– _ –

In 20 years, I’ve never said these words out loud about *this* subject.

I don’t care anymore.

I’ve been struggling for over a year, now. I fell into the deepest depression of my life for over 12 months, and no one noticed.

No one cared that I pulled away, that I chose isolation over socialization. That I chose silence instead of community. No one cared to try to talk to me about it, or to help at all.

(None of this refers to my Nephew, or my children).

I’ve been having a really difficult time since I had to stop taking the antidepressant. My moods are all over the map, no matter what I try to balance. I swing wildly between crushing grief & borderline rage, all the while, flailing chaotically with a happy-faced smiling mask, trying to distract the masses.

Trying desperately to NOT break down into tears at my desk.

I’ve been patronized & ridiculed for my mental illness, told “You should do –*this thing* — and you’ll be Totally healed. If you don’t do this, you obviously don’t want to cure your anxiety, depression, migraines, etc.” #theyknowallthesecrets #becausetheysayso

As though I’ve never done any research into the medical issues I have. Who, ME? No, I don’t do research….. *oozing sarcasm*

As though mental illnesses that are exacerbated by a chemical imbalance can EVER BE CURED COMPLETELY.

I’m so fucking done. I feel like tossing all of my social media platforms (barring WordPress and tiktok) onto the ground before me, dousing it in mental gasoline, & burning those fucking bridges to ash.

I am quickly reaching endgame.

That point where, when you have nothing left to lose, you throw every-fucking-thing to the wind in a last second Hail Mary pass.

When the unknown is preferable to what you can see in front of you, it’s time to light that match, cross that bridge, & toss the flame behind you.

I’m done sitting down for others to try to walk over me.

I’m making plans, & cleaning house.

The silence only gets deeper from here.

My Floor is Lava

My emotions are all over the place right now.

Ever since my ER visit, & subsequent withdrawal from my latest med, I’m a sobbing hot mess, who can’t seem to figure out if I’m ok, or if my floor is lava.

So, I had a visit with my regular doc today, & I was hoping she could put me on a different med.

Instead, she told me that, because we’re having difficulty finding a med that works for me now…she’s referring me to the psychiatric clinic.

Now, back up a little.

I’ve been on anti-anxiety meds since 2008. Yes, it took a couple of trial-and-errors to find one that worked for me, but then I was on that one for about 12 years, with almost NO side effects.

Then, in October of 2018, I hit a depression so deep, I lay at the bottom of it for a whole year.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for my kids, my Best friend/Nephew, & my parents, I had 3 severe times that winter, where I would have “taken too many”, and just ended it.

I waited through the nice months of 2019. Normally the return of sun, warmth, & natural Vitamin D, can drag me from the seasonal depression.

But, it didn’t happen.

I finally told my doc when it was time for my annual physical (because I couldn’t raise any “give a fucks” to call sooner). I needed an antidepressant.

This was at the middle of December? maybe? Time gets weird when your brain is not balanced right. It’s slippy, & stretchy.

After a couple of weeks, my depression started to peel away like a bad sunburn.

Cue the side effects.

Then the ER visit capper.

Annnnnnd, here we are today.

My LOGIC says that my doc is right, & that a referral is probably the best thing. She’s not a psychiatric specialist, even though she does see a lot of depression/anxiety patients.

My INTELLECT tells me that this is fine, right & good.

My EMOTIONS, colored by the liars and thieves of anxiety and depression, tell me that my doctor has now washed her hands of this nutjob hot mess, who’s making shit up for attention.

And, since the doc told me that she’ll send my referral in, THEN the new clinic will contact me to schedule an appointment…

My lying emotions are now sobbing that they’ll never call, because my doc is just brushing me off, & I’m on my own on this from now on.

Logically, I know better.

Emotionally, the fucking floor is lava, & I’m going to burn.

And I’m having trouble even contacting my Trusteds, because I don’t want to lay this mess in their laps.

I know each of them would slap me on the back of the head & tell me that’s what they’re there for, & to stop fucking around & call them…

Again Cool Logic/vs/Emotional lava.

I just can’t right now.

I can smile, but it still burns.

Some of it works out…Some of it just pisses me off.

All my tests (EKGs, blood test, & Chest Xrays) came back normal. This is the good news.

Figured y’all would want that up front.

So, my symptoms on Tuesday, really were just side effects of one of my medications. And yes, I have an appointment with my primary to switch my scrip.

But…it’s been a long damn week. And there’s been some stuff that’s happened that just -flat out – pissed me the hell off.

So, I’m not talking about it here yet.

I know me.

If I give even an inch of my rant over here…it’ll be verbal diarrhea, & I’ll end up being the one with the regrets.

If I keep shut for a little longer…work on it in my head, talk it over with my Trusteds – then when I AM ready to spill, it will be tea, not gasoline.

I’ll leave you with a quote I found in a book I’m re-reading:

Question everything. Learn something. Answer nothing. ~Euripides

Beautiful Creatures -by Margaret Stohl & Kami Garcia

Freaking Obnoxious and Scared Shitless

I’ve been on a new depression & anxiety med for a little over a month, now.

The effects were great, at the beginning. I could almost -feel- the depression peeling away like dead skin. I felt happy again, instead of numb or so extremely sad that it felt as though there was no way out.

But, then, side effects started popping up. Small, at first, they grew & multiplied over this last couple of weeks. They began to interfere with everyday normal stuff, so I started feeling that I probably needed to talk to my doc about switching.

Even happiness isn’t worth some of the shit I’ve been trying to work around, lately.

Tremors that started in my hands, are now full-body. I feel as though I have mid-level Parkinson’s, & can barely sign my name. (Kind of a problem, as my signature has to be on certain stuff at work, & I don’t want it to look like it’s a forgery!)

Constant headaches – every – damn – day. I ingest so much Advil migraine in a 24-hr. period, it’s kinda sad.

There’s other crap too, but the capper started on last Thursday. I started having some really uncomfortable chest tightness and pains, which did eventually subside, but came back today.

Yeah, I called my doc this morning.

And she freaking sent me to the ER when I told them I was having chest pains.

Shit.

So, here I sit, now.

They ran an EKG right away, but obvi I’m not in failure, because they booted me back to the lobby a little over 2 hours ago to wait for a curtain corner.

Shawn Coss artwork -freaking genius
Shawn Coss artwork -freaking genius.

I just want out of here. I ain’t got time for this, I’ve got shit to do.

And yes, I’m fucking scared.

That’s obnoxious.

Struggling and a push

I’ve been absent from the blog for a while. I haven’t even been keeping up with reading the other blogs I follow.

I want to write, but my depression has been so bad for so long, that I haven’t had the emotional strength or motivation to even attempt it. And my fiction ideas have dried up.

So, I want to try something.

For those of you that read my blog, is there something that you’d like to see more of?

If there’s one of my fictions you’d like to see continued, let me know which one.

If you’d like poetry, tell me that, & I’ll work on it.

If you’d like more of my personal history stories, shout out, & I’ll see about continuing that thread.

Or if you’d like me to write more about my struggles with anxiety & depression, ask, and ye shall receive.

I just feel like I need a push in some direction.

It’s not coming from my internal furnace, so maybe I need to seek it outside myself.

So…I’m asking for help, which for me, is a big thing.

Any and all ideas & requests are welcome, but may not all be followed, depending on my comfort level.

Thank you.

Stop Dis-counting Me

I’ve been depressed for a long time.

I HAVE depression. It doesn’t just go away magickally, by itself.

Add my Generalized Anxiety Disorder into the mix, and it’s really a hot mess on the bad days.

And, I get it, it’s uncomfortable.

It’s difficult to talk about, especially when you don’t understand it, when you’ve never been through it yourself.

It’s not just being sad.

It’s not just being down today, because you have [insert legitimate reason here – breakup, funeral, bad grade, bad hair, flat tire] going on.

It’s not just a random feeling, one day, of anxiousness, or panic, because you have something big coming up.

This is ALL DAY. EVERY DAY. For weeks, months…..years…

I get it.

It’s hard to be around someone who has trouble enjoying life.

It’s hard being around someone who doesn’t socialize much, or at all, really.

It’s hard to be around someone who is always down on herself, uses self-deprecating jokes as a shield, and who is usually too tired to do all the really fun stuff.

It’s hard to be around someone who is quiet, most of the time, because she’s living so much in her own head. Mainly because that’s where she socializes. Because everyone else has already left to find the “interesting” people.

It’s hard to be around someone who wants to go home early, because she’s been watching everyone else enjoying themselves, out with their dates/spouses/S.O.’s, and is now on the verge of an internal meltdown, but doesn’t want anyone else to know – so she smiles tightly, says “Nope! Just tired/ gotta go home & feed the cats / do the laundry /” whatever reason gets her out quickest.

So you just stop asking her to go places.

You stop inviting her anywhere.

Because it’s uncomfortable.

I get it.

Even though, when you’re the one that’s having problems, I’m always there. Willing to lend a confidential ear, a shoulder, a tissue.

But that’s ok. I don’t keep score.

Because I know what pain feels like, I don’t want anyone else to have to experience it.

Because I know the crush of depression, I don’t want anyone else to have to live under it.

Because I know the constant dread of anxiety, I don’t want anyone else to have to fear it.

Just – stop dis-counting me.

I matter.

I’m not invisible.

And my feelings get hurt too. No matter what I might say in the moment.

Last weekend, OnlySon & I were arguing about addictions & video games, but something I said to him has stuck.

“Gaming addictions, drug addiction, alcoholism, Depression, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Schizophrenia, you name it, they’re ALL chemical imbalances that cause physical and mental problems.

JUST LIKE DIABETES.

No one blames a diabetic for BEING diabetic.

Why do people blame someone with Depression for being Depressed??

I take my medications, but they don’t work perfectly. They don’t magically stop me from being depressed, or anxious.

They do stop me from being tense all the time, grinding my teeth in my sleep, oh – and they’ve stopped me from killing myself.

It’s the little things.

We, as a society, need to STOP dis-counting mental illnesses, and the people who have them.

They need to be seen as just as valid as diabetes, hypertension, etc. They are all medical conditions. They should all be treated as such.

Stop treating me as less than.

And maybe, just maybe, I’d stop seeing myself that way.