I keep trying to convince myself that knowing why you’re depressed makes the depression better, because I spent so many years feeling depressed and having no actual reason as to why.
I am beginning to think that I am full of shit.
I keep trying to convince myself that knowing why you’re depressed makes the depression better, because I spent so many years feeling depressed and having no actual reason as to why.
I am beginning to think that I am full of shit.
Last Saturday I took Keagan to the vet for his arthritis. He was having a lot of problems getting around. They prescribed him gabapentin, which I thought was funny, since I take that for anxiety, and carprofen, which is an NSAID pain reliever. I was delighted he perked right up and seemed to feel a lot better.
Tuesday evening, he was really weak. He didn’t want to eat. He didn’t want to go outside. He just wanted to lay down. I was worried, but we had auditors, so I was planning on taking him to the vet Thursday or Friday. That idea went out the window when I woke up at 2am and he couldn’t stand up. He’s wet himself, and he’s crawled across the floor to get out of the wet. My heart sank. I considered rushing him to the ER, but instead I made him comfortable and laid on the ground with him for the rest of the night. I barely slept. I just wanted him to be okay. In the morning, he still couldn’t stand, though. I called my mom and told her had to go to the vet, and she came over to help me get him downstairs, and later into the car so I could get him there.
The vet, a very nice man by the name of Dr. Fedder, who always called Keagan my mutant (for what else can you call a Corgi/Husky hybrid?), said that Keagan was extremely anemic. The first potential cause could be a tumor on his spleen. They’re very vascular, common in old dogs, and very fragile. It was very possible that he’s had it, and that when he started moving around more, it ruptured: meaning he was bleeding into his abdomen. The surgery to save him would need blood transfusions and had a very low survival rate, along with a very high cost. The other likely cause would be an autoimmune disease. It’s harder to diagnose, and I’d need to take him to the emergency vet for a series of tests. If it was an autoimmune disease, he’d need to undergo blood transfusions, chemo, and a lot of pills. Survival was 50%.
In what has been the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make in my entire life… I chose to let Keagan go. He was 17, the survival rates were very poor, and I didn’t want to put him through chemo and pills or surgery at 17 years old. I couldn’t live with myself if I’d selfishly put him through all the stress and pain just for 6 more months or maybe a year… I didn’t want to watch him slowly degenerate right in front of me, just because I couldn’t let go. It hurt more than anything I’ve done, including when they ripped my wisdom teeth out. I’d rather have done that every weekend for the rest of my life than have to have let him go… but life doesn’t work that way.
It was a blessing for me that this experience was nothing like when I had to put Joie down all those years ago. Joie bled out into his abdomen, too. His blood pressure was so low that the shots didn’t work. They gave him enough to put down a St Bernard, and he was a small Bichon thing. We ended up having to hook Joie up to the anesthesia machine and watch him struggle to stay awake. He wasn’t ready to go. He was scared to leave. It was excruciating. While letting Keagan go was excruciating for ME, he didn’t fight it. They gave him the sedative, and he nodded off like he was supposed to. I promised him he’d be okay, and so would I. I told him to say hi to Joie for me. While he had low blood pressure, the second shot worked almost instantly. He stopped breathing, and he was gone. I don’t think he even saw it coming… which is best for him, and probably me.
The vet said I could stay with him as long as I wanted, but he got cold so fast… so much faster than I would have ever guessed. I hated to leave, but he just wasn’t there anymore.
I’m having him cremated, and I get a paw print.
I went home and cried. I folded up his kennel and rearranged so that when I come home tonight the first thing I do isn’t to be reminded he’s gone and collapse. After that, I got in bed and didn’t move again until my mom came home. She brought dinner and we watched some mindless cooking show at her place.
Sleeping was hard. I’m so used to him being there, curled up next to me. I woke up in the middle of the night and reached out for him, and he wasn’t there. I woke up in the morning, and he wasn’t there. I let the dogs out and I counted 1-2-3—- there was no 4, and I just cried. I cried on and off all morning, trying to get ready for work.
I managed to get up early enough to sit in the living room while everyone ate. Bdo didn’t eat all his food. Kyrie didn’t eat all her food. Even Kira, who didn’t even like Keagan, because she was so jealous of him, didn’t eat all her food. They know something’s up. They know yesterday morning he was here and I was sad. They know I came home without him and was sad. They know he didn’t come home and I’m still so very sad. I wish I could explain it to them.
I’m incredibly sad. Keagan was my best friend. He was my soul mate. He was my constant. He was my world. No one will ever love me as much as Keagan. I love all my dogs, but Keagan was, and always will be special. I’m going to be incredibly sad for a very long time…
In the meantime, I have to be okay, because I promised.
One of the hardest parts of that is Kira. I was mad at her yesterday, because Keagan died and she never liked him. I was mad because I thought she wouldn’t even notice he was gone. She noticed, though, and it’s got her messed up. Also, I can’t be mad at her for being jealous: I favored Keagan all the time. And lastly, I can’t be mad at her for not being Keagan. She loves me uncontrollably. She does. No one will ever love me like Keagan, but if Keagan loved me like a soul mate, Kira loves me like an obsessed stalker.
I started thinking Keagan was going to die when he turned 10, because Joie died at 10. Keagan kept on going and was in great health till the last 24 hours, and I conned myself into believing he’d always be there…. Now I have to adjust without him… and that hurts so much…
I’ll never forget him.
I have high blood pressure.
My mom has high blood pressure and I’m incredibly fat and inactive… so, it’s not like this is unexpected or anything. What was unexpected is how stressful high blood pressure can be.
Let’s bullet this real quick.
And that brings us to today.
I picked up the pills… so I was up to 75mg… She knocked me down to half a pill (37.5mg) and added half a pill of Wellbutrin. So then she called in 37.5mg pills of Effexor, and I’m to take 1.5 of them this week to combat tiredness and withdrawal. Then decrease till I’m off Effexor.
That’s fine, I guess… but I feel like we’re moving backwards. I was doing great on Effexor. I’m on blood pressure meds now. The only up I’m seeing with Wellbutrin so far is that I don’t have the urge to smoke, even though I’ve been stressed out and sad. Great! But I’m supposed to be on vacation next week and I was really hoping to feel motivated to live so I can get some shit I wanna do, done. Right now I just want to sleep and cry. I’ve wanted to sleep and cry for years and I was finally kind of out of it, and now… we’re back here…
So I emailed my shrink… and asked when we’ll be increasing the Wellbutrin… because maybe it’ll work. It’s fine, if it works, but I am not currently fine. I had a freak out yesterday over cutting tomatoes… It was daunting, TO THE POINT OF TEARS, to cut tomatoes to put in a cake pan with eggs. That’s not better. That’s some shit I’d do before I started Effexor.
I feel very discouraged… I dunno what to do other than try to trust my shrink, but I’m not… great… at trusting mental health professionals…
In better news, I’ve lost some weight. Not a noticeable amount of weight, but 5lbs in 8 days. So, that’s good. I’m trying to keep up on exercising. Mom and I have been walking the dogs around the block a few times every night… we can’t go far cuz she’s still on oxygen at home, and all of us are out of shape, dogs included, but we’re doing SOMETHING. We didn’t go last night cuz of the freak out and general fatigue, but I did force myself to get on my stationary bike. I made it 12 minutes before my legs felt like they were going to explode… It’s not impressive, but it’s not bad for my first time in months.
I just… want to get better… Why is getting better so hard?
If I feel better, I can take better care of myself.
Not sad = can exercise & less binge eating.
Can exercise = will exercise. Less binging = less caloric intake.
Exercise + less calories = weight loss.
Weight loss = better heart health & better mood.
Repeat as needed.
But… that’s just not where I’m at right now.
I’ve been hanging out in the blue a lot… things haven’t gotten better at work… things aren’t better in my life, either… I can’t always keep up the optimism… and that really just adds to the feeling that I’m failing, even though I’m working as hard as I can on things in life.
I started writing a book. Scifi novel. I gotta get back on it before I’m away from it too long. I think it’s gonna be a good one if I can get it all down. Writing is a new hobby for me… but I think it could be therapeutic. I got a lot of feelings… maybe I can get some out via my novel.
I put my stationary bike together! But I haven’t ridden it yet… maybe tomorrow… I’d like to do it. I’m just so tired…
I dunno… life is hard right now… but… when is it not?
I accidentally made myself sad.
I finally got the Sims 4, which I’ve wanted since it came out, and I made me, fat and blue hair and everything, and I made all the dogs and I was stoked.
I thought it was pretty cool. I got us a little house and decorated it like I wanna do my real house, and I setup all this cool shit in the yard for the pets, and I was super excited to play!
I made it too real, though… My Sim has a gloomy characteristic that I thought woulf be kinda cute since I’m all bipolar, and I got her a job programming, cuz that woulda been a fun career, I think. Except she’s at work for 9 hours a day, and the pets are always wrecking stuff, and constantly need baths, and she’s perpetually exhausted cuz she’s sad, and has no time or motivation to see anyone, and the house cleaning doesn’t get done, and she can’t give all the pets enough attention, and it just got hella real life on me… cuz that’s all true, right down to neglecting my own needs in a vain attempt to get shit done that needs getting done.
I know it’s just a game, but that’s so real life… the Sims are right… it’s too much.
Speaking of… I should go to bed, cuz I’m due at work in the morning…
We replaced the billers but the bookkeeper quit, so I gotta go in to do MY work so I can train the new girl next week. I’m so tired of training new people… And just worl in general.
My stationary bike arrived, and I wanna put it together and use it…. nut I haven’t had the energy. Today I nearly broke down in a shoe store about my looks after mom talked me.out of these cute grey men’s shoes I wanted… I just wanted to curl up and die…
Found out a friend had gastric bypass. Wondered how she afforded it, like maybe there was a program I could apply to… but her parents paid for it… so… that dream got laid to rest again.
I’m so tired of being unhappy.
So far, 2018 sucks a sewage pipe.
First, work sucks for new and different reason than usual.
One of my office girls walked off the job, which was bad enough because the other was set to go on maternity leave at the end of January, but then the pregnant gal had her baby a month early. She’s fine, and it’s a lovely baby (named Ainsley), but that means I have NO billers and we’re in year-end. So, my boss and I had to do bill out, and salesman’s pay, and everything else, plus our own jobs… and we’re still not done. So… that’s been bullshit.
Second, until today, I was suffering from severe food poisoning. (It’s actually norovirus, I will later find out after googling it when Mothership contracts it later this month.) I dunno where it came from, but it was incredibly painful, and gave me vertigo, and it got so bad when we were working on Sunday in a mad-dash to try and get the fucking year billed out, that I nearly passed out. I had to very quickly get on the floor of the fucking bathroom at work. Fortunately, it hadn’t seen much use since we’re closed Sundays, but I did realize that the last place I want my mother/boss to find my dead body is on the bathroom floor at work.
ALSO, I emailed my new doctor at Kaiser, who I’ve never actually gone to see, and asked her about medication for severe stomach cramps that I’ve been getting since I was a kid, because I have IBS. She said no to my dicyclomine script, even though there’s absolutely nothing recreational I can do with it, and stated that since Kaiser didn’t make the diagnosis I could come in for testing. I’m not fucking going in for testing when I already have an EXCLUSIONARY diagnosis from two other doctors I saw for YEARS. So, instead of giving me my dicyclomine, she recommended the FODMAP diet for IBS, since I’m being a stubborn bitch about it.
Here’s what you need to know about the FODMAP diet… I’m not fucking doing it.
No onion. No garlic. No tea. No ripe bananas. No black beans. No black eyed peas. No beans at all, really. No cauliflower. No celery longer than 5cm, which is not enough celery to diet on. Nothing fermented. No mixed vegetables. No mushrooms. No peas. Nothing pickled. No apples. No apricots. No black berries. No cherries. No mangos. No nectarines. No peaches. No pears. No dried fruits. No pomegranate. No watermelon. No wheat. No gluten. No almond meal, either. Or amaranth flour. Or barley flour. Or bran cereals. Nothing normal people would consider bread. No cashews. No rye. No baked goods. No cous cous. No gnocchi. No granola. No agave. No gravy. No honey. No jam. Nothing with high fructose corn syrup. No corn products at all. No pesto. No relish. no stock cubes. No sugar free sweets. No artificial sweeteners. No tahini. No tzatziki. No more than one beer a day. No coconut water. No fruit juice. No kombucha, not that I’d drink that stuff anyways. No rum. No soda. No soy. No more than one glass of wine a day. No whey protein. No dairy. No carob powder, either… whatever that is.
The first three offend me most. I can’t imagine a life sans onion, garlic, and tea.
On top of that, all the fruit and veg I eat is supposed to be organic, which I can’t afford. Also like half the fruit and veg listed are things I’ve never heard of, such as callaloo, marrow, swede, and whatever the fuck a bilberry is.
The meat preferred is fish and seafood… and I live in Colorado, so I can’t afford that, either. For some reason I can have deli meats, which seems suspect AF, and MOTHERFUCKING KANGAROO IS LISTED AS MEAT I’M ALLOWED TO EAT. Really? Kangaroo? I’m not an Aussie expert, but I’m unsure that people in the AU are eating enough Kangaroo that it needs to be listed next to turkey on this list.
I can have espresso, too. Now, I hate to break it to a doctor who spent a lot of time and money learning to be a doctor, but if I ingest espresso, my ass is going to explode within 6 minutes afterward… and it’s gonna hurt… for like… two hours. Also, I have no idea what Kvass is, but unless it tastes like my darling Earl Grey Tea, it’s not an acceptable substitute to one of my precious drinking staples.
This diet won’t work for me for the same reason I can’t be a vegan: you have to make too much of the food yourself, or you’re going to be eating a lot of watercress.
It’s not like I thought 2018 was going to be MY year… I thought maybe 2017 might be, but it wasn’t. I just didn’t think that on day three I’d having imaginary conversations with shrinks about how if I killed myself it would be good for my mom AND me, because she only sticks around for me, and we are both miserable.
It doesn’t help that other people seem to be having a better time… Lindz is engaged and her fiancé bought her a a new car. Lovely 05 Subaru with purple rims. Mel is preggers. Bird is dating Dom for the umpteenth time in her life, but is planning on law school in the summer. D1 is dating a nice rabbi and has a badass job that earns him insane amounts of money. Billie just celebrated her 1st marriage anniversary.
The short list of good things happening for me is that this evening I upgraded my internet speed while also reducing how much I pay for internet… and my mom ordered me an exercise bike (because I’m fatter than I’ve ever been in my motherfucking life).
So I fucking give up.
Fine, doc, I’ll give up foods… but not onion, garlic, or tea. I give up on internet dating, and won’t do it this year. I give up on having a social life, because I don’t have time anyway, and mostly don’t even want to leave the house. I give up on my dream to make money via my art, cuz no one wants it. I give up most of my hobbies, because they’re just offshoots of the stupid art idea. I give up trying to make this house nice. I give up on trying to keep in touch with people. I give up Coca Cola… that’s a big one.
I just give up on trying to be happy anymore.
I try and I try, and maybe it’s because I’m an unmedicated bipolar, maybe it’s because I’m a god damn fat ass, maybe it’s because I’m too close to my mom, or because I’m a pet hoarder, or because I’m just an unmotivated waste of potential… but every time I try to be positive and do things I just get shot down. I not to let things bother me, but the things pile up until I’m drowning in them. I try to do things that make me happy and just end up realizing that nothing makes me happy anymore.
I’ve tried to drag myself out of my depression by the metaphorical hair, kicking and screaming… and all that’s happened is that I’m back in the fucking blue, drowning on my own sadness. So fine, self. You win. Life is terrible, and not worth living…
And that’s why we’re starting this year back at “I will live until my mother and my pets die… and then I’m probably just going to kill myself.”
Don’t worry… even my oldest pet is in good health, and mom will keep kicking as long as she can for fear of leaving me alone with no husband or reliable friend to take care of me… and I really shouldn’t feel so much despair about that.
It’s a curiously well-known fact that the act of making yourself smile will cause your body to release endorphins and serotonin, even if you aren’t feeling happy at that moment. Because of this, it’s been speculated that if you smile when you feel stressed you can minimize the toll that stress takes on your body. The official jury is still out on how strong this reaction is and if it’s effected by whether you’re forcing a smile or genuinely smiling (called a Duchenne smile, which involves muscles from around the eyes), but nonetheless studies show that it seems to have an impact.
Shrinks will tell you think of thing, too. If you’re depressed and nothing makes you happy anymore, make yourself do things that used to make you happy until they make you happy again. Pretend you’re still happy. Make yourself do things happy you did. Eventually you’ll feel better again, they say.
It sounds so easy, like when I mine information and develop new interests in things when I meet new people… but it’s not that easy. I sit down to draw and can’t think of anything to draw, or worse, I think of something to draw and ruin it. I try to play a video game, and I can’t even get the game basics right. I go out to a show and end up sipping vodka in the back of the room alone instead of talking to anyone, and end up leaving feeling worse than when I dragged myself out.
Recently, D2 had a friend who was really tail spinning. Long story short, a girl fell for her best friend. He didn’t feel the same. So she was devastated, and he was angry. Her behavior spiraled out to the point she cut herself and contemplated suicide. So D2 went to her house and held her, called her parents, and I guess she’s doing better now. He also planted in her head that she might be bipolar, like he is.
Here’s why that all bothers me.
A, not everyone is a fucking bipolar. D2 is diagnosed. I am diagnosed. It does not mean that everyone who tries to kill themselves is bipolar. It means a lot of people can’t deal with life. For a number of reasons.
2, I, personally, wouldn’t have time for this bullshit… Spiraling out in to overwhelming depression because someone doesn’t love you back romantically is a dumbass reason to be suicidal. It’s mellow dramatic. It’s attention-seeking. It’s stupid. Being angry at someone for having feelings for you is a dumbass reaction. It just invalidates that person and leaves them open to some dumbass emotional response that will distance both you, and turn into some superfluous bullshit.
D, D2 tells me all of this, about people I barely know, who have pretty much replaced me and my function in his life… and meanwhile I’m at home looking at hoarded bottles of Xanax, Temazapam, and antipsychotics wondering if I have to put me to asleep forever.
D2 thinks he knows what suicide looks like. He’s been there, tried that, and recovered. He knows what a spiral looks like. It’s big, it’s in your face, it’s trying to get people to hurt you, and getting blackout drunk, and causing a scene at work. It’s crying in public, and looking distraught, and not being able to keep it together. It’s cutting yourself, and screaming at your friends, and suddenly cancelling all your plans with people, and putting yourself in dangerous situations. Anyone can spot a spiral. Those are the people that end up getting help. Those are the people whose parents worry about them, and whose friends ask if they’re okay, and who end up in a shrink’s office on a script of Prozac. What D2 doesn’t know is what giving up looks like.
Giving up is a process. It’s quiet and gradual. It’s always cancelling plans last minute because you feel “sick,” but promising that you guys will do something together soon. It’s giving up your hobbies because you’re too tired after work, but promising yourself that you’ll get back to them. It’s not taking a shower for a week, because you wake up late every single day and don’t have time. It’s staring at a bottle of vodka in your freezer, and being too depressed to even drink your sorrows away. It’s coming home to people and pets that are super excited to see you, but being too tired to deal with their energy, so you yell at them or close yourself off in your room. It’s buying things you don’t need just because you think it might fill the hole in your life where your friends used to be. It’s eating too much. It’s not eating enough. It’s sitting in your car for an hour after you get home because you know that when you walk through the door your spouse/kids/pets will want attention, and you really should mop and vacuum and clean the bathroom and put your laundry away… and all you’re going to be able to do is sit down and waste the evening until it’s late enough to go to bed… and it all starts over in the morning. It’s the fakers, who still get up, and go to work, and smile when you see them who give up.
So I’m waiting for my dresses: bright colors and happiness. I’m working on perfecting that Duchenne smile: how to smile with your eyes. I stopped buying books so I can read what I have. I’m monitoring what I eat and when, trying to stick to lean meats, veg, and some chocolate. I’m trying not to look into mirrors too long, so I can’t see the cracks in the facade. I’m distracting myself with educational youtube channels and staring at blank paper until I decide I can try again the next day when it’s finally time to go to bed.
I’m faking it… and I don’t know that I feel better at all, but it’s pretty evident that no one is the wiser to what’s going on beneath the surface. No one’s come knocking on my door to check on me. No one blinks an eye when I cancel plans at the last second, no matter how many times in a row it happens. No one thinks twice about my overuse of the 😛 emoji, or how they haven’t seen me in real life in a while.
Sometimes, when I feel real low, I wonder what people would think if I were to kill myself. I mean, all the signs are there. It’s not like I’ve put real effort into hiding it. Just put on that fake smile and talk when you’re supposed to, and everything else can be ignored. Everyone always says they never see it coming when people kill themselves… but it’s because no one is looking, and even if they are, it’s easier to convince themselves that it’s not their business.
It’ lucky, or unlucky depending on how you look at it, that I have so many pets… I’m sad, yes. I think about killing myself a lot, yes. I am overwhelmingly responsible, though. I would never leave my pets, or my mom like that. Especially since my mother would just kill HERself, and we’d both be dead, and ten animals would end up in a shelter without us. It’s just a series of events that wouldn’t help anyone.
Still, sometimes I wish someone would ask if I’m okay and demand to just be there. What a hypocritical statement… it’s not like I bother checking on anyone… but they say suicide is selfish, so maybe that comes with the territory.
Update: I reached out to check on Bird. She’s been sad, and I wish someone would check on me, so I checked on her. And told her a cool Zelda hack about chickens. So… at least I did that.