Went to my quaker meeting. It was good. Although sitting in silence gave me time to think about how stupid it is to ever skip a day of taking my meds. Especially when the one of them that I really like (bupropion) doesn't hang around in my system for more than 24 hours.
I wish I had an antidepressant-releasing implant. Not really, but I would prefer to have something closer to a steady state with relation to my brain chemicals. Otherwise I run into these dips. Peaks and valleys and by the time I notice it is too late.
Kind of like being thirsty-- by the time you are thirsty you are already dehydrated. By the time you are tired you are already sleep-deprived. By the time you notice that your brain is not doing so well you are already a bit relapsy.
I came out to another colleague on Friday. Came out as in treatment for Depression. Partly because I noticed a number of comments about pychiatrist appointments in a stigmatizing fashion.
Things like, "He told me, 'that's what my psychiatrist says.' and I knew there was something off about him, but I had no idea...'" And also the thought of people knowing that you had an appointment to see a psychiatrist being horrifically embarrassing. I didn't really want to come clean, but I thought it was important to do so.
Today I did not like how I felt in the morning at meeting. I felt moments of nameless despair. Don't worry. There is nothing behind this. No impetus to do anything. It is just the edge of Depression creep.
It's like when you get tired of watching what you eat and slowly your portion size increases and the number of fruits and vegetables on your plate decreases.
When you get tired of managing your Depression and you only take your pills and sometimes not even that. The sinking dread. The longing for some unhealthy coping strategy. This is the edge that reminds you. The mental equivalent of no longer fitting into your "fat pants."
A friend is in a day program for Depression. I think of her often, although I have been terrible at staying in touch. I am glad she is fighting. Because she rocks. And I am fighting too. Go me.
Grateful Crap: my awesome kids
talked with family
Quaker, teacher, parent,