Good day

I volunteered with my father for March for the Animals today.  I was worried that I wouldn’t be much of a help in my current condition but luckily they found a job perfect for me.  I was settled in a little station where people could have their picture taken with their dog for the SPCA website.  I sat in a folding chair most of the time, then popped up to take the occasional picture, all while petting adorable dogs (including a hilariously ill-proportioned corgi puppy!) on a gorgeous day.  It honestly couldn’t get much better than that! 

As fate would have it, the only pic I managed to grab on my own camera was of the tortoise that started chasing me the moment after I took it.

(Dad says it probably wasn't going after me.  I say he didn't see the red hot murderous fury in that tortoise's soulless beady eyes.)

So I’m thinking that if I can’t do a job right now, I can at least do some volunteer work and, yeah, probably I'm going to SPCA or Art with a Heart, if they're looking for help.  Also, I'm helping Cory out with his web series.

I really don't know what to do with myself right now, but I'm trying not to make things worse by stressing.

The side effects of the chocohol are lightening up a bit, thankfully, but I'm still having cravings, fatigue, and anxiety.  I'm thinking I'm probably going to go into a sugar coma sporting one eyebrow. 

I'm not sure why the xtillomania is so prevalent right now.  I think I'm largely out of the woods in terms of mood problems.  

I guess I'm having "picking up the pieces" anxiety or "what the hell do I do now?" anxiety.  

I'm considering mittens.

So, you know what….

Chocohol is kicking my ass.  The cravings.  This twitching and dropping things.

I just dropped what I’m sure were to be four scrumptious chocolate chip cookies on the sidewalk.

So basically, it gives me the utmost desire to have sweets, then makes unceremoniously me drop them on ground.

This is why I can't have nice things.

T-t-t-t-today junior!

Overnight my symptoms shifted from “exceptionally annoying” to “somewhat concerning”. 

It feels like how you would imagine having your memory erased with the “flashy thingy” from Men in Black.  (If you continue to read my blog you’re going to have to get used to the fact that pop culture references are a thing.) There’s a flash and a jolt and suddenly whatever I had on my mind is wiped clean.  Not permantantly, of course- it's momentary.

The problem is that even if I pick it up, even if what I’m saying makes perfect sense in my head, I can’t get it out cleanly.  There’s something caught in the gears of my mind; all gears are ready to go but get stuck on the beginning of the sentence, and every repeat is an attempt to dislodge the rest.

Yes, this is more concerning than annoying.  I’ll probably text Dr. G about it.  Better another case going in my "neurosis" folder rather than "preventable fatality".

G-g-g-grass.

Happy 4/20.

33 missed calls?

I’d rather think of that as indicator of how in-demand I am rather than my ignoring the outside world.

Today went by so fast and I can hardly remember what I did.  I think dishes, laundry, and writing, which was difficult.  I think it’s because of the chocohol.  I’ve had something like this before, on different medications, but it was diagnosed as psychogenic non-epileptic seizure disorder.

It feels like an icicle is piercing your brain and there’s ice water running through your veins.  You twitch.  You stumble.

It’s hard to read or write, your hands will unceremoniously slam the keyboard.  You sometimes forget words or you’ll start talking and forget where you were going.  You stuttter.  You slur.

Without warning you drop whatever you’re holding, which is fine when you’re holding, say, a, cotton ball, but less okay when you’re holding, say, your cell phone or, maybe, a priceless Faberge egg filled with scalding hot coffee.

You get that feeling you get when you fall in a dream and it’s like an electric shock.

I can’t say it’s the chocohol for sure but I have a feeling it is and that Dr. G is going to want to do something about it.  

I'm not fussed.  This is one of the aspects of being sick that I file in the “exceptionally annoying” folder rather than the “tormenting” folder.  

It's pretty childish but I'm just so sick of complaining to my doctors.  Since I graduated it's been one thing after another.  I know, I probably shouldn't write these symptoms off right away if there's a chance it could end up in the "preventable fatality" folder.  

I’m just glad I can cross PNESD off my list.  I have enough diagnoses to last me a lifetime.

Old News, New Opinions

Word in the news (admittedly for several years) is that there is a link between depression and inflammation, that depression may even be an allergic reaction to inflammation. 

The link exists in “sickness behavior”- something that occurs both for people with, say, the flu, and for people with depression.  Sickness behavior is that general low-energy, low-motivation, pain-sensitive, hygiene-resisting malaise that renders you immobile when you’re sick.  It's not sickness itself, but the way the body directs its powers away from everyday tasks and focuses everything on fighting off the disease.

What I love about this theory- whether or not it is true- is that it makes depression relatable.  Anyone who has ever been moderately ill has a measure of insight as to what depression feels like.  It legitimizes that this is an illness and is not something that can be brushed off or sucked up or pulled up by one’s bootstraps.  In fact, believing one is in a funk or just being lazy is a part of the mental distortion of depression.

Just for kicks, I’ve made a list of my sickness behavior

When… 

-You don’t have the strength to lift your toothbrush.

-You resign yourself to the fact that it’s going to be a messy bun week.

-The floor is lava.

-Your apartment looks like an episode of Hoarders.

-Potato chips are an acceptable form of sustenance unless you can manage to make yourself a poptart.

-You’ve been wearing the same clothes for the past 36 hours, and plan to continue to wear them for at least the next 12.

-Getting out of bed is a substantial process requiring a forklift, an elaborate pulley system, and blind faith.

-You thank god that your pet can’t speak, lest it tell tales of your epic journey from the bed to the couch and back to the bed.

It’s best to understand that this is only part of what it feels like to suffer from depression.  For one, it’s a pretty light-hearted account but also it doesn’t include the desperately low mood, brutal anxiety, and negative mental onslaught of depression.

This is how I feel now, but I think it's just a side effect of the Chocohol.  That’s good news and bad news.  It’s good that I’m not sick or depressed, but now I’m stuck with this feeling and have no way of knowing when it will go away.

As I’ve said before, I’m just hoping that it’s a matter of getting used to the meds.

Chocohol

So because I’m lazy and stubborn and don’t like to admit that I need medication to be a functioning human person, I let my medications run out.  I’m not talking about the anxiety medications that I’m not sure are exactly doing shit.  I’m talking about the heavy medication that stops me from, for example, thinking there’s a three-piece string quartet living in my walls playing the same four bars of Amazing Grace over and over again in order to torment me. 

Luckily there weren’t any consequences for my perilous game except that my mood slipped a bit.  Well I guess the main consequence was that when I got them filled and had my first dose I slept until 7pm. 

Last time I was on the heaviest of my current medications, I remember it being especially hard to get out of bed, but I don’t remember pulling 19 hours. 

I also remember gaining weight but I don’t remember having the mother of all sweet teeth (tooths?).  

Oh, but it’s not just a sweet tooth.  

I need chocolate.  I need chocolate now.

I realize that this blog is pretty much an open book into my private goings-on but even I have enough pride not to divulge the number of times I made the walk of shame over to my building’s vending machine and walked away $1.25 poorer.  Alright alright, sometimes $2.50 poorer. 

The shame.

I’m hoping I’m just adapting to it and that this problem with subside with time.  Otherwise, I may gain back all the weight I lost.

It’s not looking good.  No energy and a sweet tooth do not a healthy BMI make.

On the plus side, Dr. G spoke with the powers-at-be over at Chocohol (which is henceforth the name of the heavy medication) headquarters, and I don’t have to have weekly blood tests usually required when starting up this medication.  I was only awarded this courtesy because I’ve been on it before and because Dr. G is a hellcat from Brooklyn.

Pdoc love.