To Sleep, Perchance To Heal?

I don't get it, and right now I'm not going to try, but later on I definitely will give in and do some picking around Google.

Here's the thing: Last night I went to bed feeling that I just could not take another step up the unending life hill. This morning I woke with an amazing blanket-like sense of peace.

Nothing's changed. In fact, the cards are stacked against this sort of feeling.

1. I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't get back to sleep for about a half hour

2. I had a really disturbing dream that I won't detail here, but suffice it to say it involved my family and moving away from my therapist...my anchor source for the past seven or more years

3. According to my doctor, the level of Adderall and Effexor are at their lowest in the morning. Which means I should, and should expect to be profoundly depressed.

And yet....I feel as though I am wrapped in layers and layers of calm; my brain feels like it is swaddled in protective paddings of warmth. What is going on?

I feel the pull of Google and search terms but I'm going to resist and go and work out. I have a gut feeling that trying to decipher this state of mind will wreck it, whereas just going with the flow will prolong the state. So...more endorphins it is.

Coda

One of the particular tortures of depression is the acute ability to feel the drudgery of life...to see the long, exhausting journey of it...and not to be able to develop the interpersonal relationships that would make the journey bearable. At least for me, right this very moment, that's how it seems.

I came across this article in RealSimple (which, by the way, apparently doesn't reprint articles on their web site) and I thought: Who are these people? How on earth are they able to enjoy each other and the life that they have, without buckling under the titanic weight of life's demands? These are successful women...the people that attend this slumber party...and they all have what appear to be high pressure jobs. How do they manage to still enjoy life?

And the questions: What's wrong with me that I can't? What am I not getting that they obviously do, to have a full schedule and not feel as though they are climbing a constantly increasing, ever unending incline?

I don't have answers right now...and the thoughts that are coming to mind are best covered over by sleep. So I'm off to bed with the dog and the husband and hopes that I will awake and find that this darkness has past.

Fascinating Facts

This will be a quick post, as I have expended nearly all of my available mental reserves on lauding Teri Gross, plus I am definitely feeling the effects of an oddly timed wave of depression.

Thanks to a post by a Bill Yarberry...and indirectly to my insatiable desire to know, I came across this interesting article about the connection between nutrition and brain function...with extensive mentions about depression. I have no idea if the author is legit or full of it, but a quick skim of the material leads me to believe he is on to something.

Unfortunately, I'll have to save a more in-depth investigation until this wave passes...as reading the parts about the numerous foods that the author is careful to eat and supplements he diligently takes is weighing on me like a metric crapload of bricks. I'm in the phase of mind in which I neglect to take my prescribed drugs out of a sort of global hopelessness; the last thing I need to do is read about drugs (food, supplements) that I should start taking (eating).

Off Note: Listening to NPR's constant tsunami coverage might not be helping either.

There's No Such Thing As Too Much Laughter.

When you're depressed, that is. Possibly even when you're not.

Anyway.

Teri Gross is reponsible for the nutty, crunchy, wonderfully eclectic show on WHYY that is Fresh Air. On this show, which Chicago's WBEZ so graciously pays to broadcast, she interviews everyone....from people you've definitely heard of (Will Smith, Samuel L. Jackson, Gene Simmons) to those you never have. Somehow, some way, she gets them to tell things they've never thought about holding forth on...mostly by the power of her peaceful, gentle, sounds-like-cashmere-would-sound voice and her unobtrusive manner; it's like she's simply suggesting rather than obnoxiously questioning.

David Sedaris is...well, it's hard to cocantenante into a single concise text string what exactly he is. Basically he's an author, if "author" was expanded to mean "absolutely hilarious human being with a penchant for arid, humorous stories and a fall down, roll around, gasp for breath vocal presence. Plus capable of many, many other wonderfully odd artistic expressions." See. Told you it was hard.

These two forces have smashed together this week in Fresh Air's series "Last Laughs" If you do nothing else this week, go on over and listen to Teri Gross interview David Sedaris. Preferably not while driving.

Regarding Asia At This Time

There's been a lot of coverage in the news and on the internet about the absolutely mind boggling natural disaster that was the tsunami in Asia but I chose to reference this site because it's a forum I regularly visit and can attest to the relatively high level of discourse, they include a list of links to sites that are accepting donations, and the mentions of friends, fellow posters and family infuse the casualties with personal emotions...something that often gets lost, or is rendered simply incomprehensible when the death toll is so high.

This isn't helping the lingering traces of depression that are still around after my late afternoon chaser...but I really don't care. I want to feel badly about this massive amount of life lost. It's hard, however, to fight the accompanying mind-churning; what can I do? what can I give? if I wait until I'm paid, is that horrible? if I don't give my entire paycheck, am I bad? if I don't go because I'm swamped with work and home, does that make me selfish? And on. And on.

At least I have the luxury of thought....negative or otherwise. There are many, many people in Asia that don't.

About Progeny. Sort Of.

I don't have kids. Don't want them. Never have.

Early on, say, during my formative years, I just never thought about motherhood; I was more into lizards and snails than sugar and spice. Later on, after the second onset of depression, my apathy regarding rugrats coalecsed into a protective sort of theory; by avoiding procreation I was protecting theoretical spawn from inheriting my defective mental genes and any other depression related fallout.

Because I don't have kids, I am, to my shame, highly intolerant of them. Now if I wander into a child-infested playground full of audible, physical chaos, I consider any resultant apoplectic rage my fault. However in certain locations, say, my neighborhood coffee joint, I expect a measure of control. Talking and laughing with accompanying hand gestures? Yes. Screaming children flinging display objects about? Absolutely not.

I started this in a Caribou Coffee somewhere in the wilds of Rockville...deserted except for a couple with their object flinging baby. Said couple only intervened when the baby tipped over...ignoring the several cards and two teddy bears the child pulled to the floor. I am now in an airport, accompanied by a large number of small children, all of whom alternate screaming, crying and whining. Sometimes in unison.

What exactly does this have to do with depression? Well according to some intelligent people, depression is anger turned inwards...an implosion of rage. Watching parents ignore their kids who are very obviously misbehaving, or reasoning with a screaming child who is incapable of adult thought... much less reason sends me to the very edge of the brink; I find myself with a stranglehold on the impulse to remind the parent that they are just that: a parent, and a helpless fury at the screaming toddler that can only be stuffed into a boiling simmering mass that lodges itself somewhere in the pit of my brain. I can only wonder if reducing my exposure to tired, cranky children...the ones that seem to be the most subceptible to auditory outbursts...would augment the pharmaceutical and holistic treatment regimen I am currently undertaking.

Now that I've had a few days to think about it, PTSD could be implicated in the screaming, whining children-->boiling impacted rage link. Without letting too many worms out of the proverbial can, I spent quite a bit of my childhood caring for needy adults. Any sort of neediness across my radar, which a small screaming child is the epitome of, turns on the burner under my mental-emotional state. Yet another item to add to my ongoing investigations.

More when I am back in safe territory, aka at Starbucks, with a large Zen and the knowledge of my dog and husband at home.

Hmmmmm.......

Dr. Drew Pinsky, co-host of Loveline and formerly in my opinion, a cheezy dork because of the aforementioned program wrote an amazing book that completely turned my opinion of him on its head. I like that. And I love this book. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Anyway, remember that post that supposed Black people possibly suffer from PTSD due to the simple fact of existing in a society that, not too long ago, believed they were inferior and, longer than not too long ago...but not such a long time, considered them property? Well, there's a line in Dr. Pinsky's book that reinforced that possiblity...at least in my mind.

"You know what picture I'm getting?" a man in front says. "I see one of those Japanese soldiers coming out of the jungle after hiding for thirty years because he didn't know the war had ended. You don't know anything that's going on. You don't know who to trust or which side you're on. Your instinct would be to turn around and run back into the jungle, where it was safe."

I'm not saying that black people want to run back into slavery, but I am theorizing that the not knowing....who to trust, which side to be on...causes a state similar to the hypervigilance common in PTSD patients. And, quite possibly, the reason why Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton continuously seek out "racist" situations to champion.

Just a thought.

Winter Solstice Is Upon Us

December 21st was the date of the winter solstice this year which, for all you SAD sufferers out there, is the equivilant of hump day. I meant to post on that date...and just might change the date of this post as soon as I can figure it out...because to me the fact that this is the shortest the day could possibly get, that this is the last time I'll have to watch the dark fall earlier and earlier, is a breath of fresh air or the cliched glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel.

Then again, given the extremes of Chicago weather, that light may turn out to be an oncoming train. I'm going to blindly hope for the tunnel's end anyway.

Postscript: Apparently changing the date is as simple as clicking a drop down menu.

QuickNotes

No, I haven't found a link between cold weather and depression yet...but I'm working on it. Until then, here's another seretonin enhancing picture...courtesy of my husband and his unique picture finding skills.


"You are aware that your face is COMPLETELY devoid of any sort of fur...right?"

Old Man Winter Is Here, And Boy Is He Pissed.

Screw what the calendar says. Whomever was responsible for assigning dates to days obviously has never been to Chicago where, as the saying goes, if you don't like the weather....wait a minute. It went from relatively nice on Saturday to ridiculously bitter, stay inside all day, two sweaters on the dog plus boots, cold.

Here's my proposal...any day in which the high temperature doesn't clear 10 degrees should be an automatic day off. And I'm not being selfish; this has nothing to do with my depression issues, winter hating self. Well, maybe something...but I'm proposing this for the good of all humanity. Seriously. Who wants to have to deal with driving and dressing and thinking in weather that can keep meat fresh? I thought so. Our Cro-Magnon relatives had it right: when the cold sets in, it's time to grab those woolly mammoth throws, huddle around a big old bonfire and stay put.

Seriously though...I am convinced there is some visceral link between depression, winter and cold. I haven't found it yet...and honestly I'm not going to go looking right now as I have some vigorous sleeping to do, but I know it's out there. Something more complex than simple SAD....some neurochemical reaction that happens when the wind chill kicks in.

Mandatory day off. Think about it.

This Is The Hour of Lead

Sometimes, before the meds kick my brain into gear in the morning, I feel a trapping immobility, an unshakeable inertness, laced with electrical shocks of anxiety.

Let me try that again.

You know how you feel when you are late for an appointment, but are stuck in bumper to bumper completely immobile traffic? Actually, make that a train stuck between stops , since you can't get off a train. Well, combine that with the feeling you get when you're sitting in the most abyssmal boring lecture...small group so you can't just get up and leave...and you look at the clock and see that you've only been there for ten minutes when you'd been dead sure it'd been 45 minutes at least.

If you intensify the mind-numbing lecture feeling by a power of ten and add just a hint of the gridlock anxiety, you'd be within shouting distance of the feeling. I practically stumbled to Starbucks this morning, and I'm convinced people are staring, even though I'm just sitting down, because I feel so thick and dull and logy...completely incapable of intelligence. I feel not at all here, as though I'm existing at one remove from normality.

I think Emily Dickinson said it best, so I looked her up the minute I got to Starbucks (after tea and Adderall). I was right.

"This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go."

Full poem, with a fairly extensive commentary, can be found at this site.

Black Man's Burden

My husband, in light of my description of hypervigilance, said that 'it sounded exhausting'. Which it is, just unconsciously so...manifesting itself (for me at least) through indigestion, aches in my shoulder and hip (because of constant tensing of those areas), and headaches that strike at the base of my skull.

Hypervigilance isn't an aspect of depression, but it is a diagnostic criteria (or whatever they call it) for PTSD...something my mood doctor, aka LCSW, suggested that I investigate along with depression. Coincidentally enough, depression itself is one of the manifestations of PTSD which, more and more, it appears as though I have. Upon skimming through the Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook and realizing that I met every criteria that was mentioned in the DSM-IV, one of my first thoughts was, 'Darnit! Now I'm going to have to change the blogsite again.'

That's not bad, is it?

Anyway, its been like the couple trying to get pregnant...PTSD articles seem to be everywhere I look. This one from Salon is good, mentions a number of alternative treatments that seem promising. Then there is this one, which isn't about PTSD, but is about race and being aware of being the other in American society, which made me wonder if being black and moving around daily in a world that is, at least where I live and work, mostly white doesn't somehow exacerbate PTSD. If I indeed have it, which is up for debate at the moment.

More later...and hopefully later will mean in a day or so - rather than in a week or so, now that I am on vacation.


Postscript: You'd think that if they could program an email client for a computer the size of a very small wallet, they could also include HTML formatting along with it. Apparently not, which is why there are no informative links in this post. Yet

Post-Postscript: Okay, okay, Salon does require a subscription or a viewing of an ad to read their articles, but it's a really good magazine so I don't mind sending people their way. Just trust me on this one.

Holdover..

I'm working on a longer post...I've had it in my drafts folder for a while...but since my schedule is absolutely insane I probably won't finish it this week.

So here is a picture of a bear with cookies to tide you over until then. For some abnormal reason, pictures that show an animal's inner thoughts and/or feelings cheers me up somewhat....so long as the inner feeling being shown is positive.

Drowning Again

If I had sat down to write this about five hours earlier, this would have been a post about how, post-depression, when everything is normal, I look back on the mire with more than a slight feeling of embarassment and shame. Was I that self involved? Was I that gloomy for no good reason?

But I didn't, and it's five hours later and what I thought was a few random flashes of embarassment was, in fact, a signal that the Adderall was fading. I took two of the 10mg quick release around that time, but I don't think they helped, except for to keep me awake longer than I normally would be...which means I am unable to get to sleep to be unconscious while this bad mood passes over.

Off to Plan B: Cuddle with the dog, who doesn't care if I'm maniacally happy or suicidal, so long as I keep scratching and don't leave him alone for too long. Works for me.

For Something Completely Different: Ron White's standup act is a wonderful way to get some laughs when in the middle of a really bad funk. By the way, that link is supposed to go to Comedy Central's site for his stand up routine, but the web geeks behind the coding must be off duty because it isn't working too well. Just in case you hit that link and see a schedule for, say, "Drawn Together", which I do not endorse at all, it being the worst show ever.

I Have No Mouth...

One of the more infuriating aspects of depression in all its varying forms is the complete inability to accurately express in words...at least words within the bounds of the English language...how I am feeling. This lack also varies depending on where I am on the emotional scale; if I am deep in depression I don't have the cognitive energy to put the blackness into words, or, I have the words and images I could describe, but lack the kinesthetic energy to put them down...if I have the vitality of normal life, I have the language to describe just how depression feels, but the words I would use seem, to my exuberant, enthusiastic mind, to be overexaggerating...it's not really that bad, I didn't really feel that gutted.

This paradox comes into play when communicating with others, in particular my supplier..er, psychiatrist. When I'm normal, trying to describe the hell I was in last week or last night even, feels like lying; I'm waiting for the good doctor to accuse me of angling for more meds. And I usually never see him when I'm depressed; my appointments are always around the noon hour so that my lunch break will cover it.

If I see anyone when I'm depressed, which I usually don't, I auto-mask with a smile and meaningless obsfucating chatter. For some reason I feel an overwhelming need to both protect my raw brain and to prevent it from oozing on to others. I don't want to see them shy away or watch them avert the conversation.

On a random note: It took me three days to write this thing...not because of any sort of agonizing over what to say but due to the insanely hectic breakneck pace of my schedule as of late. But that is for another post.

Depression and Exercise.

I'd always heard that there was some sort of link between exercise and alleviation of depression, but I wasn't quite sure what it was. Well...I still don't know, but that article does have a few interesting theories, chief among them being this one:

"Some research indicates that regular exercise boosts body temperature, which may ease depression by influencing the brain chemicals."

Hmmmm. This might explain why I feel lighter in summer and more depressed as the days get shorter.

No Fancy Shmancy Title For This One...

I don't post much when I'm experiencing near-continual depression, which I have lately...hence the lack of posts. The medicine isn't kicking in like it usually does; it's almost noon until I feel close to normal, and the normality starts to fade around the usual time (4 to 6pm) so I'm spending most of the day depressed. It's similar to when the days get shorter in the winter, only worse because it's in addition to the days getting shorter in the winter...which is a depression catalyst for me anyway.

I'm not entirely sure what has caused the change, but I have a pretty strong hunch. I'm well into the luteal phase of my cycle which is prime time for PMDD for those who are subsceptible. Oddly enough, the meds that I am taking are supposed to contraindict this, but between the change in birth control, and the shortened winter days, it's entirely possible that they aren't able to help much.

On a tangential note: My husband is in the habit of sending me pictures of animals throughout the day to cheer me up. It usually works, but the other day he sent this:




...which provides a perfect illustration in the difference between the way a depressed mind and a normal mind works. I opened this picture in my email and the first fragments of thought that came to mind were, 'poor dog...looks so lost...bet he's wondering how he got here...bet he's afraid and hungry and just wants to be someplace safe...I wonder if he's okay now....could have gotten blown up since the picture was taken...'

Whereas my husband's thinking went something like this: "Cool! Maybe the dog is the division mascot or something...I bet he's pointing out dangerous areas for the soldiers....'Be careful of that alley over there...it's got bad people in it', he's probably thinking....bet he gets lots of treats..."

Somewhere in the accumulated cruft of research on depression I've been doing on and off I remember reading something about how the limbic system can be set a certain way during childhood depending on the tenor of formative experiences; I vaguely remember it being a biochemical sort of thing. The aforementioned would be a semi-perfect** test case for that theory.

Off to muck about at work....and look up that picture and find out (hopefully) exactly what was going on with that dog


**Only semi-perfect because my husband had more than one experience in his minor years that, if the limbic system theory was correct, would skew his biochemistry towards the depressive side. Then again, he's not borderline obsessive compulsive, nor does he have the control issues or compulsive need to know know the way I do.

Addendum: Laughter...

I am an avid "O" reader; they consistently publish articles that address the human condition, plus helpful, usually well researched solutions. Bonus: the pages smell really good. While doing my Sunday morning coffee-and-read session, I came across this in the July '04 edition. I'm going to tack this on my fridge as an ad-hoc emergency reference.

Laughter: The Best Medicine For Suicidal Depression

I may be on to something here.

Normally, my Thanksgiving routine goes something like this: Sleep late, read a lot, and then right around the time I'm sitting down to a dinner my husband cooked, spiral down into an anxiety spiked depression.
This year was different. The plunge into depression happened, albeit a little later and minus the jittery anxiety, but this time, after I had gotten my pie and ice-cream and had told myself to go directly to bed after, I joined my husband on the couch with said pie where he was watching the Seinfeld special on NBC. Within five minutes, I was laughing to the point of tears running down my face. And after that, I felt better. I mean, better in the sense you get in the middle of a ton of craziness that says, 'hey...everything is going to be all right,' even though it isn't and the crazy is still there.

Thing is, I had just turned off the television on a hilarious VH1 episode of Top Fifty Most Awesomely Bad Songs Ever and that did nothing to boost my mood...which is why I turned it off. Not being able to laugh at something that is supposed to be funny just adds to depression which I definitely don't need.

So what was the difference? I'd seen the VH1 show before, which maybe had something to do with it. Also, the funny in the Seinfeld special came from a) watching two funny people...Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld...recount their initial misfortunes with getting the show up and on the air (which was in and of itself, funny) and b) watching snippets from Seinfeld episodes, which basically consisted of people caught in situations that are so frustrating that you, if you were in such a situation, would have to laugh to prevent yourself from flipping out and killing people in the near vicinity. Tangential Note: Sometimes the characters did flip out, minus the killing but definitely including some screaming, yelling and flailing of arms and legs. Then again, I'd also never seen the Seinfeld special before.

At any rate, I suggested to the husband that we purchase the new, just released Seinfeld DVD to keep on reserve until the evening 20mg chaser of Adderall started working, or until my doctor gave up and started me on a new round of mood-altering amphetamines (aka Ritalin). According to the numerous advertisements throughout the special, the DVD holds Seasons 1 through 3 plus a whole lot of extra features. That should be enough to tide me over.

Note: The bold face...with the exception of the "Tangential Note" indicates place marks where I would like to put links to relevant content as soon as I am off of work and thus the work network which probably blocks such info and definitely logs visits to sites containing such info. I work hard while I'm at work and I feel it's okay to take a break every now and then but I still don't want to have to explain why I was looking for information on NBCs website or in IMDB's database.

Till Human Voices Wake Us And We Drown

Normally I don't post when I am depressed. Tonight, I wanted to do an experiment and force myself to make one update while in the middle of the madness. Experiment over. I can't think enough to type something witty and all I want to do is sleep until the pain stops. I do have a running list though.

Things I Actually Thought About Doing To Get Rid Of The Pain

1. Slam my head against the wall. Repeatedly. Problem: neighbors would call the cops
2. Drink lots and lots of alcohol. Problem: Don't drink, so no alcohol on premises and I can't stomach the rubbing kind.
3. Slam fists against the wall repeatedly. Problem: see number 1.
4. Slice with knife and/or razor. Problem: too addictive. Done it once before, which makes it exponentially easier to do it again.
5. Scream loudly until neighbors call the cops, they take me away and give me something to stop the pain. Problem: Husband, job, marriage...all down the toilet.
6. Take lots and lots of pills to kill the pain. Problem: Crazy, stupid desire to live.
7. Grab something and shake and shake and shake. Problem: Nothing satisfying to grab, too slowed down to shake.

Off to bed, which may not kill the pain, but will mask it for a while. Usually I take the meds first thing, or close and they kick in right around the time I realize that I am awake and dying. Lying still and breathing sometimes helps also.

Quick Note: Helpful Tools

I'm going to visit my pusher, er, psychiatrist today a meeting that, for me at least, evokes a certain amount of anxiety due to the fact that I don't really know what to tell him. Usually around the time that I see him, I am feeling normal, i.e. the drugs are working the way they should. When I feel normal, the times that I was depressed...even if they happened just a few hours earlier...seem unreal, fictionary. When I tell him about them, I feel as though I am making them up, or if I am exaggerating their magnitude. The same goes for the visits during which I am depressed...I can't remember ever feeling normal or happy, and I can't imagine ever feeling so.

I thought it might help if I had some sort of dry, clinical scale for emotions...some logical way to present my range of feelings. I did a Google search and this site was one of the first hits. It's a bit sparse, but it has a point scale as well as brief descriptions so it will work for now...seeing as my appointment is in about an hour.

If you need such a chart, use in good health. Oh and post a message if the link is broken...or if you're feeling adventurous, Google for your own and post back.

RealSimple is Really Peaceful

I have a subscription to this magazine that I was cajoled into getting when I purchased a coat from JC Penny over the phone about two years ago.

I don't know why this magazine lifts my mind when I am depressed, but it does. Some combination of the type, page smell, neat pictures...I don't know. But it works...so I'm passing it along.

Today was a white noise day...meaning that both enthusiasm and depression were absent. I functioned appropriately today...but that was about it. Hey, between this and living death, I'll take the white noise.

*Ping*

There are times when I am trapped and cornered in my head and logically I know that there is a way out and the lightness is out there somewhere, but in my gut, in my soul of souls, I cannot see it.....there are times that, while in that moment, an event happens at just the darkest hell, that is as if someone came to meet me with a candle, and help.

This is one of those times. I woke up in the middle of the darkness, stumbled around trying to pull myself together, and do the things that needed to get done to get ready for another day. I am sick with a serious chest cold on top of everything....everything...and I sat to drink yet another cup of daytime TheraFlu of the fifty millions I drank this week, and out of the corner of my ear I heard this on the radio. Speaking of Faith | The Soul in Depression

I am listening to it now, and it is like drinking gulps of light-infused water. Every two minutes or so, someone says something that is another flashbulb going off...another burst that is "Yes. That is exactly what I was trying to say when explaining how I feel."
If you are reading this and in the middle of the living death (as this program so accurately pinpoints it) follow that link and just listen to the program.

Note On The Title: I read an article in O magazine one time while trying to distract my lowered brain. It was about two people....one sick with a brain tumor and another, a teacher I think, who at the beginning did not even know each other and by through a series of intuitive events that the author notes as 'pings' become favorably involved in each other's lives. This radio show is like those 'pings'.

Oddly enough a "ping" is a communication packet sent by the TCP/IP protocol stack to the designated address. It is used by network administrators, usually, to find out if a server is up and running and functional.

More Proof That Dogs Should Run The World

Along with the other non-pharmaceutic remedies that I am using, I have a dog. The best, in my biased opinion, dog there was at the pound...although I did want to take all of them home, or to someplace where I could be assured that they would be treated lovingly and given lots of space to run, toys to gnaw at and treats. The pound is not a good place to go if you suffer from depression...even if you do adopt you will, guaranteed, feel awful for all of the ones you couldn't.

Anyway...I'm a very firm believer in the therapeutic benefits of dogs...especially when it comes to depression. I have never been in a depressive episode deep enough that Roscoe couldn't at least bring some sort of smile to my face. In fact, it is my opinion that there aren't many problems that a dog, or a dog-like mindset couldn't solve. I almost wrote in my dog on my ballot in the recent presedential election; I figured that he was more well-behaved than any of the candidates were.

This story, from Slate (one of the better online magazines in my opinion) proves my point so well that I came up with a catchy ad slogan...to be used for, well, I have no idea...maybe to encourage more pound adoptions. Anyway, here it is:

Dogs: Is there anything they can't solve?

Enough said.

Research Mode

The Brain Place has an interesting article on the limbic system, and the way it works. Especially fascinating is this observation:

"When the deep limbic system is less active there is generally a positive, more hopeful state of mind. When it is heated up, or overactive, negativity can take over. This finding actually surprised us at first. We thought that excessive activity in the part of the brain that controlled emotion might correlate with enhanced feelings, not necessarily negative feelings. Yet, we noticed, again and again, when this area was overactive on SPECT it correlated with depression and negativity."

Which makes me wonder if increased limbic activity burns through the depression linked neurotransmitters faster, which results in depression. Of course, there's that whole cortisol link as well...

I Do Not Think That They Will Sing To Me

I have a dog, a wonderful dog, and I live next to some wonderful dogs. I can tell exactly where I am on the depression scale when I see them.

If the meds are humming right along, leaving Roscoe (that would be mine) after walking him doesn't phase me at all...even after an assault with his best "pity me" face.

If I'm on the falling side of a dose, seeing Henry...aka "Tough Guy", the Jack Russell next door...wandering around his yard nails me right in the chest. Even though he is probably thrilled to be outside, and even more excited to get pets from me, his eyes and his little wagging tail seem, to my darkening brain, like symbols of infinite longing; I see an eternal painful loneliness in him that does not exist.

And Roscoe with his huge Boston Terrier eyes? Forget it. I've cried on the way back to work after walking him...even though I know he's back there, on our bed, completely engrossed in his hunt for the treats I've hidden in the blankets.

That's what pisses me off about those sanctimonious proponents of positive thinking. If it were just about thought replacement, yeah sure. But that's no help when the source is bad. I could spend most of my mental energy smashing the "bad thoughts" into "good" ones, but the suckers keep coming from some infinite well. Sometimes just a smell evokes a wash of pain. How on earth do you guard against that??

More sometime later...I'm off on my (seemingly) endless search for help

And In Short, I Was Afraid

The sign off name at the bottom of the posts comes from my most favorite poems of all time, The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock.

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the Eternal Footman hold my coat and snicker,
And, in short, I was afraid.

Something about that poem....certain lines just grab at a muscle or nerve right behind my gut and just pull. It's the same feeling that happens at a certain line of music, or a certain space of time when a bunch of disparate elements...the light through a window, music from a speaker, noticing the time in a clock on a wall...come together and make a palpable, tangible sort of something that reminds you that your time is short, you are getting older, and there are many, many things that you will never do or that you can never really communicate to someone else, even if you are close to them.

It sounds like a bunch of hokum, mostly because it's a something that can't be easily defined by words....those disparate elements that you can't reproduce in words on a paper or in a post are the best way of definining that feeling. I don't know if everyone feels those things at times, or if it's just a function of the depression...or the medicine I am taking in hopes to relieve it.

It's been a boomslang of a day today as if it weren't obvious. My emotions have been ricocheting all over the place and I don't know why. For a control freak like me that is the worst...doing all the things that I am supposed to be doing, taking the meds at the right times, eating the tryptophan rich foods and taking the multi vitamins, drinking the water and the herbal teas and going for long walks and watching funny things....and watching your state of mind plummet.

Two more slices of toast (carbs are good for serotin production) and I'm off to bed. Sleep works when nothing else will.

Note To Self: Do Not Skip Exercise

Yesterday I felt like the crap someone scrapes out of the bathtub drain before taking a shower. Pretty much all day, in spite of the Adderall and Effexor and numerous doses of Theraflu and Claratin.

Today, I feel definitively better. And I haven't even taken Theraflu...which I will definitely need if I am going to be able to haul a server into a rack. The difference? Exercise.

Yesterday was the day that I see my therapist, which means I have to leave at 3pm to race downtown, which means I have to be at work at 6am. In spite of how much I love to work out, vigorous exercise at 4am doesn't work for me. So Wednesdays I usually skip it.

Evidently this is going to have to change. And since my neighbors would have something to say about me exercising while it's still dark...it looks like I'm going to have to change my appointment.

Helpful Depression Tip Of The Day: This stuff is great. It smells like citrus and something else soothing, so it's not obnoxiously morning smelling. And waiting for it to dry forces you...me anyway...to slow down and calm down, which helps me stave off the depressive feelings. And no, I don't work for Neutrogena either.

And Now For Something Completely Different

I've got some serious beef with Snoop Dogg.

As a rule, I hate current rap videos. I'm sick of seeing some stupid looking guy with seriously ugly chains around his neck and troops of skimpy clad women shaking their butts and boobs at the camera. I definitely don't want to know that you have a billion Rolexes, and a billion Royces and a forests worth of fur. And whomever came up with the pimp cup needs to be taken out back and beat down.

Then Snoop Dogg comes out with his latest video.

Skimpy women? Check.

Stupid, tacky looking jewelry? Check.

Obnoxiously ostentatious displays of wealth? Check.

But it's all done with a black and white finish, sharp arresting images (especially check the image of a hooded Snoop with cigarette smoke wafting up), and a seriously minimalist feel. Which means I like it. In spite of myself, and my dislike of against objectification of women and throwaway wealth.

So I have a serious beef with Snoop Dogg. And some serious props for the man.

Quick Note: It's Probably Illegal To Feel This, Well, Normal

I'm late for work, but I had to note this...plus the email to publish functionality of my blog appears to be fubared and I need to test it by way of this post. There are some times when the stars align and the cosmos is in harmony...and I'm overusing the cliches here but I'm at a loss as to explain how this happens but I feel absolutely normal. I'm relatively optimistic about the day ahead, my brain is thinking of ways to solve work problems, I'm looking forward to some pleasurable events. In other words: the meds are working!!!

Usually I go back through the morning...because it's usually morning when this happens...and frantically archive everything I did that morning that may have contributed to my current mental state. Today's dump would look something like this:

• Ate three pieces of toast with brummel and brown spread
• Went back to sleep because I felt sick...hacking cough, stuffy nose.
• Took liquid non-drowsy Theraflu at 5:00 am, took generic Claratin (orally dissolving kind) around 6 am and first Adderall dose at 7 am.

I'm not sure if I can safely take that drug combo together on a regular basis, but perhaps there's something to this multiple drug combo; currently I take all my effexor in one fell swoop in mid-am, perhaps it would be better if I split the dose and took it with my multiple Adderall doseages.

Off to work. More, hopefully, later.

Changes...

Not that anyone is reading this, but in case you are...or were...you may notice that I've changed both the title and the address of this blog. I was thinking about it, the title, for a while the other day(s) and realized that depression resembles the current title and URL more than the former. Fighting a demon is easy...minus the potential of getting burned or skewered, or posessed...whereas fighting encroaching darkness is something else entirely.

How do you fight oncoming darkness? Turn on a light? That's good, and it allows you to see, but there's still bits of it lying around in corners and behind doors, in the closet. And once you turn the light off, it rushes in to fill the empty space.

The scariest part of a scary movie that I've ever seen is the last snip of Nightmare on Elm Street. It's sunny outside, nice and bright with a blue sky and pretty trees and such. There are a bunch of kids playing jump rope and singing and laughing. The main female character is walking out the door, a smile on her face. Everything is normal. Then, out of nowhere, Freddy strikes.
It's not the unexpected that gets me....it's the something horrifying and dark appearing in the middle of a beautifully normal day.

I won't insult anyone's intelligence by explaining the various analogies to depression this evokes. I'll just say that today, along with most of the days this past month, has been one of those beautifully normal days...

Tis Better To Give...

There is something to this 'it's better to give than receive'
saying....mainly that doing something completely unasked for others
somehow is a small respite from the gloom. I'm not sure where the
reassuring feeling comes from, but my current theory is that it is
comforting to know that soon, as a result of your actions, someone
else will feel less crappy than you do.

I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out what
actions, interactions, events, things, foods, music, TV shows, what
have you, will help alleviate the depression. Mostly because the
medicine that is supposed to be working a certain way, isn't.

I have what my psychiatrist calls "drug-resistant depression". Which
basically means that he looks increasingly perplexed when I tell him
my symptoms haven't changed, which I do now on a monthly basis. I was
downgraded from a once every three month visit to a once a month visit
when I reported that my functioning went from "being able to think and
act and feel energetic and enthused about the upcoming day" to "trying
to keep myself alive" in the course of a day.

I've taken a lot of different drugs and seen more than a few doctors,
but because of the nature of the illness and a couple of very bad
times in the last decade, I'm not sure exactly which drugs and which
doctors I've taken and seen. I definitely know I've had Prozac and
Wellbutrin and amitriptyline. I'm definitely sure that I've taken
Risperdal..it made me gain at least ten pounds and that's not
something you soon forget.
I'm almost positive I've had Zoloft, and I did take lithium for a
while after I had one mild mania episode. I'm currently trying out a
combination of Effexor and Adderall. The effexor dose was at 450mg
once a day, but at the last visit the doctor decided to lower that and
up the Adderall...adding a 10mg instant release pill to my 90mg
extended release dosage (30mg pills, three times before 1:00 pm). He
says I 'just need to figure out the timing' of the dosages on my own,
which is unnerving...not because I can't, but because of the sinking
feeling that I have that my depression is rapidly progressing to the
point where it is outside the bounds of his expertise. Which
basically sucks, since he has much expertise.

Right now I'm playing with the timing and adding any and everything
that could possibly help. There is a laundry list of items, but since
I'm at work and it is now 3:44 and I still haven't taken a lunch, I'm
going to save it for later.

What's The Big Idea?????

Whomever is responsible for this daylight savings or negative daylight savings, or whatever it is called needs to be forced to move to Alaska during the time in which they have no sun. Or locked inside an underground dwelling with no windows. Reversing time so that we get screwed out of hours of sunlight is the worst idea since the Edsel and probably worse than that.

Officially I don't have SAD, but I may as well since the onset of the reversal of daylight savings brings about a deep feeling of suffocation and doom. The weeks and months leading up to it evoke hints of dread, but the day it finally snaps into effect is the worst. My brain locks, full stop, at the idea of it being dark at four thirty in the afternoon. I drove the entire way home thinking 'I'm not going to make it, I'm not going to make it, I'm not going to make it' over and over again. Whatever depressive strains were floating around in my head increased exponentially.

So much for the holdover dose of Adderall (10mg, instant release). I may as well have taken a sugar pill. Will now attempt self medication by ingesting tryptophan by way of several Almond Hershey bars and watching my dog wrestle his stuffed snake to death.

Those Pesky Side Effects

Most antidepressants that I have had the pleasure of taking have the unfortunate side effect of memory interference. Either that, or I'm just way to busy for my own good. In either case I depend heavily on my Pocket PC and Pocket Informant to keep my brain in order. I've alarmed all the times I'm supposed to take my drugs, and the Alarm Note feature is helpful to post reminders of things you absolutely must do before, say, walking out the door.

Posting to this blog was not one of those things, however, I'd forget if I waited until I got to work. Plus I'd already alarmed my "must do before leaving house list" in the bathroom and didn't have time to add "post entry about reminder software"

*I in no way work for WebIS or any of its affiliates. There is plenty of good handheld reminder software out there....Pocket Informant just works the best for me. And the colors are pretty....a small matter of great importance when battling depression.

First Post

I got this idea some time between my last Adderall XR and my holdover Adderall dose...which means I was somewhere six feet under rock bottom and falling further down. Somehow in the middle of that black muck, I figured that posting my daily battles with this pernicious disorder would a) possibly help someone else out there and b) keep me alive longer. Of course there's always c) I'll give up this project before it's started due to the increasing ineffecacy of the antidepressants I am taking which will d) contribute to the negative thoughts that augument this disorder.

Basically, this is one story in what must be a million stories out there about what it's like to battle depression on a daily basis. The only difference is that this one is public.

*Additional Comment: The title of this blog was taken from the book The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon. I haven't read the book...when I skimmed a couple of pages at Borders I could tell it was a little too much to take on at the time...but it's title was an excellent description of this disorder. Since I don't like confrontation, nor do I have the funds for a protracted legal battle, I decided to alter the name just a little.