So, On The Advice of My GP

I have been varying the amount of Trazadone I take, to see how I sleep.

50 mg. Wake up in the middle of the night at least once, don’t get back to sleep for an hour or more.

100mg. Sleep straight through, but only about 7 hours (which is not enough sleep for me *at all*).

150mg. Sleep straight through, but only about 7 hours (which is not enough sleep for me *at all*).

So, since 100 and 150 is the same result, I’ll stay with 100 mg.

In other news, the following questions have been raised as we pack and unpack the office:

  1. Why do we have 100000000000 pieces of crockery? Very little of which match.
  2. Why do we have 100000000000 hanging file folders?
  3. Why do we have 100000000000 rubber bands, when we never use them?
  4. Note for Robyn: don’t purchase any more staples until you’re absolutely positively sure you are out.
  5. Therefore I know why we have 1000000000 staples.

The above list is full of a bit of hyperbole.  But not much.

Depression and Self-Harm

Let me preface this post with the note that I do not cut myself.  I do not self harm that way.

So how do I do it?  By picking my pimples. Yes, that is considered self harm behavior.

My face is very discoloured under my chin from picking at the pimples there.  I am trying to break myself of the habit, but I think it does two things for me.  It gives me ‘worry spots’ and, in some odd way, it sooths me.

I don’t just pick my face.  I pick anything on my body that’s pickable.  I had a very odd cut on my upper right arm that I picked the scab on.  I pick in grown hairs on my knees.  Anything I can get my fingernails into, I pick.

Its gross.  I know its gross.  And I try very hard to not do it in public. Or even in front of my husband.  But I also don’t always realize I’m doing it.

I am not sure I will ever be able to stop completely.  Even when I am at my most stable, I do it.  Some people rock in place to sooth.  I pick.

Depression and Getting Things Done

Well, I would say the meds don’t work.  I had lots of plans for this weekend.  Building the final bookcase.  Cleaning the flat.

Neither of these things happened.  I spent most of today asleep.  I did do some stuff yesterday, but not as much as I was hoping to do.

I hate it when I get like this, even though I know I can’t help it.  And I guess it is better to do it on the weekend, rather than during the week. I will go to work tomorrow.  I have to.  I have a meeting and board papers to write.  I have to be there.  People are relying on me.

Simon relies on me as well, but the basic stuff is done.  Clothes are clean.  Groceries are ordered for the week.  We had a nice dinner.

But I still feel bad that I didn’t get more done this weekend.

I’m sure I’ll get over it.

Depression and Guilt

The biggest problem, for me, with my depression, is the guilt I start to feel as I start to come out of the black place.

Guilt that my flat is a mess. Guilt that my Admin Team at work has got to be covering for me. Guilt for lying to my parents and saying I was fine, when I was not.

That last one, lying to my parents guilt, is probably the least guilt laden. Not that I enjoy lying to my parents, I don’t, I never have. I have usually told them everything. But I get tired. I get tired of my dad saying ‘how are you really?’ Really? I’m pretty crappy thanks for asking. I also get tired of talking about how I feel. Are you down? Anxious? Happy? Sad? All of the above?

Its exhausting. I know they ask because they care, but it is still exhausting. I have to repeat myself over and over, first telling my mom, and then my dad, how I am really. They’re divorced, so its not like I can say “And now you tell Dad, Mom.” Cuz he isn’t standing there next to her. He’s about 600 miles away!

As for my Admin Team, I think that carries the most guilt. I know they are my friends and are mostly concerned for me, but I know how aggravated I get when one of them is out for a few days and I have to cover for them. I do it, of course, that’s part of being a team, but I bitch about it. I can’t imagine how much they are annoyed at me at the moment. But its probably a lot. And I don’t blame them.

Without me there, some one is covering the CEO. That can be a full time job, depending on what is going on at the moment. I manage to cover him and the DF&A and the DCRE&F when I am there, but its always a juggling act. The answer to the question ‘Robyn, are you busy?’ is ‘I’m always busy, what do you need?’

As for the messy flat?  Its actually not that messy.  Simon and I have a good system for splitting up chores and at least his are getting done!  Mine will get done over the next few days, including the last two book shelves put together and the books unpacked.

But I still feel guilty.

Depression and Having a Baby

So I’ve been struggling again. Badly. I haven’t been to work since week before last.

I have mentioned previously that Simon and I are trying to have a baby. We made the decision last night to forget that in order for me to be on meds and living normally.

Then I saw my GP today. She disagrees with this. She thinks I can control the depression and have a baby. I am back on prozac (first med I ever took for this!) for at least the next month, so conception is on hold for at least that long, as prozac + baby = bad bad baby.

It has been a really tough couple of days. Tears, personal recriminations, guilt, etc etc etc. Simon has been, as always, a rock. Saying over and over again, “I want you to be well. It is the most important thing.”

And I know, intellectually, that he is right.  That is the most important thing.  But I so badly want a baby.  And to be healthy.

I hope I can truly have both.

This Post Will Probably Piss Some People Off

But I am going to write it anyway.

On the bus yesterday there was a child, about 6 – 8 years old, who kept saying “Daddy, daddy, look daddy, look at that daddy, what’s that daddy” over and over and over again, as loud as possible. Based on the way he was talking, he was certainly old enough to be told to use his inside voice. His daddy just let him be loud.

I have posted about this child over on Modern Etiquette and Manners, the Etiquette forum I help moderate, and have gotten 2 responses that chaff my hide (heh, I think I’ve been reading Confessions of a Pioneer Woman too much!). One response was, how do you know the child isn’t impaired. The other one was perhaps he was younger then he appeared.

Let’s take these one at a time; even impaired children need to learn how to act in public. Yelling in public is not acceptable (unless it is a yelling place, such as a sports venue) by anyone. It disturbs others. It hurts people’s ears. It is rude. Even an impaired child needs to learn this if he (note: I am using he as it is easier than he/she) is ever going to get along in society. And if he can’t learn this? Perhaps he shouldn’t be in society. A good friend of mine has 1 child with aspergers and two others with at least ADD (they are too young to test further at the moment) and yet all three of them know what is appropriate behavior in public. And they are impaired.

Let’s not also forget that, technically, I am impaired. I have a real, diagnosed mental illness that makes me freak a bit in public at times. But do I let my freaking effect those around me? I do not. Why not? Because I have been taught how to act in public by my parents.

As to looking older than he is; if he can speak as well as this child was speaking, there was no way he was much younger than he appeared. And even if he is, I think any child over the age of about 2 can be told to use their inside voice. I know my nieces have been being told that for at least that long. And they did learn to do so. How? Repetition. Telling them over and over, when they yelled, to use their inside voice. It can be done with a young child. I’ve seen it first hand.

I can here the critics now ‘but you have no children Robyn, how the hell would you know?’ I don’t have to have children to be able to tell when a child is not being parented. All I have to do is go out into the world and observe behavior that would have gotten me hauled home, my mother to embarrassed to continue to do what she is doing.

And I don’t need to be a parent to know that screaming at the top of your lungs on the bus is not appropriate behavior. Ever.

The Amusing Thing About Yesterday

was my conversation with the psychiatrist.

He would say “Some people hear things, or see things that aren’t there, do you ever do that?”

I would say “No, I have never hallucinated.”

He would say “Do you have the need to do things over and over again?”

I would say “No, I do not have OCD.”

And so on, until I wanted to say to him, Look, I probably know the DSM-IV as well as you do, so just use the damn names for things!

When I told him I’d been on lithium, xanax and trazadone, he looked amazed.  “At the same time?”  More or less.

He did, however, sum me up very nicely. “You do well on meds.  You do okay for awhile off meds, and then it all goes pear shaped for a bit.  But overall, you’re doing fine!”

My family is amused by the saying ‘pear shaped’.  Not a US saying.

Well, That Was Exhausting…

Since I hadn’t been to the Psych department in so long, the Doctor took an entire history again.  Do they not realize how painful it is to go through everything that’s happened in the last 15 years all over again?  Of course they do.  Wankers.

The final decision was to not put me on any meds.  I am coping more or less okay, its better for the fetus if and when I get pregnant etc etc etc.  Of course, he told me to go to my GP for a new referral if I felt this wasn’t working for me.

Wasn’t my original Psychiatrist, which sort of pissed me off, as I was hoping it would be him so he’d know my history.  This guy hadn’t even read my chart before I got into his little room.  That annoyed me as well.

The other difficult part was the woman sitting behind me in the reception area, bitching about how she’d been betrayed and what the hell was she doing with all the crazy people? I really wanted to turn around and tell her to shut the fuck up, some of us crazy people need this shit.  But I bit my tongue.  And had to laugh when she commented that the reception area looks like a 1930s ward from some movie, because it does.

Why do they do that? Why do they put the ‘modern’ psych units into the creepiest building they can find?  KP, back in California, was the same way.  The Department of Psychology and Psychiatry was in the old Home for the Incurables (I kid you not) in Oakland California. It was such a creepy building.

Home now, enjoying my last day off before next weekend, when I have another four day weekend!

Happy St Patrick’s Day!

No, I’ve not had any green beer. Or any beer. I had a lovely glass of wine last night, though.

Spent the morning cleaning the flat. Going to spend the afternoon putting together our new piece of furniture and putting things away. Maybe we’ll be unpacked by the time we have to decide if we’re moving again. That’ll be next January.

In other news, I see my psychiatrist tomorrow. I haven’t seen him in about 3 years. I think it was just after Simon and I got married that he released me back to my GP for meds monitoring.So very different here than in the US. In the US I would have seen him non-stop. And probably a psychologist also. I think I had one psychology session ages ago here in the UK.

I think about finding a private therapist, but its very expensive in order to just go and talk to someone. NHS won’t cover it. At least, not long term.

We’ll see what he says tomorrow. I think I do need to be back on meds, just not sure what kind. Too many ‘bad’ days lately. Better living through chemistry, indeed.