"You're not the same."

I've heard that from a few people lately. And I know they are right. I'm not the same. There's a sadness about me that is completely foreign to the person I used to be. But I don't think it's possible to go through all that I have over the last couple of years and not be changed by it.

Most people may know some of what happened, but few people know all of it.

• Ric's father and a lifelong friend both died the same weekend a dear friend was murdered. 
• We lost a close family friend to suicide. 
• A group of friends and I pulled a young man from a burning car only to learn that he succumbed to his injuries a couple of weeks later. 
• A different young man purposely ran out in front of my husband's car on the highway, dying instantly when he was struck by the Jeep at 45 mph. 
• Another friend died in a tragic rock climbing accident.

So much loss over a relatively short amount of time. And it's broken something inside of me. Instead of becoming numb, I've become hypersensitive. I think about death and loss all of the time, constantly worrying about losing someone else. I know it's unrealistic, but it's what I'm feeling.

What can I do? Well, I've seen a counselor a few times, and I think I need to continue doing that. He can help me work on creating different thought patterns, focusing on the positives instead of imagining all the possible negatives.

Beyond that, I don't know what else to do. Trying to work through the stages of grief was impossible, because we had so much loss piled on top of loss. It's hard to move on when a new wave of pain hits you and takes you right back to the worst feelings again.

I don't know that I will ever be the same person again. I don't know how to turn off the worry, which means there is always an underlying fear of more loss. I realize death is part of life, but I need to strike a better balance that still allows me to live my life.

The simple truth is, I'm not the same happy-go-lucky person I used to be. I don't know if I ever will be that person again.

Reading back over this, it feels like I should have so much more to say. But the truth is, this simple reality is a big part of what is consuming me day to day. I worry over what else might happen and I worry that I won't be able to handle anything more.

And now you know.

Hello, New Drug. ("Life, Medicated." Part 13)

It's been nearly three months since my psychiatrist recommended adding a new medication for my depression, and the results have been good.

I swear, I feel like I've been very lucky with meds. Only once has a medication not worked for me, and my doctor took me off that right away. But other than that, we've been hitting the nail right on the head with what I need.

So right now, I take three medications. I take Abilify for anxiety, Wellbutrin for depression, and Temazepam for my insomnia. The dosages are small for each, but they seem to be enough to make a difference for me.

Specifically, what is each drug doing for me? The Abilify helps calm me down. Without it, my mind races a mile a minute and I can never relax. The Wellbutrin keeps me from getting too sedentary and stationary. It allows me to feel energized and able (and willing) to take on each day. And the Temazepam helps me to stay asleep and get a full eight hours. So far, so good.

I'm not saying that medication is a cure-all for everyone. That is a decision best made by each person in consultation with their medical professionals. For me, though, this combination seems to be doing the trick.

So what's missing? Honestly, I have not been scheduling therapy appointments. I know that talking things out with a licensed therapist is good for me, but something keeps holding me back. I think I feel almost like, "what am I going to hear that I don't already know?"

But that's just a cop-out. Each time I see my therapist, I walk away with a fresh insight into something that has been challenging me. I know going is a good thing, so I am going to make those sessions a priority and get in for them.

What I want people to know most is that I am doing okay right now. I know low moments, and I have weathered many of those. But right now, I'm feeling more balanced and in control of my emotions and thoughts. After so much time moping about or anxious about everything, this is a good place to be.

If you are feeling anxious or depressed, there's help available for you. Learn more about both here. Reach out to your friends, your family, or medical professionals. You are not alone and you are not the only one struggling.

You matter.
You are loved.
And we need you to stay.

Two Steps Back. ("Life, Medicated." Part 12)

It’s hard to believe that it’s been so long since I wrote an update. It’s even harder to see where I am right now and be willing to share that openly and honestly. But that’s my thing, right? So here goes.

On the upside, my medication appears to be working. I’m able to function without descending into overwhelming moments of sadness. That’s a good thing. My emotions feel like they have balanced out for the most part.

But there’s a downside. For the last several months, I feel like I have been floating on auto-pilot. I am going through the motions each day but I am not fully functional. I am not writing, not working out, and not eating healthy. I’m really not doing much at all.

I am sleeping, though. A lot. I go to sleep each night by 8:30pm and wake up for work about 4:30am. I get home around 2pm and I fight to stay awake until bedtime. I’d rather just nap the whole afternoon away.

That’s not good.

As happy as I am with my medication and to no longer be dealing with crippling sadness, this can’t be a solution, either. I can’t sleepwalk through life.

I am scheduling a follow-up appointment with my psychologist to see if there is something we can do to modify my medication. I feel like we have a handle on the too-far-down but we have also overly impacted my daily activities.

Is there a solution? I have to believe that there is. And I have to trust that we can find it soon.

Facing A Hard Truth. ("Life, Medicated." Part 11)

I realize this may be a scary thing for some to read, but my promise in writing this series was to stay honest and candid. So here goes today's shitty realization:

"Depression is going to kill me."

Like I said, not a great thought. But there it is. It hit me this morning like a brick. And I don't know what to do about it, exactly.

What am I talking about? Not actually taking my own life in a depressed state. That isn't what this is about. I am confident that I have safeguards in place to protect myself should I ever get to that low a point.

No, I am talking about something different but related. I am talking about the negative physical consequences of depression.

One study found that depression is as harmful to the body as obesity. 

Depression is almost as likely to cause heart disease in men as obesity, according to new research.

Another study found that ongoing depression is as bad as smoking. Seriously, smoking. Holy crap. Like I needed another thing to worry about, right? I thought I had a handle on my depression and coping mechanisms in place. But I hadn't taken into account the negative physical impact of depression.

Again, to be clear, this isn't about depression leading to suicide. This is about the adverse physical impact that depression has on a person's physical health. And that scares the crap out of me. Because I am already fighting obesity and my depression makes it harder to stay motivated to do anything about it.

What a vicious circle. Feel depressed so don't work out. Don't work out so don't lose weight. Stay heavy and feel depressed. AND then, suffer physical health problems on top of all that.

Okay, okay. I get it. I need to fix what is happening before it does even more harm to my body. 

So why do I feel even worse knowing all of this?

*sigh*

Hello, Depression. ("Life, Medicated." Part 10)

It's been nearly two months since I blogged here. In blogger-time, that's forever. But it doesn't feel that long to me. And that's because everything seems to be a bit of a blur right now, time wise. Days are slow but weeks are flying by.

"You're depressed."

My husband said those exact words to me yesterday, and since then, I can't stop replaying them in my head. It seems so obvious - now - but I really didn't see it while it was coming on.

I don't feel like reading.
I don't feel like writing.
I don't feel like watching TV.
I don't feel like listening to music.

I don't want company.
I don't want to be alone.

I don't want to to work out.
I don't want to go out.
I don't want to hang out.

But I haven't a clue what I want to do.

Depression is sneaky.

Depression is not always a dark, sullen mood filled with horrible thoughts and endless tears. Sometimes, it's just the steady drone of nothingness. And in some ways, that's worse than the dramatic depression.

When I've been that low, I've been smart enough to reach out for help.

"Hey, I'm bottoming out and I'm afraid of being alone." 

But this? What the heck would I say to people? 

"Hey, I'm feeling absolutely nothing and want to do absolutely 

nothing, so let's not get together for a beer, okay?"

Depression is in for the long game.

I have been depressed for weeks now, if not for months. I've struggled to find excitement in any of the things I usually do. But I don't want to do anything but sleep. I've gone from being busy each day with workouts and friends to coming home from work, napping for an hour or more, having dinner, and then killing time until I can go to bed.

Looking back, I can see that this has been going on for a long time. I have covered it up with bursts of "the old me," but it's just an in-the-moment fix. Afterwards, I'm right back to being this non-person.

I'm not sad, necessarily. I mean, I feel sad when I sit and think about where I am right now. But overall, no, I'm not feeling sad or gloomy. But I'm not feeling much of anything, to be honest. I'm not excited or happy about much right now, either.

I did talk to my therapist earlier this week, but I think I really glossed over how I'm really feeling. I said all the right things, but until my husband called out my depression, I didn't really believe things had become this bad.

There is no quick fix.

Fighting depression isn't as easy as just snapping out of it, anymore than mending a broken leg is as easy as just walking on it. It's not really possible to jump from depressed to just fine. But there are steps I can take to start moving in the right direction.

First, I can move my body. I have a group run scheduled for tomorrow morning (that, of course, I have spent the day trying to find a reason to not attend). But I will go and I will run some miles with my local Fat To Finish tribe members. That will be a good start.

Second, I will continue to write daily, positive affirmations here at the Daily Dose of Good. It may or may not help anyone else, but starting each day off with a positive statement helps me.

Third, I will talk with my Psychologist and let him know how I'm really feeling. I don't know if he will want to make any adjustment to my medications, but that's always a possibility. I just know I need to be honest with him if I am going to address this depression head-on.

Fourth, I will find a reason to engage with other people each day. It might be as simple as a text message exchange or as involved as meeting for dinner, but I will stop isolating myself away from everyone.


This isn't a feel-good blog entry, I know. But I promised myself when I began writing the "Life, Medicated" series that I was always going to be honest. Well, here's some honesty. Thank you for reading along and I hope that it offers some insight into what others - or you, personally - might be going through.

Some From Column A, Some From Column B. ("Life, Medicated." Part 09)

When last I blogged about this, in early December, things were okay. And they still are, for the most part. But there's change on the horizon and I'm going to share it because that's what I do.

If there's one thing I've learned from my still relatively new journey through the land of psychotropics (those are mind medications, folks), it's that there is no such thing as "fixed."

• Conditions are managed. 
• Medications are balanced. 
• I'm coping.
• Things are handled. 

But we never say, "ok, this is fixed." It's always more of a "good enough for now, let's try this and see what tomorrow brings."

Which brings us to where we are now. It's time to make some changes. I'm currently on two different medications, the Abilify and the Restoril. The dosage for the Restoril seems right, in that it is allowing me to get several hours of uninterrupted sleep each evening. That is really, really helping.

The dosage for the Abilify has been extremely low, and we are now going to bump it up just a bit. It's been helping me soften the edges a bit, so to speak, but there are still some extreme highs and lows that we think would be better off rounded off.

It's a little scary, I'll be honest. Things are working right now and increasing the dosage could adversely impact that. But, this isn't an exact science, and while I feel okay, I think things could be a little better. So I'm willing to follow my doctor's recommendation and see how this change affects me.

Why blog about something as inconsequential as a dosage change? Two reasons. One, because I made a commitment to share all the details of this process to help others understand what it all feels like. And two, a dosage change might seem small but the ripple effects can be significant. It's important that I track all of this as completely as possible.

Thanks for riding along on this journey with me, friends. I don't always know where it's going, but I'm always happy for the company on the way.

A New Normal. ("Life, Medicated." Part 8)

Two months ago, I wrote for the first time about my decision to take medication for my anxiety and depression. I've always been an open book, but this was an especially personal admission and I wasn't sure how it would be received.

I shouldn't have worried about that at all. People read "Life, Medicated." and the response was immediate. The blog was read and shared more than anything else I've written here and I'm grateful for all the support.

So what's happening now?

I'm doing okay.

And given how dark some of my earlier days were, this is a pretty big statement for me to make. I still have good and bad moods, of course, and that's okay, too. It means I'm human and I'm not overly medicated to the point of emotional numbness.

I'm taking a very small dosage of Abilify, which is a little scary-sounding given that it is a medication used to treat the symptoms of psychotic conditions such as schizophrenia and bipolar I disorder (manic depression). No one wants to think of themselves as psychotic, right?

But here's the truth. Before I started taking the medication, I was clearly acting out with symptoms of manic-depression. I was running full steam and all over the place for a time, then withdrawing and isolating and suffering through horrible, painful sadness and loneliness. It was a rollercoaster of too much in either direction, and it was taking its toll on me, on my life, and on my friendships.

I am also taking a sleeping pill called Restoril that affects chemicals in the brain that may be unbalanced in people with sleep problems (insomnia). It is used to treat insomnia symptoms, such as trouble falling asleep or staying asleep. Restoril works by slowing down the central nervous system (brain), causing drowsiness which helps patients fall asleep.

Initially, I was concerned about the sleeping pills. But after months and months of barely getting two-three hours of sleep per night, I was desperate. A lack of sleep makes everything worse, and I was feeling ragged and totally out of control. Now, getting to sleep AND staying asleep for seven to eight hours allows me to function throughout the day.

Life isn't all roses for me right now, but it's manageable. When I'm happy, I'm good. I enjoy the moments I'm in and I don't feel like I have to somehow "crank it up a notch" to consider it a good time. Conversely, when I'm down, it doesn't feel like the end of the world every time. It's just a bad mood or an appropriate response to something going on at the time, and I know I'll get through it.

I am struggling with motivation right now. I feel a little burnt out from running too many major events the last couple of months and from over-scheduling myself. So I've cut back on that, I'm doing a little hibernating and recovering, and I'm finding new ways to engage with fewer people in more meaningful ways. For now, it's a coping mechanism and it's working. And as the weeks go by, and I feel more recharged, I expect I will be back to my old self and reconnecting on a more frequent basis with friends. For now, they seem to understand that I'm taking care of myself first.

Now let's talk hard truths.

I understand there is still a stigma that surrounds mental health, depression, anxiety, and medications. I can't change that in any way except by sharing my own story of pain and recovery. So I am doing that without shame or embarrassment.

I wasn't okay.
I was getting worse.
I sought help.
I'm doing okay.

I can't think of a more direct way to say that. I was lucky in that the first medication prescribed by my doctor seems to be working, and that I am able to sleep at night and function during the day. If you aren't experiencing that same healthy balance of rest and activity, and you feel out of control and desperate for some peace, I recommend you get help. Talk to a therapist. Talk to your doctor. Maybe counseling will help, maybe it won't. Maybe meds will help, maybe they won't. But for sure, doing nothing means that things will not get better, and they quite likely may even get worse.

Get help. You're worth it.
______________________

EDITED TO ADD:
I don't pretend that my solution will work for everyone. And I know that the medication is not a magic-pill. For me, and me only, I feel that the meds have softened the edges of my immediate "all or nothing" mood, good or bad. And that gives me that extra moment to think about what is happening and react in a way that is more authentic and true. That's what is helping me.

The Increasingly Selfish World of Me, Me, Me. ("Life, Medicated." Part 7)

I already know this is going to be a tough piece to write, because it's only worth writing if I'm completely honest. So let's do this.

Sometimes, I am a really crappy friend. I am oblivious to what's going on around me, and I act like the only things that matter are whatever is happening with me at the time.

There. I said it. And it's true.

What I don't know is how much of this is because of my anxiety and depression and how much is just because I can be an asshole.

That part really stinks. Because I honestly don't know.

No, John. You're such a good guy. Look at all the people you help with your fundraising and community activities.

Yes, that's true. But one doesn't negate the other. I can do the big things and still fail to do the small things. And those small things matter.

For example, a friend of mine recently took a long driving trip. She visited a few states, lots of people, and had quite the adventure. But it was while I was sorting through all of my no-sleep drama and I was mostly oblivious to her travels. Worse, when she returned, I didn't take the time to pull her aside, look her in the eye, and ask, "so, how was the vacation trip?"

Sure, we chatted a bit about it. But looking back, I feel like I really just glossed over it. I didn't press her to share details, say what was great and fun, and tell me all about it. And that's not cool. As a friend, I should want to hear all of that. And I do. I just don't think to ask sometimes, at least not in the moment. Instead, at 3am, I wake up thinking, "well, that was rude."

There are plenty of other examples. I was just asked by a friend if we wanted to join them for a movie. I thought it would be fun, but I needed to check with my husband to see if he felt up to it. But by the time I got back into the house and spent some time talking with him and our house guest, I completely forgot that I was supposed to text the friend back and confirm yes/no for the movie. She had to message me again asking about it.

Rude.

Am I just a bad friend? Is my depression and anxiety impacting my memory and awareness? Are the meds affecting me?

Here's the really suck part. I have no idea.

And I don't know exactly what to do about it to make things better.

I need people. And when I want to be around them, I really, really want to be around them. Other times, it's like a switch is flipped and I just really want to be alone. In those moments, I don't care about other people or what is going on with them.

Again... rude.

I suppose, like everything else I am dealing with right now, I will just handle this one person, one moment, one interaction at a time. I'll be honest with friends and make sure they know what is happening with me and why I may not be at my best right now.

Mostly, though, I need to make more of an effort to acknowledge other people and remember that they have an entire life of their own. They are also worried about things, happy about others, and interested in talking about themselves to someone who is actually listening.

I can handle this. It's just one more thing I need to do, right?

*sigh*

Life Feels Like This. ("Life, Medicated." Part 6)

I've always been an open book to my friends, and since the rise of social media, I've carried that same transparency to my interactions with strangers. What you see is what you get.

Mostly.

When it comes to my struggles with my mental health, though, I carried that much closer to the vest. I wasn't comfortable dealing with that myself, let alone sharing all of that with anyone else.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Since I've started blogging about my mental health and my decision to seek treatment, thousands of people have read my posts. That's a little overwhelming, but in a positive way. It means that my words are resonating with others and that people appreciate knowing they aren't alone with what they are going through.

It's a big change, sharing this last part of myself. But I have no regrets. And I'm going to keep on blogging about this because it's how I'm going to save my own life.

The Short Version

Me, when I stay silent about what is happening

Me, when I share my struggles with my friends

It's Funny Until It Isn't. And It Isn't. ("Life, Medicated." Part 5)

I'll be honest. There is a lot of funny to be found in this situation. Changing my brain chemistry is a very inexact science, and it's inevitable that humor finds its way in.

Everything's Coming Up Trouble

I have always struggled with sleep. On the plus side, I can lay down and drift off to sleep almost immediately. On the negative side, I don't stay asleep for very long. After a couple of hours, I am wide awake again. (In fact, it's 3am as I write this, because I couldn't sleep tonight. But more on that later.)

My sleeping problem has become worse with my anxiety and depression medication. My 4-5 hours of sleep per night dropped off to 3-4, at most. That's not good. So I contacted my doctor to let her know and see what she recommended I do. She prescribed a mild sleep aid to help me sleep through the night. I went to pick up my prescription, and when my name was called, I stepped up to the counter and was met by a young-ish pharmacist I'll call Dr. Mumbles. He briefly - and loudly - explained what the pills were, what they should do, and what I should expect. I nodded along, said thank you, and was ready to walk away. Then, quickly and rather quietly, the doctor earned his nickname by mumbling something about additional side effects and a recommendation to "... head directly to the ER to avoid long-term damage."

Dr Mumbles, chatty as usual

Wait. What?!

I stepped back up to the counter, called him back, and said, "excuse me, what was that last part?"

Turns out, one of the rare but possible side effects of this sleeping pill is priapism. I'd never heard of that, so I had to ask him again to explain. Turns out, as I learned in greater Wikipedia detail later, "priapism is a medical condition in which the erect penis does not return to its flaccid state, despite the absence of both physical and psychological stimulation, within four hours. Priapism is potentially painful and is considered a medical emergency, which should receive proper treatment by a qualified medical practitioner."

So, you know, there's that to look forward to. Now not only will I be wide awake, I'll be wandering down to the Emergency Room to let the whole hospital know that my insomnia has turned me into a 16-year-old boy. What else could I do but sit in my car, giggle a little bit, and decide the whole situation was comedy gold? Good times.

Not Laughing Now

Alas, the humor was short-lived. My medication and natural insomnia are conspiring to give me a very bad time, indeed. And it's getting worse each day. I'll be calling my doctor later this morning to discuss the problem and find an alternative solution. Because I can't keep this up.

Yesterday was the worst. I was antsy and fidgety, unable to stay focused on anything. I grabbed the TV remote a half-dozen times but never turned it on, because there isn't anything that I felt would hold my attention. I tried to read and tried to write, but neither activity was enough to calm my racing mind. Ultimately, I just gave up and laid down for a nap. I didn't sleep well, but at least I was able to ease the stress levels a bit.

It wasn't just yesterday, though. In Phoenix all weekend, I really struggled to settle and calm myself. I was tired, exhausted even, but also really wired and unable to sleep. Standing around talking to people, I found myself thinking, "damn, I really just want to crawl into that corner over there and take a quick nap." That's no way to go through life, right? I can't just drop into nap-mode every couple of hours. It started out amusing, but it isn't funny now. Sleeplessness is a significant contributor to a negative mindset, and I really can't afford to slide back into that place.

It's A Problem

I'll be honest. I'm a little worried here. I know that this is all part of the process, but I hate to think that the first medication I am taking might not be the one that works for me long-term. A friend who went through a similar situation said it took him nearly a year, four different medications, and many different dosage changes before he found what works for him. Damn. I don't want that for me. I mean, I want the "this works" part but not the "took a year to get there" part.

But, it is what it is, right? I need to do whatever I have to if I want to get and stay healthy.

My course of action for the day is simple. I'm going to let my boss know I need to take the day off for medical reasons. I'm going to contact my doctor as soon as she is in the office. I'm going to be completely honest about all that is happening with me right now. And I'm going to make whatever changes she recommends to my prescriptions. I trust her.

Yes, this is a problem. But it's nothing that some open communication and a small co-pay won't fix, right?


____________

If you're just catching up, here's what you missed earlier on "Life, Medicated":

"I am tired of being tired. I need help. It's time to talk to the doctor about medication." (Part 1)

"Okay, so I have meds and I'm taking them. Should I feel something, yet?" (Part 2)

"Oh, Crap. I already forgot to take my pill." (Part 3)

"We should probably talk to someone about this." (Part 4)

Talk Is Cheap. ("Life, Medicated." Part 4)

Status Report

It's been nearly two weeks that I've been taking my medication, and I really don't have an opinion as to how well it's going. On one hand, I feel fine, I suppose. On the other, I've still been dealing with mood swings. Is it because the medicine is still building up? Maybe. Is it because medication only takes the high and low edges off but I still have to deal with the emotions in the middle? Maybe. Time will tell, I suppose.

All the basics are still the same. I'm committed to taking medication to help me deal with the anxiety and the depression that have done their best to take me out. I don't want to spend so much time and energy battling emotional extremes. So yeah, I'm in this.

Drugs Aren't Enough

Even assuming my doctor hit a home run on the first pitch and managed to prescribe (a) the right drug in (b) the right dosage without (c) any complementary medications, I know that the medicine itself isn't a cure-all. It's just a helping hand to get me in a better head space. What I do in that space is a different challenge.

Not at all the kind of therapy I get, but how cool would this be?

Enter William K. He's a licensed therapist that I have decided to see on a regular basis. I first met him more than a year ago, when I decided that I would benefit from having an objective person to talk to about all of the trauma and drama that was happening in my life. He really helped me at the time, and he gave me some very specific advice as to how I could be more mindful in my thinking and in my healing.

Anyway, after I saw him a couple of times in June 2015, I felt "cured" and didn't make any follow-up appointments... until late October 2015 after the man I pulled from a burning car ended up dying at the hospital a few weeks later. William was a great sounding board and, once again, helped me pull myself back together. So it only makes sense that I start seeing him again now.

Talk Really Is Cheap

I mean that in the best way possible. Because my husband is a Kaiser employee, we have no insurance premiums and no deductibles. We each only pay a $5.00 cost sharing payment for any medical treatment we receive. Doctor visit? $5. Surgery? $5. And yes, mental health counseling sessions? $5. So I can't use money as an excuse to not go to counseling.

For anyone wondering, yes, I absolutely know how fortunate we are to have this benefit. Many people are unable to afford mental health treatment, or their plan doesn't cover it at all. I think it should be more affordable for everyone, because who wouldn't benefit from a chance to talk openly and privately with a great listener?

What's The Plan?

Whenever I see William K, he always makes it a point to send me away with a very specific list of to-do items. (He knows I'm a list person.) In the past, he has challenged me to spend time in pursuit of silence and solitude and to focus on the reality of what happened instead of dragging myself through the wringer playing "oh, you know what else even worse could have happened?!" games.

The plan now is for me to be more compassionate towards myself, so I guess that means no more attacking myself for being a jackass and forgetting my medication. He also wants me to be mindful of the moments I'm in, the good moments, instead of always jumping ahead to to the stressful things I have coming up. And finally, he wants me to try to stay in a positive headspace about the many great things going on in my life right now. Apparently, I have developed a bit of a callous around a few really amazing things and have been taking them for granted.

Medication is only a piece of the puzzle. Awareness of my own mental state is another. And counseling sessions - honest and candid - are another. I'm taking the first, I'm working on the second, and I've committed to the third.

I can do this.

______________________________________________________________________

If you're just catching up, here's what you missed earlier on "Life, Medicated":

"I am tired of being tired. I need help. It's time to talk to the doctor about medication." (Part 1)

"Okay, so I have meds and I'm taking them. Should I feel something, yet?" (Part 2)

"Oh, crap. I already forgot to take my pill." (Part 3)

Well, That Was Fast. ("Life, Medicated." Part 3)

Previously on "Life, Medicated":

"I am tired of being tired. I need help. It's time to talk to the doctor about medication."

"Okay, so I have meds and I'm taking them. Should I feel something, yet?"

Yeah, actually, that's about all you've missed so far. But here's where it starts to get good... or messy. Not sure which way this is going to go, yet.

That Was Fast

It didn't take long for me to screw up. Yesterday was only Day 10 and I already forgot to take my pill. Because it's new, I really don't know what the impact might be of missing or delaying a dose. My doctor said it was important to establish a routine with the medication, but she didn't say it was critical. Still, no matter, my takeaway was that I had already found a way to screw things up.

I was nearly at work twenty-five miles away when I realized I missed it, and there was no way I was going to fight morning traffic in both directions just to get back home for it. I tried a couple of different ways to get the pill (have a friend who was already driving up swing by the house first, get the doctor to call in a single-dose prescription at the pharmacy across from my office, etc), but in the end, I opted to just wait until I got home late afternoon to take the pill. And I appear to have survived with my faculties intact.

Hello, Emotions

I was driving to work and decided it would be a good time to call and talk with my Mother. I know that she's been worried about me and I wanted to give her an update. As I was playing the conversation ahead in my mind, and thinking about saying, "I'm now taking the meds," I realized that I had forgotten my pill. So instead of calling and talking with her, I started churning on the impact of my mistake.

Right away, I slipped into "you're an idiot" mode. I couldn't just go with, "it's still new and you're going to forget sometimes, so let's find a way to remind you until it becomes a habit." Nope. I went the self-criticism route. And why not? Once I start down that path, I want to go as far as possible. I bottomed-out at, "fuck, I hate this so much." That's when I could feel myself close to tears and realized I was truly losing it.

I switched to problem-solver mode and starting making the calls for help. Ultimately, they didn't work, but taking an action helped me shift from attacking myself to attacking the problem. And that's a lesson I need to revisit soon.

Failure or Fear

From the vantage point of hindsight, I have a better idea of what was happening. I was beating myself up over my failure, and that was definitely a part of it. But more than that, I was afraid of the potential consequences of missing my medication. It wasn't really a rational response, but all of this is new to me. My only experience with anything even close to it is giving my dog, Ruthie, pills twice a day to prevent seizures. Our Vet has made it crystal-clear to us that we are NOT to miss a dose. She said, "she is stable now and has been seizure-free for more than a year, but missing her pills even once could result in a massive, life-threatening seizure." Is that true? Well, I trust my Vet. And if it isn't true, maybe she just says it so we respect the importance of the medications.

Either way, I was playing that in the back of my mind. I forgot my pill and I had no idea what that might mean. Was it no big deal? Or was I going to have a debilitating headache or feel out of control?

Yeah, I know. Drama queen, much? In the end, a phone call to my doctor let me know that I was okay taking the pill as soon as I got home. And that put an end to the fear.

The Big Moment

My big takeaway from this experience may seem obvious to everyone else, but it somehow slipped by me.

I might have to deal with this for the rest of my life.

Sure, maybe medication is a temporary thing to help me get back on track. But since I'm dealt with depression and anxiety my entire life, I'm thinking that is unlikely. I'll probably have to take medication in some dose for the rest of my life. And that means having to remember each day to take them. So now my desire to be mentally healthy is going to insert itself into every morning of mine.

And that has to be okay. If living a long and happy life means doing it with meds, fine. I'm still in. Because I need this.

So the story continues...

This is me, this morning, looking oh so glamorous in
a bathrobe with bed-head. So what? I'm still awesome.

The Waiting Game ("Life, Medicated." Part II)

After you tell the world that you're starting medication for depression and anxiety, and nearly two thousand people read all about it, what do you do for an encore? 

Simple. You keep telling the truth. Welcome to the next chapter in my new story, "Life, Medicated."

The Waiting Game

As promised, I met with my doctor last week and we talked medications. I had a lot of questions for her about her choice of meds, the recommended dosage, potential side effects, and what to expect as the drug began to work. She patiently listened to my concerns and addressed them directly and clearly. And we worked out a plan to move forward.

So here I am a week later, taking a daily pill as prescribed. It's too early to really tell if the meds are working, but just taking them has given me something that has been missing for as long as I can remember: hope that the chaos and stress in my head might start to ease.

Interestingly enough, the biggest indicator that the meds are working won't be what happens. It will be what doesn't happen. I'll know I'm on the right track when I can process the ups and downs of my day without kicking in to high gear or dropping in to low mode. I should still be able to feel happy about good stuff and concerned about bad things, but I don't have to feel all the things and do all the things all at once.

A Cautionary Note

Medication for anxiety and/or depression isn't a miracle cure-all. It will help, sure, but it's only one piece of a bigger puzzle. It's not unlike taking medication for high-blood pressure. It will help you, but you also need to eat a healthy diet and exercise regularly. Drugs alone aren't the fix.

That's where I am. I am taking the medication as prescribed, and I will continue to do so. But I am also scheduled to meet with my therapist and to follow-up with my doctor. In addition, I'm changing behaviors that were more likely to take me to dark places. I'm being more candid with friends. I'm asking for help when I need it. And I'm making it a point to surround myself with good, strong, loving people.

I have a responsibility to myself to do everything I can to get and stay mentally healthy. And I'm going to do that. My very life is riding on that. And I kind of like my life, actually. There's a lot of really good things happening.

Why So Public?

I'm a pretty open person, sharing a lot of myself across social media. I've always been like that, living a life on the skyline with everyone watching. I was an early target/victim/survivor of an anti-gay witch hunt in the Marine Corps and lived to tell the tale everywhere from my local Public Television station and newspaper to a multi-day story in the New York Daily News. My wedding photo was published in the New York Times. I'm in a documentary film about weight loss and running. And I've been a blogger for more than a decade.

In other words, my life has always been open to the public. And sharing personal and painful things is tough, but the rewards far outweigh the loss of privacy. When I blogged about my sexual assault and survival, I received thousands of private messages thanking me for sharing openly what others still felt the need to hide. And not surprisingly, my post last week about seeking out mental health care and medication generated many private messages itself.

I don't share all of that above to brag about myself. I share it to illustrate that I am used to being out in the open and living my life out loud. And the support and encouragement I receive makes it all worth it. But not everyone is in my position, and I feel an obligation to be a public face of what is a very personal struggle. Every part of my struggle that I share is a chance to speak for so many who are still unable to speak for themselves. And I take that obligation very seriously.

If you were one of those people who messaged, texted, or emailed, know this. I am so grateful for your support and I am committed to being open and upfront about this entire journey to health. I'm worth it. You're worth it. And we'll all make it if we just trust in each other and get the help we need.

I'm Still Here

One thing more I need to say. In last week's blog, I was painfully candid about my own sadness and my suicidal thoughts. That scared many of you, and I am sorry for that. But I'm not sorry I was honest. And now, I want to add to those thoughts from last week.

Yes, I have been overwhelmed by suicidal thoughts. I've felt so sad and broken that I thought I would literally just stop existing. But I'm still here. Nothing in my past was strong enough to truly break me. And now that I am releasing a lifetime of guilt and shame over my mental health struggles, I am even stronger.

I'm not going anywhere, friends. I have so much to do in this life that another hundred years won't be time enough. Thank you for worrying and thank you for caring. I'm still here.

"I'm Still Here"

Mindy McCready

I'm okay, I'm alright

Hurricanes and train wrecks only last one night

Would you believe all I've been through?

Had the hands of tempted fate, oh, if you only knew

What it costs, how I wait, what I got, what I gave

I'm still here, after the heartache

After the storm blew through, I kept me and it saved me

I'm still standin' right where you left me

On a cold dark cloud with nowhere to fall but down

Like a single, naked, unrelenting tear, I'm still here

There was darkness all around me

There were times that I was sure I was drowning

There were people, who tried to reach me

But no matter how they loved me, I kept sinking

I got tired of my own hell, I reached inside and I saved myself

I'm still here, after the heartache

After the storm blew through, I kept me and it saved me

I'm still standin' right where you left me

On a cold dark cloud with nowhere to fall but down

Like a single, naked, unrelenting tear, I'm still here

This time I can survive

I ain't dying on nobody else's cross

I ain't sufferin' no more unforgivin' loss, oh, no

I'm still here, after the heartache

After the storm blew through, I kept me and it saved me

I'm still standin' right where you left me

On a cold dark cloud with nowhere to fall but down

Like a single, naked, unrelenting tear, I'm still here, I'm still here

End On A High Note

I got my hair cut yesterday and now it's all standing up. It's got me feeling like this cat, Johnny Bravo. I don't have that body, but a little more gel and I'd totally have this hairstyle.

Johnny Bravo meets Captain Awesome.

I can dig it.