More Mood Management Tools

Because it's still, technically, the holidays and I am still suffering from the fallout of them...here are more snippets of things I use to boost my mood.

Bill Cosby - Himself. Particularly "The Same Thing Happens Every Night" and "Natural Childbirth".

Bill Cosby - I Started Out as Child. I've been saving this one for when I'm really desperate so I haven't listened to it, but I seem to remember that "The Neanderthal Man" is pretty good.

Did I paste this already? I'm not sure. If I did, it's worth pasting again...it's that good. 'That', meaning 'Nike Freestyle'


Better yet, go and listen to the story behind it.

It's All About The Animals. A fascinating blog about an interesting woman who, among other things, takes care of a unique little animal called Pua. I'd tell you what that animal is, but I'd be ruining the fun. Make sure you check out the videos.

That's all for now. There's more, but if you're anything like I am you need something to look forward to.

iPod/iTunes: Sleeping With The Enemy

I have a love/hate relationship with Apple. Their ads, which I loathe, are pure fiction, but their iTunes service, which I make copious use of, is the shiznit.

Walking to and from work can be tough when the meds aren't working as they should; the empty time is dangerous for my pessimistic brain. For my birthday, my kind husband gave me a way to keep my mind on the upbeat...an iPod Shuffle. I took it to work with me this morning, charged it, and loaded it with all the stand-up I'd purchased.

Walking home to Jerry Seinfield's riff on Horses made all the difference in the world.

College and Mental Illness

Caught an interesting article that's part of a series from NYT called Off to College Alone, Shadowed by Mental Illness. It's good that some entity is examining this; I don't think anyone would've thought to consider depression as a risk for beginning college students when I was starting university.

Take Two Of Patton Oswalt And Call Me In The Morning

Patton Oswalt will save my life. Or at least get me through the holidays. I saw this guy late one night on Comedy Central and both the husband and I laughed so hard we were holding our stomachs from the sheer pain of laughing so hard. After that...I never saw him again, save for some brief clips advertising an upcoming Comedy Central series that I never could catch.

Just the other day I saw his face again; apparently he's guest-spotting on Last Laugh '06. For some reason I had the presence of mind to Google him and found his website, which lead me to the wealth of information that is Patton Oswalt on iTunes.

I've already bought the Terri Gross interview, the stand up TV show and at least ten of his album bits. I believe I've found the cure for my winter blues. Go ahead. Just listen to and tell me you don't laugh like crazy and feel at least a little bit better.

Laughter Really Is A Good Medicine.

I like Ellen Degeneres's sense of humor. It's a "make dry, witty comments comments in the face of utterly hideous circumstances" sort of funny that always strikes me as absolutely hilarious; probably because I'm a big fan of dry humor. Imagine my delight when I discovered that she'd managed to combine that desert witticism with my other big favorite: animals. In an ad no less. And, look at that! It's available on YouTube!



Well one thing led to another, and pretty soon I'd compiled a list of funny video snippets for the sole purpose of making me laugh, or at least chuckle when the depression had me at the bottom of the basement. Which, since it's the holidays AND the last week of my cycle, is pretty much every day now.

So for all those other sufferers out there, here's a few to get you started. Only a few though because if you're anything like me, you have to cling to something to look forward to....even if it is a clip from YouTube.

Ellen's AmEx Ad Outtakes: Bathing Elephants


Ellen's AmEx Ad Outtakes: Giraffes and Lightbulbs



Enjoy.

RFC

I work with computers. Servers, to be specific. There is something comforting about dealing with logical machines when my mental state is anything but.

Which it hasn't been as of late. Holidays are tough and this one is shaping up to be tougher than the last few. I've already had two meltdowns and although I'm hoping that's the last of it, I doubt that will be the case.

The problem with a meltdown, other than the crying, the stuffy nose from the crying, the intense emotional pain, the headache from the crying, is that picking up the pieces afterwards resembles playing detective. Why does this lamp not have a lightbulb in it? Track down lightbulbs, which are not in the cabinet where they should be. Search for lightbulbs which are...on the counter...partially open....oh right! I was opening the package to get a lightbulb to replace the one I'd just taken out of the lamp when I broke down for the first time that day.

Which brings me to the title: RFC stands for Requests For Comments, a brilliantly simple method of introducing new ideas to the technical community. RFCs brought us DNS (what keeps the Internet humming), WINS (what lets you find the server at work, among other things) and a slew of other nifty technologies. My thought? Wouldn't it be great if someone introduced an RFC for a method for automatically 'tagging' your life at the moment before a breakdown occurs, and for retrieving the 'tagged' information once the breakdown had past. You'd be able to, literally, pick up where you'd left off without the hassle of figuring out, say, why your phone is in the bathroom instead of out on the counter charging like it should be.

I was even going to write one up, but since it would contain technology that doesn't even exist yet (emotional fluctuation detector, flash memory brain implants, holographic bookmarks) I'm not sure the IETF would approve.

Layers

Part of my coping routines involve working out to TNT's continuous showing of Angel. The other day this leaped out from "Underneath" and hit me in the gut.

FRED: (kisses his neck from behind him) Whose fault is that? (walks around to kneel in front of him) Tell me a joke.

WESLEY: (softly) Two men walk into a bar. The first man orders a scotch and soda. The second man remembers something he'd forgotten, and it doubles him over with pain. He falls to the floor shaking.... and then through the floor and into the Earth. He looks back up at the first man, but he doesn't call out to him. (looks down at Fred) They're not that close.

Sleep, Perchance To Dream

The sucky thing about not sleeping well and depression is not that the sucky sleep makes the depression worse...it's that when you DO finally get good sleep, all of the dreams that you didn't have come at you times ten.

Which would be great if they were just that....dreams. But in my case, they are nightmares, and of the worst kind. I get the nightmares that are based in realityand truth...in fact they are incredibly realistic in character and tone...but with just enough unreality and lies to make me lash out in my sleep and suffer long after I've awakened. When I get a "good night's sleep", all of the issues in my life...the big, thorny issues that I don't have the time or mind to deal with all at once...come roaring into mind as those types of nightmares.

Last night was horrible. I'm typing this the morning after, with the lights on and TV going. The lights and TV are an attempt to shock myself into reality; to clear my head of the lies. From past experience I know this will work to some extent, but for the rest of the morning...or the day, given the multilayered, multi-issued nature of the dream I had...I will experience all of the emotions spawned from those nightmares. Hence the sucky nature of sleep, not sleeping and depression.

The morning pain is becoming unbearable . It goes away once the drugs hit my bloodstream but I have to grit my teeth and make sure I'm very busy during that time, lest I succumb. I fear that it will wear my brain down to the point where the meds never kick in.

Mad World...

Spike is running a marathon of Season Six of CSI. One of the episodes begins and ends with Mad World.

"And I find it kind of funny...find it kind of sad
The dreams I have of dying are the best I've ever had..."

If by 'dying', the writer of the song means, 'peace, stillness, quiet', then I agree with the chorus. Which to me is kind of scary.

Hiding The Horror

It's been hard lately, which is why I haven't posted in a while.

This quote, from Angel , came to mind:

GUNN
Do you know what the worst part of that place was? Wasn't the basement. At least there, you knew where you stood. Demon was gonna cut your heart out and show it to you. Nah. It was the fake life they gave you upstairs. The wife, kids, all the icing on the family cake. But somewhere underneath it, there was the nagging certainty that it was all lies, that all the smiles and the birthday candles and the homework were just there to hide the horror. (turns to face Angel)Is that all we're doing here—just hiding the horror?

The meds have been sporadic in their effect recently. The worst time is Wednesday morning, when I do an early shift to make it to therapy on time. Lately I've been feeling like I'm barely holding on with the edges of my fingernails; one time, while getting a glass of water from the fridge console, I banged my head against the freezer door in an attempt to distract from the pain.

It goes away...the pain. When the meds kick in I can feel the pain smoothing over. But the wait for the drugs to take effect is getting longer and harder. And that quote from Gunn haunts me. The good that I feel when the drugs finally take effect, is that just hiding the horror? Is the horror real or the icing?

Fire In The Hole!

Thought I'd post in the middle of a morning in which the meds aren't working as usual. Normally I'd be feeling calmly energetic, aware of problems that may arise during the day but with the frame of mind to take care of them without devolving into anxiety.

This morning I'm just tired and sad and worn out. The only sign I have that I've actually taken the meds are a prickling anxiety, a tenseness in the shoulders, a stretchy feeling around the eyes.

The only reason I can think that this morning may be different is a huge crying jag I had last night right before bed and the events leading up to it...which I don't have the vulnerability to go into detail about.

It's reassuring that the Adderall doesn't keep me from feeling sad, crying or other expressions of melancholy but paradoxically enough it's when I feel this way even after I take the meds that I worry. That the meds may be losing their effect or the depression is coming back stronger than the current cocktail can handle.

This Is Your Brain. This Is Your Brain On Electrode Input to Area 25

I am a sporadic member of a depression forum that, among other things, is an excellent resource for articles on new treatments. The other day I ran across this fascinating example ; a personable write-up of an experimental method for treating depression that involves directing low voltage current to a part of the deep brain called Area 25.

The part that gripped me was the immediate response to the treatment reported by the patients...akin to a light switch being flicked on and off. That and the next to no side effects experienced.

Word Spy - self-talk

I visited my therapist the other day and came and left with a feeling that there was and is something bothering me but just below the surface of my mind; I can't figure out what it is. My therapist recommended, among other ideas and questions, boning up on my self-talk, specifically repeating the phrase "I am safe" to myself.

Today I walked to work and repeated that phrase to myself over and over. Oddly enough I didn't feel any better, only worse and after about the tenth or twentieth repetition, something in my head responded "Safety isn't the issue."

To which I now wonder, what is?

It's All Fun And Games Until Someone Loses Sleep And Throttles The Life Out Of Those Responsible

Marriage is a perilous thing. Don't get me wrong...it's a wonderful experience: wonderfully beautiful and wondrous strange and terrifying. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing in all of the preparations leading up the marriage...chosing the church, reception hall, bridesmaids...attending the bridal showers, marriage counseling (or not), rehersal dinner...prepares you for the gargantuanly infintisimal aspects of intimacy you will experience. Someone elses removed toenails, shedded foot skin, variously sized and colored eliminations...all of that is included in the love and cherish and sex.

My husband is a snorer (if such a word exists). He is a snorer of Valhallian proportions; both he and others have relayed fantastical stories of the volume of his snores. Early into our marriage these nighttime bellows were halted by the application of a c-pap machine; they are now back due to some cryptic malfunction preventing the c-pap from doing what it should. I'd grown used to the quiet while sleeping and now that the snoring has returned I find myself unable to fall and stay asleep without earplugs.

This would be an acceptable solution were it not for the simple fact that the earplugs block out all sound: the snoring, the soothing CD advertised to create peaceful dreams, the alarm that wakes me for my morning dose of synthetic thyroid, the other that wakes me for my morning dose of antidepressants. So I use them sporadically throughout the night, which provides only a placebo type help when it comes to sleep.
Combine this with the ever-increasing frequency of nightmares and my nighttime slumber has effectively been torn to shreds of a couple hours here, an hour there...I sleep in gasps. There are volumes of literature out there on the impact of sleep, or the lack thereof, on depression and vice versa and I have read enough of it to know that sleeping in this manner...in fits and starts...is to the illness like a match to a gasoline-soaked warehouse of firecrackers and napalm. Basically the catalyst for the inevitable disaster that comes when it is struck and applied.

Last night it was sleep...waking to a frantic dog in need of peeing...sleep...one nightmare...sleep...yet another...doze...one more, all to the tune of loud, penetrating snores. I gave up somewhere around too early 'o' clock and am now hoping beyond hope that I can wring out another half hour, hour of slumber before I start my day.

That Stupid Female Thing

Working with all men definitely has its perks; I prefer it over working with all women. The environment tends to be more straighforward, more direct; there is less game-playing and the game-playing that exists is, in general, more upfront, usually transparent.

There is one huge downside to it and that is the utter inability to commisserate with a fellow worker while suffering from a truly nasty bout of PMS. That and the simple fact that if you forget your 'feminine hygiene' products at home, you are utterly screwed.

Yes, email is a wonderful invention, allowing one to communicate almost instantaneously with another potential fellow sufferer...but it's not the same as venting bloat-related frustration to someone who is physically right there. And last I checked object teleportation still hasn't been invented so IM'ing a tampon is right out. Which just sucks.

Brought to you by the word bloat, and a wicked case of emotional turbulence.

Insert Witty Title Here

I finally broke down and made an appointment with my therapist (not to be confused with my psychiatrist) after having, in short succession, a shouting episode and a sobbing collapse. In my defense both were instigated by an extremely aggravating run-in with Comcast which, at one point, had me on the phone with dispatch, on the internet frantically searching for the developer's contact info, restraining Roscoe...who desperately needed to go outside...and trying to communicate with a physically present technician - all at the same time. The crying wouldn't stop until I'd gotten off the phone with everyone I needed to call (husband to explain absence at dinner with friends, therapist to make appointment and simultaneously sob while explaining my current state) and curled up around a bowl of cereal and my second reading of Vellum.

I did see my psychiatrist who, after listening to my recounting of the interesting experience of having the exact same situation evoke two completely different responses depending on the time of day in which it occurred, prescribed a bottle of 10mg Adderall XR. To be taken in increasing doses at 12 noon until the desired effect is reached. I'm alternately flattered that my psych trusts that I will not abuse the flexibility of said prescription and disturbed that I come across as such a competent person...given my fluctuations as of late.

The move (bought condo on south side of town which required moving from the north...where I've lived since moving here) and all experiences surrounding it were too much and differing from the point of this blog to recount here so I've also started another. I'm probably overextending myself in doing so, but I need the compartmentalization.

Down The Rabbit Hole

The anxiety, medication drop-off, nightmares, and the overall sense of being off-center, are getting worse, seemingly in direct proportion to how soon I will go from the North side to South1, renting to owning2, selling my jewelry at one store to two3.

These are all good developments. Beneficial things will happen to me as a result. Yet my brain...my neurochemistry responds as though these changes are threats. In response to those percieved threats, my thoughts move towards ways to control everything and anything, by attempting to think through, plot out every possible situation and a plan to respond. Which, of course, is impossible...and the impossibility sends my thought patterns into wilder and wilder convolutions and tighter and tighter knots, leading further and further down the depression path.

There has to be a way to reprogram this reaction. Not chemical...my brain seems to wear this stuff down. There has to be a way.



1I'm in the process of moving because
2we just purchased a condo.
3I made jewelry to help with depression. Apparently people want to buy it.

Weird Like Me

I'm a big fan of Law and Order...the Jerrry Orbach years preferably...and an even bigger fan of the CI spinoff. Primarily because of this character, played by Vincent D'Onofrio.

Why? He's eerily smart, not good with the people skills and, as an episode alluded to, is possibly afflicted with a nascent mental disorder thanks to his schizophrenic mother. And still manages to hold down a full time job in spite of said disorder.

Basically, someone that I can relate to. In fact, I think the only main character in a TV show that I can relate to.

Random Update

It's been crazy lately both in my head and in real life. One thing I am discovering more and more (and more and more painfully) is that I do not suffer the unexpected or uncertain well.

Which is bad when purchasing a home, since the entire process is riddled with uncertainty. Also when switching jobs because, at least in my ongoing experience, getting used to a new work environment brings one up against a good measure of both. And I am going through the two aformentioned at the same time.

How is this all affecting my mental health? Well, either the medicine's effect is dropping off, or the irritation, short temper, anxiety and pervasive gloom are all normal emotional responses to periods of great change. It's hard not to jump to the fear that the medicine has stopped working. Harder still to ride out the big changes and see if the meds "start working" after they are done. Getting used to having emotions is hard after not having them for a long time.

This video has been helping. I can't say why, I can't say how, but it does.

Expectations of Normality

Sometimes...actually a lot of the time...I wonder how people around me, co-workers, aquaintences, etc., make it through a full day without collapsing in exhaustion after walking through the door after work. And by collapsing in exhaustion, read: hitting the bed at 7pm.

I have to remind myself that, in all likelyhood, they are not throwing back large amounts of psychopharmaceuticals along with large amounts of what boils down to legalized speed and an extra large dose of synthetic thyroid hormone. I really do forget that I'm taking this stuff in order to keep my brain functioning normally and as a result I beat myself up over the side effects.

The other disturbing realization...one that I've mentioned before...is how dependent my mental equilibrium is upon this pharmaceutical cocktail. This luteal week was worse than the ones before and I have to believe it had something to do with the four day interruption of synthroid and the brief switchover to multiples of 75mg Effexor tablets while I was fighting with the insurance company to approve the doseage I need. It makes me more than uneasy to know that, bottom line, my mental health can be upended by the arbitrary decisions of a corporation. Or anyone else for that matter.

The Voice Of God, AKA Morgan Freeman

I was listening to this show (A Better Moustrap, for those who stumble across this link later) and in the third segment they feature a guy who, for some reason that I failed to catch, was hosting a focus group for a new religion.

I had numerous issues with the focus group...one of them being that most of them didn't know jack about what was in the bible...but I did predict the celebrity voice they would choose to endorse the new religion: Morgan Freeman.

I've heard Morgan Freeman recently in March of the Penguins. More importantly, I'd seen him recently in Bruce Almighty, playing, of all beings, God. It was during one of my unstable, ragged periods and I remember crying during this movie, even though it was supposed to be a comedy, because Morgan Freeman made God seem like some One who was 99% everything I subconsciously wished He was like. Specifically he sounded calm, rational, caring yet powerful, threatening...but in a way that you knew wasn't arbitrary or petty. More importantly, it was a voice I imagined could speak a word and instantly heal my mental turbulence.

I've briefly tried to analyze what exactly makes Mr. Freeman's voice so, well, so that way, and came up with diddly-squat. Which is good because maybe if I had figured it out, the 'it' of it would be lost. And I'd rather keep it around because I may just need another dose in the future.

Random Stuff

Sometimes I feel like the dog in this video. Initially I thought this was funny, but watching it again I see a dog trying in vain to communicate but is unable to. Worse, he seems baffled by what is coming out of his mouth; he fully expects to be able to bark and is surprised by what emerges from his throat.

Baggage of a Black Person

I would've posted this sooner but my mental state has been a bit raw and ragged around the edges as of late due to recent stupidity beyond my control.

A while back I posted a loose theory about the correlation between race, specifically the black race, and depression. I have a hard time remembering what I wrote, but I have a vague sense that it was about how the extra burden of a subconcious awareness of one's immediate ancestors being regarded as inferior...along with the less than human status of more removed ancestors...could be a contributing factor to depression.

I caught the tail end of this segment on All Things Considered and it struck me so hard that I hunted it down to listen to the entire feature. This short special brought to life the constant, sub-level pressures of existing as a black person in a "white" society better than I could ever explain it here. Listening to this brought back too many painful memories and made me wonder why more black kids with "white suburb educations" aren't depressed.

Anger Level Rising Or Do Not Screw With My Head

I probably neglected to post about the fact that I recently changed jobs so consider this the notification. This is mostly a good thing, except for the re-registering for insurance process that goes along with any job transfer.

This actually would've been painless had it not been for the insanity created when attempting to fill prescriptions for the medicines that are vital to my mental health. Between the pharmacy...who lied about the number of times they attempted to contact my doctor, and the insurance company...who requires information in triplicate in order to justify authorizing a dosage other than the prscribed limit, and the lady in HR who I had to wrangle with on the phone to convince her the situation was urgent, I'm ready to throttle someone.

It shouldn't be this hard to get meds that are vital to my health. I shouldn't have to pick up partial prescription after partial prescription because I am waiting (3 days now and counting) for the people who dispense this stuff and the people who regulate the dispensing to get their collective shit together and push the paper or whatever they need to do to get me my medicine. I'm pretty sure I used the words "urgent" and "vital" with the insurance company and pharmacist and I'm fairly sure they understood me. So why is it taking so long?

I'd be a lot less angry had I not just spent a sleep lite night because I ran out of Effexor and had to suffer the resultant side effects. Actually, no: I'd still be this angry only I'd be more rested.

Straws

When the meds go south and the dark moods start creeping back, I'll take anything that can help. Such as the following:

• The Earthlink giant in the TV spot. Sorry, no image...seems everyone but me hates that spot; image search turns up a bunch of rants


• MSNBC's Animal Tracks archive


• Random friendly dogs


• "Homeless" by Paul Simon, off the Graceland CD


• Any song by Ladysmith Black Mambazo


• 
  
• Specific items of nostalgia
  

A few of the things that work for me.

More Drugs Or Round And Round We Go...

I visited my psych the other day and, among other things, brought up the matter of the breakthrough depression symptoms during my luteal phase. He suggested buproprin, which is the generic name for Wellbutrin.

I'm not adverse to medication...Lord knows I'm on quite a bit of it right now...but something inside me balked at the idea of adding yet another psychopharmaceutical to my current mixture. Yes the downswing of PMS kinda sucks, but not enough to start tinkering again...especially since the cocktail of Effexor/Adderall/omega-3 and multivitamins works well the rest of the time.

Thank goodness he had another suggestion: full spectrum light therapy. Although come to think of it that may have been because I mentioned that the sun yesterday had helped the breakthrough symptoms.

Quick Update

It's day two into my luteal phase and the meds have gone all screwy again. Up the omega-3? Up the dark chocolate intake? Add progesterone/estrogen supplements?

Not sure, but need to come up w/something fast...

New Development

It's Sunday morning, 5-ish am and I can't go back to sleep because I am so....excited. I actually woke at around 4:40 am but forced myself to stay in bed until 5. My mind was hopping with all of the things that I would get to do today, some mundane tasks, like returning off-color makeup to Target and some cool stuff...like going to early, early mass then dropping in on my favorite local coffee house. I haven't felt this way since I was a kid early Christmas morning.

I'm really hoping that this is a sign that the medicine is working and not the precursor to a hypomanic episode. Maybe I'm being pessimistic, but I've had one before and the comedown is a major suck...usually involving a return to Lithium and the subsequent thyroid malfunction and piling on of pounds.

I'm crossing my fingers for the excitement.

It Will Roll In Ecstasy At Your Feet

The title leaped out from a print found at this great show and lodged in my brain. The print can be seen in the Chicago Printmakers Collaborative...an amazing, idiosyncratic little place lodged underneath the Western el stop.

Something about art just gets me...I know that's what it is supposed to do but it seems, at least to me, that it gets at a deeper level under my mental skin than it does with most people. Not every work I see does this but those that do, really, really do. Once again, maybe my heightened sensitivity to art has something to do with the off-kilter neurochemistry that aggravates my depression.

Layers Upon Layers

Another layer of complexity to add is the nocturnal activity of my subconscious mind, specifically dreams. There are nightmares and there are nightmares, and then there are the type that access some real part of my past and twist it just enough so that I wake up in an alternate universe type funk that lasts for hours. Sometimes the nightmare is bad enough that no amount of medications, vitamins or comfort food coddling can snap me out of it.

What does that mean?

Sanctuary

I am in St. Matthias and this is the first word that comes to mind. Not the physical meaning of the word but the intangible representation of such.

My mind feels safe here. Even the in the times of dysthimia, my mind feels safe here. The vastness of the physical space somehow quiets any racing thoughts and levels any extremes in mood I may be experiencing.

I wish, as I have many Sundays preceding this day, that there was a way to take this space with me when I leave. Nothing else, no other place or mental exercise can replicate this mental comfort.

Time Out Of Mind

Sometimes I wonder what all of these chemicals are doing to my brain. What is the long term effects of these medications on my mind. Am I unknowingly subjecting myself to future neurological damage by tinkering with my mental anatomy now?

Looks like research time again...

Update

Looks to be a week of nasty, grey weather, perfect for seeing if the increased omega-3 really does help.

Also iSilo-ing the Wiki brain section. Hope that small aggregates aren't prohibited.

Random Update

So far omega-3 supplements seem to be working well; I started with two capsules once a day, then increased it to two capsules twice a day. It is currently cloudy outside, yet my usual dip in mood that accompanies overcast days is slight...only somewhat noticeable.

Random thought: If Adderall XR increases dopamine at the synaptic cleft, which heightens my mood, and this increase occurs right around the time I attend 7:30 a.m. mass, is it worship that is causing a feeling of connection with God or the increase in said neurotransmitters? If I weren't taking the drug, would I feel the same connection, the same warmth?

Alternate Theories: Malfunctioning Amygdala

Came across this thread while, oddly enough, searching for documentation on the effects of sunshine on the brain. Note this section:

"It's a quick and dirty response," says Pitman. "The amygdala triggers a rapid fear response to allow the body to take evasive action." Simultaneously to the "quick and dirty" response, other paths take signals from the thalamus to higher areas of the brain for more considered analysis of whether the stimuli represent a threat. "If, for example, the curve turns out to be a piece of hosepipe in the grass, then the prefrontal cortex reins in the amygdala response," Pitman says.

But if the stimuli turn out to represent a genuine threat, adrenalin and noradrenalin trigger a cascade of reactions in the amygdala, which then instructs the hippocampus - the brain's memory centre - to process the memory of those fear-inducing stimuli in a special way, imprinting them deeper than usual. "This stress-induced memory boost is a mechanism that evolved for survival," says Chris Brewin, a PTSD specialist at the Traumatic Stress Clinic in London. "Something very threatening needs to be remembered, so in the future, you're primed for action immediately."

Over the next few months, any stimulus similar to those experienced in the original trauma - even harmless ones - can trigger an exaggerated stress response in the amygdala. After a while most people learn that these stimuli are not a threat, and their brains make new pathways that override the old one, though they don't erase it. This process is called extinction. However, in some people - up to 30 per cent of those who directly experience a bombing, for example - the extinction mechanism doesn't work and the prefrontal cortex consistently fails to reign in the amygdala. The result is PTSD.

I've received a diagnosis of PTSD before, as a result of early trauma. There is a saying that depression is 'learned helplessness'. Perhaps if that helplessness was learned as a reaction to the early trauma, the malfunctioning amygdala, may be an aggravator of depression.

Something to think about.

Resources

Came across this during my ongoing search for clues for the reasons behind my persistent (yet admittedly reduced) depression. It says it's "for those with anxiety disorders", but the very first article listed is about Magnetic therapy and depression. This is going in my Favorites>Depression file.

Quick Seretonin Hit

This is late, but I need something to smile at today because my meds are sputtering due to fluctuating hormone levels. Or so I think. Anyway, this story should do it. I'm not sure why, but heartwarming animal stories are enough to lift my mood a couple of tics.

And to augment the story...here is a picture



I like imaging what the baby hippo must have been thinking:

"Big....roundish....sort of wrinkled. It'll work."

Random Correction

In an earlier post I said that Oprah gives me the willies, mostly because she appears to be coated in a clear, brittle shell. Since having a lunch with new co-workers...during which I could almost feel the existence of my own shell...I've rethought that statement.

Oprah's public persona gives me the willies.

It's entirely possible that she is an unpretentious, non-declarative, warm, vulnerable person in private but I wouldn't know because the only time I see, read or hear her are during snippets of her TV show...which I rarely (okay, once) watch...or her opening and closing magazine blurbs...which I don't read. So it's my admittedly minimal exposure to her public presence that strikes me as off.

And hopefully this will be the last mention of Oprah...public or private person...ever.

Thanks A Lot, Eve

I mentioned in an earlier post that my meds appeared to be sputtering for some unknown disturbing reason. After realizing that I was starting my last week of birth control, I hit up Google for a search on "luteal phase" (the fancy schmancy term for the time between ovulation and menses) and depression and found this website, among others, that pretty much confirmed my suspicion that the luteal phase was responsible for the decrease in effectiveness of my meds.

I've been roughly following the diet listed at that site along with diligently taking my multivitamins (with the addition of multiple fish oil capsules) with improved, albeit spotty, results. My next phase of attack would be to either split the Adderall dose from one 60mg dose in the morning to a 45am-15 late am dose, or separate the Adderall dose from the Effexor. Whatever works.

The Eve blame is a reference to the punishment she got for the apple business. I'm convinced that whole "multiply your pain in childbirth" clause covered a lot more than the actual labor part. But that's just me.

Quick Update

I have in mind one of those movies or old cartoons in which a character is flying a plane and hears the engine start to fail. That sputter-catch-sputter-catch sound is analogous to my mood over the past two days, and probably my blood-plasma levels of Adderall and Effexor as well.

One morning I'll respond predictably to my 60mg Adderall dose...warm euphoria, multiple intuitive moments, an optimistic view of the coming day...only to wake the next with a persistent grey emotional pallor that never quite goes away. Or the variences occur within a single day, the most unsettling experience of all.

Today is a grey morning in spite of the sun. There is a dull emotional pain somewhere in my chest. I don't quite know what to do other than treat myself as though I were fragile (minimal stress, plenty of carbs, lots of creative work done while watching pointless television) and hope it will pass.

Not Belonging To Life

The other day this leapt out of the pages of O and smacked me in the face.

They say
there is a rift in the human soul
which was not constructed to belong
entirely to life
-Louise Gluck

For some idiosyncratic reason this calls to mind my theory that the depressive brain is an evolutionary glitch that, minus modern pharmaceuticals, would have killed off those possessing it in order to protect future generations of homo sapiens.

In darker words, treatments for depression don't treat, but only delay the inevitable self-destruction of the depressive mind.

I Am Not Catholic

But I attended mass today. Actually for the past two weeks but I don't count last week because the enormous amount of infant vocalizations made it near impossible to pay attention.

Now at this point I consider myself a wrestling Christian. You know that Old Testament story where Jacob wrestled with God and didn't quit until God wrenched his hip? I'm past the hip and I'm still grappling. Why are monogamous homosexual relationships wrong? Is hell a place of eternal torture or do you get consumed completely and are no more? Can the bible be trusted? I'm fairly sure that this mental grappling only serves as a catalyst for depressive episodes.

This morning, however, in the towering vaulted sanctuary area, between the tall stained glass windows, all those thorny questions and depressive feelings fell aside and my brain was lifted up by gentle, careful hands, placed and wrapped in the neurochemical equivalent of a warm blanket. There was Something Bigger there and while I was within those walls I could just exist and let It sort stuff out. I didn't want to leave. I stayed for a good fifteen minutes after everyone had left and that was a good fifteen minutes after the mass was over.

I wish there was a way to package that and release it whenever my mood starts to head south. I know there's meditation, in which I could visualize a sanctuary-like space, but I've never been good at being unaware of my surroundings, and I don't think it would compare well to actually being in such a place.

Needless to say I will be going back. Perhaps repeated exposure to the sanctuarial, benevolently spiritual environment will imprint on my mind, thus allowing the feeling of existing in that space to stay with me during the times I am not there.

Addendum

Just for the record, Oprah gives me the willies. I know she comes across to most people as warm and generous and all, but to me the whole deal appears to be covered in a hard, clear plastic coating...giving her a brittle appearance.

However, in spite of the fact that she's on every single cover, Oprah doesn't write all of the magazine. And whomever puts it together usually includes a lot of good articles from a lot of different people. So that's why it functions as my mental sorbet, so to speak. As does Vogue, Elle, Glamour and occasionally, W.

Also, I don't read the opening and closing article in O magazine...both of which are written by her.

Off With Their Heads!!!

This will be quick, as I am in the middle of three seperate and extremely complex projects at once and I need to stay focused on at least one of them because my brain sorbet (as is late and the InStyle I snatched from Target out of desperation just isn't cutting it.

I'm scrapping the genetics angle in regards to my Adderall problem. Mostly because I'm realizing that to research it is one thing, to prove it is quite another...something that would require money that I do not have. I'm going to cave and call the 24-hour pharmacist and see if she has any insights on the bioavailabilty front.

Meanwhile I'm off on another tack...the possibility that the Adderall isn't lasting because I'm overtaxing my grey matter. I'm working on a bunch of paintings in a medium that is completely new to me (oils), i'm working on my spring line of jewelry and, because I'm frustrated by the lack of Pocket PC blogging clients available, I'm simultaneously learning the nuts and bolts of .NET Compact Framework (plus Visual Studio 2003, Pocket PC 2003 SDK, etc., etc.) and developing an application based on it. I don't know if there's any scientific data to back it up, but it will be most interesting to ferret it out.

Off to hack away at Visual Studio.

I've Got A Theory, Part II

The story so far? Possible GI alkalinity and the possibility that I am extremely sensitive to emotional contagion.

The latest results of my internet scavenging, prompted by a desire to figure out why Adderall doesn't linger in my system as it should, are complex to say the least. A tip from a forum led to an investigation of pharmocokinetics, specifically the population-specific variations of a certain liver enzyme of the P450 group. This enzyme, CYP2D6, is primarily responsible for drug metabolism and, interestingly enough, can vary in effecacy among ethnic populations depending on the particular type or types present.

Basically, one type of CYP2D6 is seen in poor metabolizers, another is seen in normal metabolizers, and multiples are seen in ultra-rapid metabolizers.

Being an ultra-rapid metabolizer would explain why Adderall practically disappears in my system, but there's the teeny-tiny fact that a significant percentage of the ethnic population to which I belong are poor metabolizers and that ultra-rapid metabolizers are rare in said population.

I did find some articles about a new variant of a different drug metabolizing liver enzyme that was specific to my ethnic profile, but details were lacking and I was getting lost in the scientific terminology.

Maybe a search just in MedPub would unearth more.

I've Got A Theory

Obscure Buffy The Vampire Slayer references aside, I've got yet another theory to add to my exploratory list, that of emotional contagion. If I am one of those people that can easily contract moods from others, it would explain the afternoon slump, and the wearing off of the Adderall.

Oh and sorry about the link, apparently O Magazine doesn't carry all of their articles online. The blurb should supply enough info, but if not, this link should supply plenty of background information.

Sleuthing

Latest project? Unearthing the physiological abnormality within me that results in rapid metabolization of Adderall.

My money is on stress hormones, with an overabundance of some neurochemical as a close second. I'll update as I find info.

Whither My Life?

Back
by Jane Kenyon

We try a new drug, a new combination
of drugs, and suddenly
I fall into my life again

like a vole picked up by a storm
then dropped three valleys
and two mountains away from home.

I can find my way back. I know
I will recognize the store
where I used to buy milk and gas.

I find that sometimes others words illustrate an unarticulated thought of mine better than any words I could've come up with on my own. The above is an example.

The only element the author fails to mention is the slightly unnerving feeling that lingers once you've found your way back. Where have I been? Through what countries have I traveled? And how much damage have I done...to others, myself...along the way? Worse: how long will it take to repair?

Now that I have the mental foundation that 450mg of Effexor provides, I look back on the volatile days, weeks, months of 300mg and cringe a bit at the things I said and did.

What Adderall Feels Like

The possibilities are limited only by how fast you can execute them. Your problems are still there, but you have ideas about how to solve them, and those ideas do not seem impossible. You can almost feel the neural pathways in your brain branching out, making new connections for your thoughts to travel. You feel positive, optimistic in spite of what crappy situation you may be in. It doesn't change whatever issues that may be cluttering your life, but it dials down their impact; they are less urgent, more manageable.

For me, my best insights and inspirations come to me right when the first set of medicine contained beads dissolves and hits my bloodstream. I can feel that my brain is working smoothly, like the parts of a well maintained machine. Unfortunately , it does not last; and soon I can feell the dread inevitability of my cognitive deterioration.

But while it lasts, it feels beautiful

Odd Little Pick-Me-Up

I'm not sure why, but for some strange reason, this blurb about Eminem and ex Kim Mathers remarrying gave me a good feeling. Maybe it's the idea that nothing is really over; it's possible to salvage anything.

On the other hand, they may be divorcing again within the month. But for now this, to me at least, is good news.

Murphy's Law Is A Bitch

According to the definition from Wikipedia, that venerable online free encyclopedia, Murphy's law states thus:

Anything that can go wrong, does.

There are variations, of which this is my personal favorite:

Anything that possibly can go wrong, will...usually at the worst possible moment.

In the recent past, not one, but three co-workers have quit their jobs because, among other reasons, their husband's salaries are such that they do not have to work anymore. As far as I am aware of, these women have all been of sound mind and spirits and relatively free of any mental disease or defect. The most recent defection occured today; this is being written upon return from a going-away breakfast hosted by the company.

Whereas I, possessed of a definite mental defect, find myself unable to quit my highly stressful, crazy-making job due to the fact that my husband...through no fault of his own and in spite of herculean efforts on his part...works at a job that will not cover our rent if we were to depend on it. The additional stress of being the primary breadwinner, along with the utter lunacy of the job, only exacerbates the depression I am being treated for...a fact that I am made painfully aware of every time I slam the Adderall that has become necessary to keep me sane and relatively motivated for the entire work day.

This scenario may not conform exactly to the letter of Murphy's Law, but it is close enough to the spirit. Or, as one of the examples listed in the oh-so-helpful Wikipedia entry states:

If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will cause the most damage will be the one to go wrong.

Or:

Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse.

Is This The Real Me?

Recently, my psychiatrist told me that I had what was termed a "double depression", that my depression was not only biological, but situational as well. The biological component of my depression can and is being treated by the Effexor...and now Adderall...but the situational component cannot be changed using medication.

Basically, if my job is sucking the life out of me (which it is) and finances are an issue (which they are) and there exists other discouraging life issues (yup), I'm pretty much on my own for any depression that occurs as a result.

I said all that to say this: The Adderall seems to stir the down around (props to Willam Gibson on that phrase) as it were; the funk is still there but separate from that is a sort of engine or catalyst that keeps my brain humming along...thinking of solutions, getting mundane essentials done...in spite of the funk. This is good, especially since the alternative is a numb lethargy, but it's also sort of eerie. I experience a distinct awareness of separate me that comes on when the Adderall takes effect.

This leads to all sorts of posits about my identity and the veracity of it. Are these chemicals altering my true personality? If they are, and I function better with this new personality construct, then what does it mean when they wear off (and they do wear off; I have a strange metabolism that goes through amphetamines like an unsupervised kid through Halloween candy). Are these drugs (Adderall specifically) changing my neurochemistry to what it always should have been had I not been struck with depression, or are they forcing my brain to assume thought patterns and neurochemical structures that it wasn't meant to have.

My psychiatrist, the last time I presented him with a similar conundrum, put forth the analogy of a heart patient that takes meds. Is the patient without the meds the real person or is the one with the meds. Apparently it doesn't matter, since the patient without the meds will cease to be sooner rather than later. I told him it wasn't the same thing, and he insisted (I think) that it was; depression is a disease just as much as cancer or heart failure. I still don't think it's the same thing...hearts and cancers are physical elements within the body that can be removed, cut into, excised, whereas personality and mood are intangibles...but it was concede the point or be locked in a discussion that would take longer than the time I had for the appointment.

I wish I had an answer, but I don't...and I haven't the time to wade through what probably would be volumes upon volumes of research to figure one out.