodent control and crew morale.
Master and Commander is the first in a series of Aubrey/Maturin novels and although I was a little disappointed, now that I know what to expect, I look forward to reading the next one.
Well, there were the holidays, and then this depression crap, so I didn’t have a chance to announce that my poem, “Domesticity” was accepted for publication in the Spring 2010 issue of Center: A Journal of the Literary Arts. Of my 2 separate poetry submissions last year, I got an acceptance and what a friend calls the industry standard (read: rejection). It’s true what she says: rejections are pretty much the norm, even for well-established poets, so I’m not really concerned about the rejection.
Personally, I like collecting rejection slips because when I finally do get an acceptance, it’s a sign of how far I’ve come. Of course, poetry editors are subjective, so whether or not your poems are brilliant, an acceptance really boils down to many variables: the editor’s mood the day s/he reads your submission; his/her personal taste; whether or not your work “fits” the type of poetry the journal publishes. That last is the trickiest. It means you really have to read and research where you’re going to submit.
The second bit of news, of which I wasn’t aware until Brian found it on the Interwebs last week is that apparently, in November 2008, I was one of several featured poets in an exhibit Filipina and Filipina-American poets at the…Library of Frickin’ Congress! That’s pretty amazing. Although it’s old news, you can read about it here and here.
I don’t own lap cats; my cats own my lap.
Angelo says: More pet pics are available for your viewing pleasure at this week’s
Friday Ark. If you post your own pets’ photos, leave them a trackback or comment and you’ll be listed there, too. And remember — they don’t limit pictures just to cats!
I saw the pdoc yesterday. He brought up ECT. This morning I thought fine, let’s do this. I’m sick of feeling the way I do. I don’t want to try yet another med that I’ve already tried only for it to work for a month or so and then stop working. But I’ve been through the list of SSRIs and everything else but the tricyclics and oral MAOIs.
When I went to the bathroom this morning it was with every intention of getting in the shower afterwards but when it came time, I just couldn’t. I’m not even sure I didn’t have the energy so much as I just didn’t have the will. The motivation. And motivation is a HUGE red flag, which is why I was all about ECT this morning.
Brian took me to see my therapist this afternoon, and I changed my mind about the ECT, at least for now. We worked out that the kernel of my day-to-day depression right now and for a while, has been the IBS. So the plan is to see my family doctor and find out if I need to see a gastroenterologist or another colorectal surgeon. My current IBS doc is a CRS in the suburbs. He isn’t in the far suburbs, but I want someone closer to home.
Meanwhile, after the pdoc mentioned ECT yesterday and went through my chart and realized I’d been on all these different types of antidepressants, he suggested EMSAM, which is a patch. I reminded him that I’d tried that already, but I couldn’t remember why it didn’t work. I was ambivalent about it, so he wrote a separate prescription for it (he writes the Rx for all 3 of my meds on 1 sheet of his Rx pad). Like the Abilify, which I was on when it first came out, I was put on EMSAM when it first came out, so like the Abilify last spring, I will probably try EMSAM again.
Although EMSAM is an MAOI, it doesn’t have the dietary restrictions (no chocolate, cheese, wine unless you want to die, for real) that traditional MAOIs do, although according to their medication guide, at a 9mg patch, you can’t eat those foods. I’m starting on 6mg. There’s also a contraindication with using Tegretol, but Tegretol is also contraindicated for birth control pills and that’s never been a problem. So I’m waiting to hear back from him about whether or not I should use it because I will not take any other mood stabilizer other than Tegretol.
Aside from that, there’s the whole logistics of the thing. He said to put it on early in the morning so I’d be able to sleep at night, but wasn’t sure if it’s OK to take it off like, while working out or showering. There was nothing on the web site mentioning it, either. So I’m having obsessive thoughts/anxiety about how to use it: is it OK to take it off for a little while? What if I take it off for more than 2 hours? What if it doesn’t stick back on? Etc.
On the other hand, though I’m using everything in my willpower that I have to write this post, I honestly don’t know if I’ll have it to drive myself to my fitness class tomorrow. Perhaps I need to readjust my goals as far as that goes.
