Hope

If a fierce predator goes against all instincts to behave like this, then maybe other extraordinary, inexplicable things are possible.

Suicide Survivor Success Story

I had some free time on my hands while waiting for my haircolor to take (creative efforts fend off depression for me) so I decided to check out some of the blogs I'd bookmarked from a previous post. The first one I started reading, Furious Seasons, had this article a couple of posts down the page.

David Foster Wallace hung himself on September 15th and while I've not read Infinite Jest, I'd heard of it and a small of my part imploded when I heard he'd committed suicide. In an odd way it was, for me, another piece of proof that life is too hard to endure for an unknown amount of time. Finding this story, about someone who survived suicide and went on to make his life into something whose absence would be noticed, gave me ammunition against that proof. Something I can put in my stash for when I need help in darker times.

Diagnosis 101

Over the past decade plus, I've migrated between three diagnoses: Bipolar II Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder (the latter being the most recent). Lately I've been more urgent about wanting to know exactly what is wrong with me, an urge that is probably indirectly related to The Month Of Hell (which I am still working up to writing about) and most likely directly related to my driving need for control. If I know exactly what my diagnosis is, I can start reading everything about it that I can get my hands on, and therefore know everything there is to know about it.

Shrink Rap, the excellent blog written by three shrinks, does NOT have the solution to my problem, but it does have this very cool post which basically gives you a box seat to the mind of a shrink as they work towards a diagnosis of mood disorder or not. Great inside information.

Best. Preview. Ever

I watch Dexter because it is comforting to know that there is another person out there with a brain as screwed up, or more, as mine...even if they are completely fictional. I watch Dexter work and play with others while hiding his huge secret and it reminds me of how I work with people at a place that has absolutely no idea I suffer from depression and maybe something more. It's cathartic, it makes me think, ponder, question...it's therapy in a tv package.

I watch it when it comes out on DVD; I don't get Showtime and I refuse to pay a dime more to Comcast so I can. But occasionally I will head over to the Showtime Dexter site to see what's up.

Hopped over there and saw this:



I don't know who came up with that promo but they need to get an award for it and yesterday. Absolutely brilliant. It makes me wish I came up with something so beautiful. It makes me want to know more about what is going to happen with my favorite (fictional) mind-damaged blood-spatter analyst. It almost makes me reconsider my not-another-dime-to-Comcast decision. Which is exactly what it was designed to do.

And It's Far, Far Easier To Manage

Once again, thanks to this invaluable list, I found this article on this blog. Of particular note in this post is the very first article from the BBC: Emotional Pain Worse Than Physical.

It's always made sense to me that emotional pain hurts worse than physical pain; a cut happens, heals and the pain is over. But the vague, yet monstrous, inexplicable pain that comes with depression can last for ages, make you wish it was a physical hurt you could bandage up.

I spend a lot of time sometimes, justifying how really difficult depression is. It's good to have validation from an outside source for once.

Makes Me Want To Holler

While going through the wealth of mental health blogs I found yesterday, I scrolled down to this post on Furious Seasons. Here's an excerpt from the post:

Among other things, Wagner is one of the co-authors of the infamous and much-discredited Paxil Study 329, which claimed that Paxil was efficacious and safe in treating depression in adolescents when in fact the study's stats had been so jury-rigged that, in actuality, the drug hadn't beaten placebo and cases of suicidality encountered in the underlying clinical trial went unreported.

And here's a link to the study that the post mentions: Paxil Study 329

I'm a pretty careful consumer; I look up drugs before I take them. But I can't triple check every study to make sure the researcher hasn't been reported as being in bed with pharmaceutical companies, and I shouldn't have to.

This kind of stuff makes me want to scream out loud. I trust my brain to these meds. Who the hell do these people think they are?

Last...Post...So...Tired...

I am so tired, or I am depressed and trying to make myself feel better by telling myself I'm tired, but I have to post this last post on a blog I found because they mention a NYT article on suicide I read several weeks ago and David Foster Wallace took his own life today and that gives me a creepy feeling as though the grim reaper were chuckling over my shoulder...

I Always Thought They Used A Dartboard...

Douglas Cootey, writer of the wonderful The Splintered Mind, posted about his mention in the Top 100 Mental Health Blogs which lead me (late, I know) to this fascinating article on how shrinks pick a psych med for a first time patient. I know that every shrink is different, just as people are, but after my month of insanity* it is reassuring to know that at least one professional has a method to their madness.



*this being the day my own shrink decided that my long time pharmaceutical cocktail wasn't quite doing it for me and that I should switch to something that worked for his other patients, and the four weeks of unspeakable craziness that followed. for unspeakable, read: 'don't want to post about it because that would make it real and I'd rather it not be just yet.'

Dear Nicole Holofcener

I love your movie "Friends With Money". I think it's a beautiful piece of work. I put it on all the time during my (amateur) photo shoots or while I'm painting. I'm currently searching for more of your work on amazon.com and I can't wait to find it so I can buy and watch it.

So why am I posting this letter on a blog about depression? Just one reason: (actually one and a half; the half reason is that I listened to your commentary and wanted to tell you that while you thought you messed up by having Marty prop the phone against his ear even though he had a hand free, I think it captured the zero-energy feeling of depression perfectly) it kinda gets me down that I don't see anyone that looks like me in your movie.

I'm black and while I can relate to so much of what the characters think and say and feel, part of me wishes a little that one or more of them could share my skin color. That black people are not in your movie makes me wonder why, which makes me think: maybe she doesn't know black people that are like the characters in that movie. Which gets me kinda more depressed.

I know you can't go back and change Friends With Money, but maybe you can change your next movie before it comes out.

If You Miss It, It's Probably Not Depression

I found this article a while back while I was searching for something...I'm not sure what. The title alone was enough to start my eyes rolling, but I read it anyway. It's nicely written, and I can't say the author wasn't really depressed...not without knowing her during those years...but I cannot shake the conviction that it is impossible to think longingly of real depression.

There are a very few painful events I look back on and miss in a faint, faded sort of way but depression isn't one of them. It was horrible when I had it, it is horrible when it returns...as it still does every now and then...and if it ever leaves completely I will most definitely not be hoping for it to return.

Testing yet another Blackberry blog client. Maybe a mobile client will allow me to post more.

---
This post was made with a trial version of BlogPlanet, a photo blog client for mobile phones. For more information visit www.blogplanet.net.

Mobile Update

A Blackberry test post

Almost Back

Had a bit of a knock-back which I'm still in the middle of; the pdoc switched me over to Abilify because, 'my other patients have had great success on it.' I would be one of those patients if 'great success' meant 'exhausted to the point of zombification' or 'brain working at the speed of sludge'.

At any rate, there's this PRI show called To the Best Of Our Knowledge whose narrator has got a very good mind smoothing voice. Try this show for starters...it's about animals, which is always an up topic.

Hopefully I'll be back soon.

Zen

I believe the worst is over, knock on wood, so I may be able to pick up posting again soon. Until then, here's a watchable definition of calm.

One Is The Loneliest Number

I use Neutrogena skincare products religiously. I would use their cosmetics if they made them in colors that suited my skin tone, but they don't so I don't. I brought this to their attention by filling out an online form to submit my name as a possible survey panelist. This was their response:

We are very sorry, but many of the darker shades have been discontinued from the Neutrogena Cosmetic line and are no longer available for purchase. Unfortunately, they were not selling as well as we had hoped they would. We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you. You can be assured that we will share your concerns with the proper authorities on the Cosmetics team, as they are always interested in consumer feedback when developing products for the line.

An understandable explanation. After all they're a corporation, they have the bottom line to think of.

I get invitations from them every so often to participate in some survey or other. Normally I take the time to fill them out, as I do use their skincare line. But today, in light of where my mind has been at now and over the past few weeks, I couldn't bring myself to click the link in the the 'we'd love you to participate in a survey' email. Instead I wrote this:

To Whom It May Concern:
I like your skincare products. I really do, and normally this would be enough for me to want to participate in your survey.
But I won't. Here's why: You don't produce makeup for my skin color. You probably will never produce makeup for my skin color because I'm not part of a profitable demographic. I'm a reasonably well off African-American woman and apparently there's not enough of me for you to make a profit off developing makeup for my skin color.
I understand. Really I do. You're a big company and have shareholders to think of. Normally I would be able to accept this reasonable fact but today I can't. I just can't.
So I won't participate in your survey today. Possibly not tomorrow either. Maybe if you try again in a few months, or years, I'll have once again accepted the Way Things Are and will take your survey. But not today.

Regards,

I doubt anyone other than some hapless intern will read my response, but it made me feel a fraction better after writing it.

Experiencing Technical Difficulties

It's been a month. Enough so that posting about anything remotely related to depression seemed too painful to do. Still does, hence this post's title.

I'm off to see the wizard...aka my pdoc...tomorrow. Hopefully this means the technical difficulties won't last much longer.

Better to Give...

...than to receive, especially when battling depression. Giving, no matter how small, directly contradicts the subconcious voices that insist I'm worthless, useless and can't change anything. It also pulls my mental gaze out of the the deadly negative loops it twists into when my mood goes south.

I actually read about this a few weeks ago but I wasn't able to reach their site until today due to technical difficultes on their part and worse than usual evening bouts of deathly gloom. Thanks to the Sheldrick Wildlife Trust, you can foster an orphan elephant for as many years as you'd like and for the relatively small sum of $50. Knowing that a baby elephant is getting the care it needs puts warm, soothing feelings in my mind no matter what phase of the neurochemical wave I'm surfing at the moment.

Warning: Some of the stories at the link above are enough to down a perpetual optimist since baby elephants are primarily orphaned due to poaching. The rescued babies are the happy endings but if you're really depressed, visit at your own risk.

Brave New Worlds

And the chewy, neurological, biochemical information just keeps coming.

Whilst closing out links from researching this post, I came across yet more blogs on the wonders of the mind. And the motherlode? A blog post with a compiled list of neuroscience podcasts. I've mentioned before that listening to voices soothes depression...now I can ease my troubled mind and learn about it's origins at the same time. Bonus!

And, to be absolutely clear in my shout-outs:

Neuroscience Blogs

The Frontal Cortex
The blog author wrote a book called Proust Was A Neuroscientist that I'll need to buy.

Mind Hacks
Listed as a news archive. The authors wrote a book as well, plus I vaguely remember a Google widget that they might be responsible for.

Anthropology
This is a multiplied authored weblog, established to, and I quote:

Neuroanthropology is a collaborative weblog created to encourage exchanges among anthropology, philosophy, sociatheory, and the brain sciences.

Looks like they regularly tag their posts, unlike me, so it should be fairly easy to sort out the brain science posts.

Finding all this is like falling over $50 in the street.

At Least There's An Upside

to yesterday's posting. In searching for the quote from the Radiolab episode I referenced, I stumbled across my new favorite site...or my new favorite site subsection. Lots of interesting articles on brain stuff to read through.

I'm Not Okay 'Cause You're Not Okay And The World's Not Okay...

Radiolab had an interesting show the other day on deception, the different kinds and, most importantly, how the brain looks during.

In the last part of the show they said something interesting about people's capacity to self-decieve and depression. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the exact quote but the explanation went something like this:

People with depression are more likely to lack the normal person's ability to self-deceive; i.e. the world is an okay place, people are generally okay, etc. They see themselves and the world exactly as it is; they are all too aware of the horrible things that go on in it and the terrible things people can do to each other.

I couldn't agree more.

Even if I watch nothing but comedies and fill my iPod with interesting podcasts and happy "up" music, I can't avoid what I see when I walk out the door, or what my co-workers tell me. Sometimes I feel as though my mind lacks some neurological or biochemical 'skin' that everyone else has; that it is exposed, uncovered and is vulnerable to any and every emotive influence around it.

It's a painful existence.

Mood Enhancer

I've recently become a huge fan of octopi specifically because they wear their hearts on their sleeves, almost literally. The color and even pattern of their skin changes depending on what they're feeling/experiencing which endears them to me.

The bite inthis video isn't mood enhancing, but the behavior of this little guy is. You can almost see him saying, 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bite, I was just so hungry!'.

For more octopus video fun, check out Tonmo's video site.

Descent

I'd planned to post this weekend but like the best laid plans of mice and men, mine aft agley. For reasons still unknown to me, my brain chemistry went south around Friday evening and didn't get better until Sunday afternoon. And by 'better' I mean 'shaky, brittle but okay'.

What's scary is that in spite of the semi-diligent note taking I'd implemented, I have no clue as to why I plummeted. Those scribblings were supposed to give me a reason why I crashed if I ever did, once I'd clawed my way back to normal, and they're not. At least not now.

Hopefully I can get to the bottom of this.

Eternity In An Hour

I'm in the Dickinson hour of lead now; I feel that dull, inert and cold. However, its the William Blake poem that came to mind...especially the first few lines

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

When I stop and think about the vast divide between when I feel best and when I do not it amazes me that I traverse this huge distance within the space of twenty four hours...sometimes less. It is important to note that I don't stop and think often because I need to maintain forward motion, mental and physical, to get through the day and stopping long enough to think is a risky endeavor.

It is in this time that I fear my mind will snap like a wire bent full one way then the other, over and over until it breaks at the bend point. I'm afraid the constant back and forth along the mood continuum will create such a point in my mind.

Today I read the William Blake through to the end for the first time. How timely that the end reads like this:

Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight,
Some are Born to Endless Night.

Stimulating The Brain

Today's semi-monthly trip to the psych and the subsequent medication adjustment reminded me of this new treatment I stumbled over while reading a magazine article.

Deep brain stimulation is based upon the observation that a region of the brain called Brodmann area 25 is metabolically overactive in treatment-resistant depression. Researchers studied whether a chronic deep brain stimulation to modulate this activity could help patients with treatment-resistant depression.

What the researchers found was that deep brain stimulation was associated with a "striking and sustained" remission of depression in four of the six patients they studied.

The six study participants had been suffering from depression anywhere between 1.5 to 10 years and were considered to be treatment-resistant.

Among the effects patients reported were sudden calmness, heightened awareness and increased interest.

Emphasis mine.

The studies done were limited at best but I know I'd jump on this in a heartbeat if it ever went mainstream. Complete remission of all depression symptoms without spending a lifetime on pills? Sign me up yesterday.

Kinda Like This: When It Wears Off

I've either made this post already or thought about doing so much I've done it...at least in my head...but even if I've mentioned this before it's worth repeating simply for this incredible example of beautifully written dialogue:

RIVER
Going. Going back, like the apple
bits coming back up. Chaos.

SIMON
But you felt okay this morning...

RIVER
(smiles)
Played with Kaylee, the sun came out
and I walked on my feet, heard with
my ears...
(crumbling)
I hate the bits, the bits that stay
down and I work, I function like I'm
a girl. I hate it because I know
it'll go away, the sun goes dark and
chaos is come again. Bits. Fluids.
(really crying now)
What am I?

I've tried numerous times, using thousands of useless words, to describe what it's like to feel the medicine, that keeps me functioning like a normal person in this world, wearing off. Joss Whedon, the writer responsible for the aforequoted lovely bit of dialogue (I think) nails it in one succinct interchange.

The key line for me, the one that digs at my heart every time I hear River say it:

"I hate it because I know it'll go away...the sun goes dark and chaos is come again."

Because for me, regarding the medicine, it is so true.

Stupid Fucking Pills

Most days I'm grateful for the medicine that keeps me sane, allows me to hold a job, gives me the chance at some semblance of a "normal" life. Given that my short term memory blows steaming goat chunks, I have a hard time remembering how bad the depression was at it's worst but I remember enough not to want to experience it Ever. Again.

However, there are some moments that I hate these pills I have to take with every ounce of my being. When it's four am on day five of week three of my cycle and the hormones have yanked the pharmaceutical platform out from under me. When it's the day after I've forgotten to take the last dose of Effexor for the day and the base of my skull is pounding. When it's now.

I've taken my second dose so the utter loathing shouldn't last long, but it certainly feels as though it will.

Balancing Act

Once a month, depending on the state of our finances, I'll engage in strictly disciplined retail therapy. One small item, sometimes very inexpensive, sometimes a little less so, usually purchased online, usually on sale, and gift-wrapped, if the vendor is offering it for free.

I keep an eye out for things that are unique, or have meaning or usefulness; a portable aromatherapy snifter, an ID bracelet with something I'm to remember engraved on it. This month, I got this:


That's a labradorite stone in the setting. According to the accompanying blurb:

Often regarded as a transformational stone that heals and balances the aura, labradorite is said to be protective during vulnerable growth stages and intense transitions.

I don't believe that stones have power to change or protect me, but it's been more difficult than usual this monthly cycle so I'm adopting the 'any little bit that helps' mode of thinking.

Kinda Like This: Meds Coming On Board

I'm not good at specifics when describing feelings so I've always got an eye and ear out for common cultural references for analogical use.

Johnny Mnemonic is an excellent short story that was made into a not so excellent movie and while it's not exactly a popular culture reference (since probably most of the culture never saw the movie) there is a scene that is an excellent depiction of what I experience in the liminal state while I'm waiting for the meds to get on board.

This snippet of summary sort of describes the scene I'm talking about:

Johnny is a data trafficker who has an implant that allows him to securely store data too sensitive for regular computer networks. His brain can carry nearly 80 gigabytes worth of data, or 160 gigabytes if he uses a doubler. Johnny uses this implant to act as a courier between contracting parties. On one delivery run, he accepts a package that not only exceeds the implant's safety limits (and will thus kill him if the data isn't removed in time), but also proves to contain information far more important and valuable than he had ever imagined.

Emphasis mine.

And for those with strong constitutions, this is the actual scene. Ignore the bad dubbing...in fact, turn the sound down...and watch Johnny's expression as the overload of data is forced into his brain.

That teeth gritting, hand clenching, every muscle tensed sensation...that's how I feel inside my brain while waiting for the meds to kick in.

State-Dependent Learning Or: Looks Like I'll Be Taking These Meds For A Long While

I'm currently struggling towards an MCSE for Windows Server 2003; my second exam is scheduled for 9am this Monday. While slogging through the study guide I overheard this story on Weekend America, specifically this part:

He was doing poorly in school. But he perked up in his psychology class when his teacher brought up the concept of state-dependent learning.

Basically, that means if you learn something when you're intoxicated, you'll remember it better when you're intoxicated. One day Sam raised his hand and asked, "Wait, so does that mean if I study when I'm drunk, I should take the test drunk?" The other kids laughed, but Sam was dead serious. He did a little research and decided, yes, that's exactly what it means.

I've been taking my antidepressant cocktail for a while now...long before I started studying towards my MCSE. I know for a fact that the AdderallXR portion of my dose has a close to immediate effect on the way my brain functions; I know this because of the way that I feel and think when the drug is on board. I'm thisclose to resigning myself to the fact I'll be taking antidepressants for the rest of my life, but now I wonder if I'm stuck with this particular cocktail as well. If I switch the drugs...essentially switching my brain chemistry...will my ability to recall all I've learned, while on this particular cocktail, degrade? Disintegrate?

Sam spent a lot of time in the library. And getting tutored by teachers. Remember state-dependent learning? Sam had been intoxicated when he'd learned how to be a college student, even a high school student. Reading, writing, studying -- he had to re-learn all of it sober. He says his proofreading skills still aren't where they used to be when he was high.

This unnerves me more than a little.

ADDENDUM: Recipe For Depression

A couple of interesting 'side dishes' from yesterday's posted recipe:

1. Screaming nightmares
2. Digestive problems (gas, constipation, etc.)
3. Inability to stay asleep.

All of which I experienced last night.

Recipe For Depression

1. Start with chronic intermittent pain
2. Add unpredictable hormone shifts
   
3. Radically alter daily schedule
4. Remove all familiar comforts.
5. Lather, rinse, repeat for x number of days.

Example: Pain from a dying tooth nerve during the luteal phase of a monthly cycle, plus six added blocks to the daily walk and two train rides, combined with technical class (aka all-day information cram-fest) minus half an hour therapeutic art work on both ends of the day.

The above is three days of me this week, which is why yesterday's post picture is a dead-bang representation of how I feel. This morning had all sorts of fledgling ideas about how I was going to counteract the stress brought about by this craziness but that was then when my system had meds in it and this is now and my brain is depleted.

Time to revert to the basics: crawl into bed and curl up under the covers.

Fractured

I did this piece a while ago, but it's a perfect representation of my state of mind since Tuesday. Explaining will have to wait until tomorrow.

There Are Others...

I was looking for something else completely unrelated when I came across this: The Splintered Mind by Douglas Cootey. His brain chemistry affliction veers off in a different direction than mine (Depression --> ADHD as opposed to Depression --> Suicidal Ideation) but the advice still applies (see Ten Things To Do To Fight Off Depression as an excellent example) and his posts are well written, fascinating glances into a unique mind.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to subscribe to the feed...

PSA: Serenity. Specifically, The Collector's Edition

If you're sickened by the mashed up, reheated crap that the networks have been feeding the public since the writer's strike started and you need something sharp, fresh and shiny to tide you over for the next few weeks or so until your favorite shows start up again, the only thing for you to do is to crack open a new tab on your browser, pull out your credit card (or have your PayPal info handy), and hit up this link: Serenity: The Collector's Edition. But before you do, there's one small catch.

I'm not stupid; there are as many blogs out on the internet now as there are unknown stars in the sky and there's a slim to none chance that this one is on any sort of radar. But if you happen to have stumbled and fallen on this post, you are in one of several camps: Someone with normal brain chemistry who hasn't seen the prematurely cancelled Firefly, someone with normal brain chemistry who has, someone with depression skewed brain chemistry who hasn't seen the ignobly cancelled Firefly, and someone with depression skewed brain chemistry who has.

(Then there's those who've seen Firefly AND Serenity...or any combination thereof but you're another post)

Those of you with normal brain chemistry can do whatever you please in whichever order you please...just make sure you go out and get both (Firefly and Serenity)
or either one...whichever applies. But I put up this blog in hopes it would provide some sort of help for those suffering from depression, so it would be irresponsible of me not to hand out some caveats that would prevent a depression tilted brain from falling all the way over.

So here's the thing: If you're depressed, haven't seen Firefly, and need something that will at least may help you laugh right now, go and get Serenity The Collector's edition. I won't lie, there are some sad moments, but there are just as many ones that will make you laugh out loud. And if you can't handle the sad moments, turn on the commentary with Joss Whedon, Nathan Fillion, Ron Glass, Adam Baldwin and Summer Glau. You'll sail right through them; the commentary is rollicking and humorous pretty much all the way through.

However, if you're depressed and have seen Firefly recently, say within the last six months, go ahead and get the aforementioned collector's edition, but...and I can't stress this enough...store it away for a while before watching it. Give yourself some distance from the all the complex and confusing emotions that come from watching a brilliant series that was cut down in its prime. Because watching Serenity and the wonderful, eclectic bits that come along with the Collector's edition will make you laugh, but because you have seen Firefly and know the characters that make up that wonderful series, your heart will split in many, many places. And the pain that comes from such wounds, regardless of it's source, could be enough to send you down.

I speak from very recent experience: I rented Serenity ages ago, long before I saw Firefly. I remember I liked it a lot. About a year ago I bought Firefly: The Complete Series because it was on sale at Target and I'd heard great things about it. They were all true, and because they were it took me weeks to watch the final episode, Objects in Space (warning: spoilers). I was heartbroken that I'd come to the end of all there was of this amazing series. I knew I could always re-watch Serenity, but then that would be the final nail in the proverbial coffin.

Four days ago I held my breath and purchased Serenity The Collector's Edition. It arrived next day. I just yesterday watched the entire movie and even then I had to watch the commentary edition first, then the movie...one half at a time. In spite of those precautions, and even though my brain chemistry is on the stable-ish side, I still felt loss.

Remember Echo?

I posted about him in this last post. Well, thanks to some wonderful family he was adopted, and Pedigree was nice enough to make a commercial about it.



If Pedigree can promise they'll always do a commercial like this one, I can withstand the depressing adoption campaign beforehand.

This Says It

I'm an unashamed fan of the movie 28 Days. I won't deny it has it's flaws, (simplified story arc, various cliches) but, for me at least, the little surprises more than make up for them. There's the obvious ones: Alan Tudyk, a personal favorite from Firefly, Azura Skye, a wonderful, overlooked character actor. And then there's the guy who plays the guitar in odd places.

Originally I thought the guy was a real-life, rehab old-timer who happened to sing and play the guitar well enough that the director decided to add him as background color. Turns out he is a semi-famous, late 60's folk singer named Loudon Wainwright (link takes you to iTunes store bio). Discovering this fact was a kicker of a surprise...even more so when I realized he was responsible for the song from 28 Days that contains one of the best, nail-on-the-head description of depression I've heard.

I'd rather be dreaming than living
Living's just too hard to do
It's chances not choices
Noises not voices
A day's just a thing to get through
Living's just too hard to do

If I had the energy at this late hour I'd load the DVD so I could screenshot the guitar/forest scene to insert here, but since I don't and my powers of Google-fu are busted, I'll have to leave it out for now.

Photography As Treatment

Around December, after much agonizing and debating, I purchased a Canon A570IS for about $20 more than I originally budgeted. I originally purchased it to take pictures of figure and other drawing to upload to an online class of sorts; my phone's crappy camera was making the resolution instead of the accuracy of the drawing an issue.

Unfortunately, soon after my purchase I wiped out on the way to work and injured my knee. Being unable to work-out led to a build up of anxiety...particularly during the liminal times when my meds were still making their way to my brain...which led to an inability to sit still which pretty much axed any attempts at figure or observation drawing. Such practise requires stretches of painstaking observation and incremental work, both of which became impossible when I literally could not stop moving. Then, to add insult to injury, I started being exhausted all the time, effectively killing off the free time I had for doing the oil pastel work that had been my primary non-pharmaceutical method of boosting my serotonin.

I felt guilty about purchasing such an expensive (to me, anything that comes near $100 is expensive) camera and not using it so I started taking it with me on my walks to and from work and photographing things that caught my eye. Casual shots rapidly led to posting for advice (I frequent a forum that has a sub-forum on A/V topics) and now I have an alternative means of creating art when I cannot sit still and an online album of work.









There's something intoxicating about being able to point a small piece of machinery at something I see and, with a minor amount of fiddling, capture a perfect replica. It's like an emergency serotonin hit, a supplement to the slower serotonergic response produced by long sessions with sticky, bright oil pastels. And a wonderful substitute to the times when I am too exhausted to tackle even that.

Dog For A Day

We got our dog from the city pound, probably the saddest place on earth. For the first few months he was in our home, he'd pee nervously at anything that made him, well, nervous, he'd shake uncontrollably at odd times and during an unprecedented loud argument between my husband and I, I looked down and saw him frantically attempting to squeeze himself under the bed.

That particular moment broke my heart.

He's been with us for years now and is both an amazing lesson in resiliency and a steady stream of antidepressant for me. There are many times, such as the moment the following picture was taken, that I wish I could be him, even for just a minute, so I could experience the wonderful freedom of truly living in the moment.



Not a care in the world, nor caring if the world sees him. Must be exhilarating.

More Mood Enhancers

Because I just came back from the dentist and a specialist...neither of whom can determine the exact tooth that is the locus of intermittent jaw pain...both of whom basically said, 'wait until it's making you grovel', here is a picture of a
Boston Terrier for anyone else who has forces beyond their control aggravating an already difficult condition, aka depression.

The link is in case this inline picture doesn't work

You Know What They Say About Christians...

...they're the only ones who shoot their wounded.

Overheard by the husband while at a Corner Bakery yesterday morning:

"That guy just has no faith. He doesn't even believe that God could work a miracle if he goes off his depression meds."

They're lucky that my husband was there and not me. He bit his tongue to keep from walking over and confronting them, whereas I would've saved the blood.

As the author from Undercurrents says, far better than I ever could:

"Shut up!! Shut up!! Unless you've been lost in this particular section of Hell yourself, don't you dare try to give me directions!!"

Literary Group Therapy

Depression is a solitary disease; there are few people with the stomach and the stamina to cultivate a close relationship with someone suffering from it, and those afflicted spend the majority of their energy towards maintaining as normal a life as possible.

Close relationships among depressives is therefore somewhat of a paradox. The next best thing, at least for me, is reading the memoirs of the depressed. A late Christmas gift ($100 gift certificate from Borders) gave me the opportunity to expand my social circle, as it were, and the least I can do is pass along links to the wealth.

Undercurrents: A Life Beneath The Surface
Good for people like me who find themselves in the sometimes overwhelming position of juggling a full-time, rigorous career, depression and a family. In other words, a book for "high-functioning depressives"

The Beast: A Journey Through Depression
I'm still reading this one, but it is excellent so far, if a little dated.

The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression
The gold standard. Part memoir, part exploration of the disease, this book is a gold mine of both information on and ancedotes about the disease. I've probably mentioned it before somewhere in this blog, the title of which having been inspired by it.

Prozac Nation: Young And Depressed In America
I can't relate too much to the narrator of this novel, she's obviously an extrovert that suffers from depression whereas I am the exact opposite, but unlike the first two memoirs this is a thick, juicy book, full of pages (at least this paperback version is) and even though I usually zip through books it took a while for me to wade through.

Heartless Bastards

Whomever came up with the Pedigree adoption ads should be immediately deployed to Iraq; we'd eliminate the torture problem overnight. One look at this video and any enemy combatant wouldn't stop talking until they'd given up everything.

For depression sufferers, this is like handing candy to a diabetic baby. I saw this first today and I just wanted to sit down on the floor and cry.

Hopefully, since they stomped our hearts into the ground again this year, the Pedigree people will be kind enough to bring back the same happy ending videos they did last year.

Here's one to get you past the last weepfest

The Definition Of "Kick In The Teeth"

This news compilation caught my eye the other day. Initially I thought, 'eh, just another Sleeper type revelation or some tiny study blown all out of proportion', then I started reading the individual articles. Now I'm so...something...I can't put into words what I think but there's some frustration, definitely anger and a huge dose of raging hopelessness.

I mean, look at some of this crap:

"Nearly one-third of antidepressant drug studies are never published and nearly all happen to show that the drug being tested did not work" --Canada.com

"BREAKING NEWS: Pharmaceutical Companies Lie To Make More Money" --Synthesis, CA

"The effectiveness of some popular antidepressants was exaggerated by selective publication of trial results, according to a report of the Oregon Health" --China Internet Information Center

"Antidepressants are far less effective than doctors have been led to believe, a new study has found.

That's because 88 per cent of clinical trials that showed the drugs didn't work either weren't published in medical journals or were presented as positive findings, says the study in the New England Journal of Medicine." --London Free Press

This type of news only reinforces learned helplessness, or inevitability or whatever it's called. I take my medicine as prescribed, I endure the associated side effects, all because I've done research, I've read studies saying that they work. In the past, when a particular drug didn't work I battled with the 'why', tried to tweak what I ate, when I took it, then when all else failed, reported it to my pdoc who would switch me to another one.

Now I find that the whole thing is a fucking crapshoot; that how I took it, when I took it and with what probably didn't make a damn bit of difference because THE MEDICINE DIDN'T WORK IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!!!

Sociopath. Narcissistic. Those are the only two words I can think of that explain why those in charge at these pharmaceutical companies would knowingly screw with the brain chemistry of hundreds of thousands of people JUST to make a stinking buck.

That Old Liminal State Again...

It's going to drive me straight up a wall...and soon.

To complicate matters, I wrecked my knee about a month ago and have yet to return to working out...and not for lack of trying. Which means I can't work out any of the akathisia symptoms I experience which only makes said state worse. Multiple sets of bicep curls, wall push-ups, sit-ups and crunches helps...but it's not the same as a good old-fashioned cardio sweat out.

I need this knee to heal. And fast.

long time, no see...

It's been more than a little crazy over the past month, and not just because of the lack of daylight hours. I've been a walking poster child for Murphy's Law since December 17th until now so I'm functioning in full duck-and-cover survival mode.