Walk or Ride

I made it to michigan in one piece. It was one hell of a drive considering the dense fog most of the way there. Thankfully we made it in 10 hours, but my itty bitty nap wasn't really enough. But I have puppies surrounding me... well only 2, but it's still pretty awesome... and I woke up this morning to a little boy who was just super excited to see his mama. I could have used another couple hours of sleep. I wish I had more going on, but thus far the last day of 2010 is just quiet and peaceful. I can't wait to see what 2011 holds in store.

What Can I Say

I'm feeling my power. I know that sounds so fucking trite, but it's true. I can recognize just how powerful I am right now. I have time on my hands and I'm using it. I don't know what to do with it though. I had an amazing conversation with my therapist today. I mentioned how frustrated I am with the current non-profit mental health advocacy organizations that are out there and she implied that perhaps the world needs a new one. One that works the way it should. One that brings national attention to a global problem. Holy shit, what if I were the one to start said organization? What if I do it? I exercise my power and make people aware that depression and other mental illnesses don't make you weak. Give people their power back and even better... make businesses actually care about their employees more than just handing them a card with a phone number on it that no one will ever use. Oh my God. Wouldn't that just be amazing?! I'm looking into it. I am soooooo looking into it. If nothing else, I'm going to try to find a way to make NAMI work the way it should. It's supposed to be a grassroots kind of deal, and you can't get more grassroots than me. I'm an activist whether I want to be or not, and maybe the best way for me to embrace my illness and to grow from and with it is to fight the stigma and the prejudice head on. This is a civil rights issue just as much as it is a medical issue. People can't help being born this way and we just want to be seen as normal people - just as special and wonderful as everyone else. We just suck at coping with adversity and change. But we're awesome people. For now, I shall dash off like the Viking Princess I am and fight the good fight by looking up info on starting a non-profit. I can do this... not just for me, but for everyone like me. Hell yes we can.

something I wrote today....

broken pieces
on the floor
angry thoughts
break through the door

but you don't understand
the pain I feel every day
and you won't hold my hand
while I'm trying to find my way

I can't help you
and I won't run here
you'll turn away like you do
every time I need you near

but you don't understand
the fear I feel every day
and you won't hold my hand
while I try to find my way

I'm stronger with you gone
you're a weak man - unknowable
I'd rather be all alone
than with you - your doormat.

Porcelain

So, someone got me started on the topic of depression's stigma in society today. I'm like a dog with a bone when it comes to this topic. I cannot stand idly by and let people continue to act like mental illness (MI) isn't a real condition. I educate those around me and I try to educate those I work with, but that's like pulling teeth. People seem so content to be so apathetic about it. Why? It's a dangerous disease that doesn't go away. People die from it. People hurt themselves because of it. People lose other people because of it. Sure most of us prefer to hide in our beds and feel like shit by ourselves, but I like to think I'm making some headway with this blog in getting my struggle out there. I'm trying to de-stigmatize this in order to make it a better world for everyone else around me who has a form of MI.

So what exactly are my struggles? This last month has been a trying experience for me to be quite honest. I had a medication change on the 1st and that has just fucked me over for the most part. I had been spending a lot of time isolating myself and stopped eating and stopped caring and started having anxiety about work to the point where I was calling in way more than I would ever do in my right mind. Then I upped my dosage and had to deal with side effects. Once the side effects were gone I had to deal with IOP, and now I'm in the middle of that. This month has been entirely about my illness and how I'm dealing with it. My job has been less than understanding about it as well. I requested 3 days a week off to work on my treatment plan and instead they only changed my availability to 20 hours a week. So this week, I'm feeling like a total douche having to call in to take care of myself. I worked yesterday and I get that they fucked up, but I still feel guilty - like I did something wrong, when all I'm doing is making sure I'm okay. I guess that's one of the things that really bothers me is the lack of understanding is perfectly okay. People just have to say "oh okay" and hand you a phone number to a suicide prevention hotline and that's all they have to do. They don't have to be understanding that you're not there because of a genuine inability to be there, not because you're lazy or just don't wanna. Instead you're met with uncomfortable stares and really shitty policies on how to deal with it. And yes, I do feel like I've been discriminated against. Maybe I have been.. I just don't know. I am just so frustrated by the lack of understanding and education my workplace has. This illness is turning me into an activist and I didn't know I had it in me. I believe that MI should be treated with the same consideration as other serious diseases, that absences with documented MI should be given different weight than say calling in with the flu. Like I said, it's not that I just don't "wanna", it's that I just can't do it. I'm pretty sure they don't want me out frightening customers with my constant crying.

Anyways, here's what I'm gonna do about it. I'm going to save up the $35 and join NAMI (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill) and I'm going to work my ass off at educating the public. I want them to understand my illness and to recognize that we are the same as everyone else in most ways, but lack coping skills and interpret and internalize things so differently that it causes a problem.

jar of hearts

AWESOME new song that I've heard twice today. It's been an interesting Christmas. My mother was here and there were NO conflicts. I was utterly astounded when she left this morning without a single snide comment said in the entire time she was here. I am thrilled beyond belief at that development too. Let's hope it's a foreshadowing of events to come shall we? :)

I finally got the gps I've been waiting for for the last 3 years. Score. I also got the perfume I wanted in addition to the awesome phone I bought myself back in October. An excellent Christmas overall.

Things are going pretty well for me. I'm not having as much anxiety as I am apathy now. It's not really fair to the people around me who have to deal with me on a regular basis, but I'm at the very least trying. My dreams are becoming extremely vivid again which scares the hell out of me. I swear to God, Tim Burton would love a night in my head because it's that damn creepy. Dead bodies rotting, people made out of melting wax, and people who are basically just walking sex organs. It scared the hell out of me this afternoon when I woke up from yet another ones of those dreams... perhaps it's just a dream, perhaps more. I don't know.

Shiny Happy People

A few days ago, I had a conversation with someone about the stigma of depression. It's something that royally pisses me off. Not just a little... we're talking a severe psychotic fucking hatred of this little fact. It's so unfair that we're supposed to make accomodations for every other condition on the planet, but once you hit mental illness (esp. depression), you get the "get over it" attitude that plagues our society. It's utterly unjust. You don't tell someone with cancer to just "get better". Or someone with a terminal condition "don't die". But it's okay to tell someone with depression to pull themselves up by their "bootstraps" and "get it together". Why can't there be some sort of public education on this condition. A person who cuts themself doesn't do it because they want to, they do it because they lack the coping skills to fix the problems they confront. People with depression don't choose to be sad and not be able to get out of bed - they actually just cannot do it. And to be blunt, all the commentary made to them to get over it, only makes the depression worse and worse because they want to get over it. They wish it were that fucking simple, but guess what Skippy, it's just not.

I've been struggling with depression since I was 12 or 13. It's never been an easy road. During adolescence, I was told it was just puberty getting the better of me. I even asked my mother once if I could see a therapist and was told that my "weird" brother was the one who needed it more than I did. I've since forgiven her for this, but holy Christ did that hurt. Being medicated was the best thing that ever happened for me and I will likely never stop being medicated. I'm not cutting every day like I used to, and I'm actually happy on a somewhat consistent basis. I just get so pissed off when people take such an ill informed stance on this subject. I work for people who take this stance and they don't have compassion for this. I looked up their position on depression, and it's not even there. It's not covered under their medical conditions they'll make allowances for. Sure there's an employee suicide hotline, but that's as far as it goes. I believe in compassion. I believe in empathy and I believe in allowing leaves of absence to obtain treatment - even if they're unpaid.

It's the end of the world (as we know it)

I'm really happy lately. Which really makes me question my doctor's choice to put me in IOP. Sure I have depressive tendencies and I'm having anxiety issues relating to my mother coming at the end of this week, but that doesn't mean that I can't handle my life. If anything this is just messing up my life because I have to make time for it despite my work schedule, which really isn't helping much at work to be completely honest. But my life is going fine. Yes, mom is coming and yes, she and I fight.. a lot. But Liam is doing well, I'm making time for my music on a near daily basis, and I have a genuinely kind man that I'm seeing and loving every minute of it. Things are going so well. So, why am I in IOP? I'm going to try to get out of it asap to be rid of it. I'm not impressed with how it's going thus far. There's a judge-y woman there who gave me an earful about how I should just be grateful my mother's alive. Of course I'm grateful she's alive, however, I would like her to treat me like a human being instead of making me feel like I'm about 2 inches tall with her commentary. I have a feeling that I won't be doing much talking with this woman in the room.

So, about this kind man I'm seeing. All you're getting is his first initial, J. J is probably the first person who really wants to know ME in a very long time. My past with depression and my one suicide attempt scares him, but hasn't scared him away. I'm absolutely shocked. He's not most men and that's such a relief. I don't want any run of the mill man who is so common he can't keep up with me either out of a lack of desire or a general incapability. We talk every day and ask each other the strangest questions we can think of. It's still in that honeymoon phase where everything is interesting and everything is wonderful and we just want to know everything about each other and that's really really fun right now. I have an uncle who told me that the honeymoon phase never has to end, you just have to work really hard at it. If nothing else I hope it lasts for a long time. We have so much in common in terms of our personal belief systems and that's just huge for me. I need someone who acknowledges God and someone who believes that while we're imperfect beings, we should still strive to be better. I've never really had that. Most of the men I've dated seem to think they're God's gift to the world and that's about as far as their belief in God goes. How sad for them. I just feel I have so much to learn from J and so much to offer him - most importantly, it's all outside of the bedroom. I look forward to sharing so much with him and eventually having our children meet so we can all do things together. I keep hoping to spend a weekend in Chicago with him and the children, going to museums and the aquarium. Silly? Maybe a little, but I don't care. I'm a born dreamer and I embrace it.

Everyday is a holiday

I am having a rough time right now. I have a new therapist and am back in IOP. I know I need to be in both places, but judas priest I am not happy about being back in IOP. It feels like I'm taking 2 or 3 steps back in life and I know a lot of it has to do with the holidays, winter, and my mother coming, but it cannot be ignored that the recent b.s. with S has had a enormous impact on me and has made me question my self worth again. I know I deserve more and I really feel like I made a good and empowering decision in walking away. I've made a new friend that might turn into something more and I'm really happy about that. I just think that the way S treated me has changed my attitude towards relationships and sex especially in some irrevocable way. I'm worried I'll be used again and I don't ever want that to happen again. I felt like his whore and like my words weren't important. This new person has been interested only in my words and thoughts and that is such a blessing. I know my thoughts and words are important, not just to him, but in most situations. I have known for the last 6 weeks why that crap with S had to happen. I had to know that walking away was the right decision and I had to know for certain that I wasn't going to regret it because I would be missing out on something. He's the cyanide in my cocoa krispies and I have to realize that the "connection" he and I have always had is NOT a good thing. It's toxic for me. I'm over romanticizing things with him because they were rarely good. It's just not healthy and I truly happier without him. I've come out of my frightened state and am trying to embrace the person I am and that the person I am was never good enough for him because it was too good for him. I am becoming proud of me.

Piano Man

It's been a really interesting day. Aside from recovering from a "blizzard", that is. I was catapulted back to my childhood as a violinist this morning by a group of middle schoolers playing christmas music at my church job. It was the first thing that's made me teary in a long time. I miss being that damn good at something. I know I was meant to follow my voice because it's a fantastic instrument and if I could just gain a little more confidence, I could really make something of myself doing it. But the violin was such a huge part of my life for 10 years. It was my main means of musical expression and I have days where I miss it almost like I'd miss a limb were it gone. I pick up my violin and often experience the joy that I used to, but it's mingled with frustration that I just don't have the time to do it like I used to and thusly my abilities are starting to really deteriorate. I know I could teach beginning and intermediate lessons, but I think it would just be too painful. Why? I honestly have no idea.

I need to work on starting my voice studio though. That is something I've really been thinking of for months now. I'm ready. I really am. I'm just scared of being the "grown up", which is weird because in most situations, I'm completely okay with being an adult about things. I just hear young voices though and think, a little less nasal and she's got a gorgeous voice. Granted I can't just turn them all into Emma Kirkby... such a huge pity though. But we do need our Maria Callas's and Natalie Dessays. I'm getting nervous about grad school and am starting to chicken out about it too. Is this really what I want? But then I think of a lifetime in retail and balk at it. I can't just be some retail slave for the rest of my natural life. I'm a musician and to not use that gift would be a waste of the talents God has bestowed upon me. Sure, more of the music I can perform is a different religion than me, but I've come to a certain level of peace with that. I may not believe in what I'm singing, but if I put my heart into it, perhaps I can affect someone who is listening who does believe in the content. This morning I sang the first movement from Bach's Magnificat and while I really don't believe in the message presented, I sang my heart out from the love of really excellent music. It was a gorgeous performance too. I love singing Bach as a general rule. He really knows how to notate and I swear he wrote polyphony in his sleep. Which bring me to my next thought...

I keep trying to pick my concentration for grad school. I've already chosen Music History, but I have to get more specific than that. I love Baroque and Classical music. I'll probably choose Baroque... but I have to get still more specific. Good gracious, I swear it's gonna be the death of me. Do I pick Bach and stick with a language I'm most comfortable with (German) or do I go out on a limb and choose one of the Italians (Vivaldi, Corelli, Boccherini are just a few of my great loves)? I do love a good Bach piece though, but everyone chooses mainstream composers like Bach. Which means there's tons of information out there. Good and bad. Good cause there's tons of information to go off of, but bad cause I'll have to sift through that crap to find what I'm looking for and someone will most likely have done a published paper on what I'm researching. See? There's just so much to consider. Vivaldi will lead me to Italy and back to my violin though. *sigh* what to do?

The start of something promising.

I've been working on a story for a while. Then my computer crashed and I lost all the progress I'd made on it. So now I'm retyping the opening that I hand wrote and am remembering what my plot was and am trying to decide where I want it to go. Nonetheless, I could use some feedback. So here's my opening paragraph.

The rain beat down on the pavement as she peered outside between the blinds. "Another fucking rainy day" she sighed with impatience. It had been raining for the last four months almost daily. Not the satisfying downpour of a thunderstorm, but the persistant drizzling like a child's constant "why?". Most of the time the rain suited her mood, but today was different. Today she had wanted sun. Nonetheless, she put a smile on her face as she finished tying the noose to the overhead beam, slipped the loop over her head and kicked the chair out from beneath her. She dangled there, her eyes bulging. Her last thought as she surrendered to unconsciousness was "Finally".


let me know your thoughts. Other than that it's dark. I know it's dark. I wrote it.

losing my religion

It's back to the psychiatrist with me. This med increase is NOT working and apparently I'm incredibly depressed and need to be looked at. I'm afraid this means inpatient. I don't know yet, but I guess we'll see today when I go in. I hate this part of depression the most. The part that has me isolating and feeling like I can't do anything or worse like I can't do anything right. This is the part that S hated the most and that he refused to understand. I could never get it across to him that it wasn't about him and that hurt unbearably because he always took it so seriously. I just needed him to be there for me and he seemed to think it was his job to fix me. He'd done it since high school. I feel badly that he felt the need to fix me, but I can't really apologize for being depressed. It's just the way I'm wired. My roommate suspects that it's my natural state. I think she may be right... which really stinks.

I know I need to go back to therapy, but there is no way I will go back to Morgain. She was too aggressive and too judgmental for me to feel like I was accomplishing anything. I need someone I feel I can actually confide in, not someone who's going to judge my every thought and accuse me of being a child at every turn. Granted she forced me to deal with a lot of my mother issues and that was most helpful. I still manage to use a lot of the skills she taught me for dealing with her. I still think IOP was the most beneficial thing that's ever happened to me. Learning how to actually cope was enormous for me.

Wake up

I'm feeling a bit better today. The world has stopped spinning and I'm hoping to be able to work tomorrow. The last two days in bed feeling like poo have been boring boring boring. I did the church gig this morning and that went well. Now I'm just trying to figure out what to do with my day. Staying home seems pretty boring (especially after the last two days) but no one really seems to want to do much of anything.

I've been trying to plan for Christmas. Yes, I know I'm a Jew now and technically shouldn't be celebrating the holiday, but I figure that it's been so secularized that there really isn't anything wrong with letting a little boy think that a fat old man brings him presents in exchange for baked goods and decent behavior. I just didn't have the heart to take Santa away from my boo. Anyways, I've been trying to get everything ready seeing as how my mother and one of my brothers are coming down. So I'm worried about what to feed them. I'm trying to give up pork, but ham is the tradition for my mother and I don't want to take that away from her. *sigh* I know I'm just trying to please people and when that happens no one is happy, but that's who I am. I'm trying to make everyone as comfortable as is possible. I'm not thrilled about having to sing at the church job on Christmas eve, but it's an obvious time that I knew I would have to work - besides it's their holiday anyways and if I can help make it a little nicer for them, awesome.

How does it feel?

It's hard for me to articulate how the last 2 months have felt. I spent a lot of the time feeling like I was walking on eggshells and what worse is I felt like I was being used for sex. Don't get me wrong, there's a part of me that's a little flattered, but seriously, I felt cheap and useless. All because he was more interested in the "chemistry" than in fixing what we both had broken. I felt blamed and accused everytime the subject came up. I would start trying to talk about how I felt and things that had bothered and upset me, and the next thing I know I've been berated for an hour and not said a word the entire time. How is it that he makes me feel that way? Like I can't stand up for myself? Like I'm there to validate him? I'm not. I'm worth so much more than that. I'm a beautiful, smart, sweet, loving, kind and caring woman and I'm tired of being used. It does mean that I have to develop a spine, but we all have to make concessions I suppose. I walked away from him after the last time we talked before Thanksgiving. I doubt he's even noticed. He made it so clear that he really didn't want to try to make this work. He talked about how every part of him said run, along with all of his friends who couldn't dream of supporting him through a decision they didn't like. I wish he weren't so dependent on what other people think. He'd be so much stronger of a person if he could manage that.

I'm still adjusting to my medication change. I hate the feeling that my head isn't really attached to me. Everything's swimmy and it makes me nauseous. I'm living though. I'm also feeling a little better about the whole depression thing. Sometimes we all have to question the where and why of things in order to better understand them. I often wonder why I didn't become some kind of doctor so that I could research depression and try to find a cure for it. Seriously, if ever I caught wind of some experimental procedure to cure depression, I would be first in line to have it done. While I am an advocate for mainstreaming the condition and making it more acceptable through public education, I would love to spend at least an hour where I'm normal. Sure I'm eclectic and spontaneous and fun like that, but I just want to not have to worry about whether my meds are going to stop working and whether I'm going to spend a day in bed feeling horrible. I would love to not have this condition be a part of me any longer. I know it will always be a part of my life though regardless of a cure. I will always watch my son for signs and symptoms. I will always empathize with those who actually do commit suicide and even more, I will probably always be a little jealous of them. I know that's morbid and a little concerning, but I've felt that way for years, and have only attempted to kill myself once. Today though, life feels bearable and that's the best I can ask for right now.

Jesus was a dreidel spinner

So why can't my mother respect my choice? Just a thought for the third day of Hanukkah. I'm really enjoying the holiday with L. He's asking so many questions and is really embracing being a Jew. I'm so proud of him. Our first Hanukkah is going fabulously. I made latkes and managed to find baklava at the store! My latkes were a little too oniony for my taste, but still delicious and highly addictive.

I had a doctor appointment on Wednesday and it went alright. My dosage got upped again. It's moments like that which really make me despise depression. It reminds me that something is actually wrong and makes me feel defective. At least I didn't end up inpatient again. Don't get me wrong, I understand that sometimes it's a necessary part of treatment, but it scares the hell out of me. I go into every appointment frightened it will happen again. But I'm trying to accept that it is part of my reality. Most of the time I'm so adept at accepting my condition, but right now, I'm having a moment where I feel it's unfair. But God gives us all challenges and problems we must bear and I have to learn to do so without doubt. I just struggle sometimes. Unfortunately, I'm home today because of my med change. I'm dizzy beyond belief and it feels like the world is swimming around me. Yet another reason to be annoyed with this lifelong challenge.