Depression Talk

I feel really well lately, I feel as though I’m on top of my game and ready to take on the new challenges that my crazy job sends my way each and every day.

I drove into the city on Saturday evening, a trip that was sort of spur of the moment, but one that I needed nonetheless. I drove down the main streets of the city, looking at all the sights there are to see in the fresh six o’clock darkness now that the time has changed.

And I was overcome by how absolutely awful I felt last year at this very time.

I spent most of my time last year sitting on my balcony, drinking whatever my drink of the week was. I spent that time praying to God and to Orion, who’s belt I could see clearly almost every night. I thought that if I sent enough thoughts up to the two of them, I might be saved eventually.

I stayed at my good friend Mal’s house this weekend, and we did one of our favorite types of nights: Fat Kids Night. We ate copious amounts of food, drank Cosmopolitans, and watched bad television.

Fat Kids Night is a tradition that Mal and I started when I couldn’t face leaving the house, when I couldn’t put on clothing or makeup or face people. We would gather up supplies and sit at her house or mine, chain smoking and watching horror movies. And I said to Mal, as we both looked up at the hunter, Dude, do you know what a place I was in last year?

And she said, Yeah, And it’s really good to see you eating and laughing and being normal. Because last year, there were a number of times when Mal would create these dishes of home cooked food that were just so wonderful, and I just stared at the plate and cried.

I don’t know what caused me to spiral into that dark place last year, I don’t know why all of a sudden, I became this desperately unhappy person who people mostly just wanted to run away from. It scares me, that I became that person, because nothing terrifies me more than that. Nothing is scarier than thinking I could go back to living that way again, to feeling those feelings again.

I spend a vast majority of my time when I’m thinking about being insane worrying that it will become me again. And recently, I’m taking steps to avoid it, because I don’t think I can take it again, and I don’t think the people around me can take it again, either.

So, I’ve been working lately.

I’ve kind of been working a lot.

For the next little while, I’ll be working seventeen days straight, actually, with at least half of those days being doubles. (Yes, doubles. You know, the types of days where you leave the house at seven a.m. and don’t come back until eleven p.m.)

A few weeks ago, Jooms warned me about this. Like, Dude, you should slow it down.

Today my mother warned me, too. You are the most important one here, she said, and if YOU aren’t ok, your work won’t be ok either.

And then there was my Lady T, the most wonderous friend who ever did live. And she said, You know, we don’t want a repeat of last fall.

Oh, last fall. I don’t really remember much of it, actually, because I was tanked on my balcony all the time. I spent most of that time praying to Orion, hoping and wishing that he and God could take care of everything that needed taking care of.

The great thing about this fall is that I have new meds. Hurrah! Yay for pharmaceuticals! I’m living in a place that I LOVE, I have a horse, my car is on the road again. I’m free to come and go as I wish, I can get out of the lease I have on my current living arrangements any old time I want.

I feel good about my life. I feel happy and satisfied and like I’m accomplishing the steps towards my goals every single day.

All because of the people who love me, who know enough to point out that I may be overdoing it.

And I am!

And this time? I’m strong enough to say, yes, I am overdoing it, and I’m strong enough to take my boss aside and DO something about it.

So, yay me!

I’m moving away from the topic of Depression and Insanity related issues for a moment here to talk about breast cancer.

October is breast cancer awareness month. Squeeze a boob, save a life! What could be more simple?

The problem is, breast cancer is not always that simple. Take DCIS, for example. Ductal Carcinmoa In Situ is a type of breast cancer that is very difficult to find. It can take years, even decades, before DCIS develops into tumors that can be felt with a simple squeeze of the boob; and, depending on the nuclear grade (harmfulness) an individual has, life expectancy or chance for recurrence varies.

I bet you’re wondering why a 23 year old Child and Youth Worker knows so much about DCIS.

Because my Mom is a survivor.

Last year was probably one of the worst years of my life. I’ll spare you the gory details in this post, because unlike so much of what I write, this is not about me. Shocking, I know.

My mother was diagnosed with DCIS last year after a suspicious mammogram and a stereotactic core needle biopsy of the suspicious area. She managed to get away with a lumpectomy (Where they removed the piece of the breast with the cancer in it, rather than the whole breast) and radiation treatment.

My overall experience with cancer was crappy for a lot of reasons. For one, MY MOM HAD CANCER. Her surgeon, while gifted, was a complete and total ass (Which I’m supposed to stop saying on the Internet, but its true. Anyhow.). My mother’s radiation oncologist was also a bit of an ass (And by a bit, I mean a really, really large ass with warts and those long, nasty ass hairs all over it.) Our doctors at home were wonderful: My mother was two weeks from suspicious mammogram to biopsy, and two more weeks from diagnosis to surgery. After that, all hell sort of broke loose and we ended up waiting sixteen weeks for radiation.

But I’m focussing on the bad things here.

What I really want to focus on is all the wonderful things people did for our family. People sent their cards, their love, and their well-wishes in droves. People we didn’t even know came to us with their own stories of cancer, some positive and some not so positive. People sent flowers and gifts: A girl I worked with, who had never even met my mom, gave her a beautiful crystal bracelet made especially for breast cancer awareness. My boss at the time gave me all the time off in the world so that I could be at home for surgeries and treatments.

Some people find the media attention given to breast cancer a little overbearing. Sometimes I, too, feel that I’ve seen one too many pink ribbons in my day.

However, it is campaigns like these, like making October Breast Cancer Awareness month; when cowboys wear pink in the Pro Bull Riding Championships; when Lance Armstrong comes forward with his own struggles; where thousands upon thousands run for the cure each year; and where there are so many other people working so very hard to find a cure…

These are the campaigns that make friends and family more aware, more understanding, and more willing to come forward with the support that my family so very enjoyed last winter.

So, yeah. Bring on the pink ribbons.

Let’s be aware, shall we? Overinundated or not, sometimes people need a little push. And that we all get that push if we need it, that’s good.

1. I have two days off this weekend. Two whole days. IN A ROW. TWO, FULL, COMPLETE PERIODS of twenty-four hours one after the other.

WITHOUT GOING TO WORK. Or school. Or the placement school.

I don’t have to leave my home for any reason. I don’t have to get dressed, put on underpants, wash any part of my body, or behave in a manner that is even close to being socially appropriate.

If I choose, I can go and visit my horse and hope that in his joy to be making contact with a human being after so long, he doesn’t climb right on top of me and cause my death from standing on top of my head.

I can go duck hunting. I can sit by the river in the freezing cold, chain smoking and waiting for dawn to break so I can load my weapon — before I start chain smoking again.

Dear God. It will be great.

2. There will be drinking.

3. I will sleep. And if I can’t sleep?

It won’t matter, because I can spend my afternoon napping, anyhow.

4. I’m going to eat a whole buttload of turkey and stuffing and all that kind of wonderful crap. After I’m done eating, I’m going to curl up on the couch and take a nap with the dogs.

5. Not a single cow will look at me with a blank stare, wondering why, after all these years, I am in contact with a cow. Because my weekend will contain no cows.

As most of you readers know, I’m trying to think about coming up with a theme for my blog entries. A method to my madness, if you will.

Well, On this Thursday, the only thing that I can really think about is Thursday itself. I love Thursdays. Thursday is, and always has been, my favorite day. Thursdays make me think about wonderful and happy things; about puppies and kittens and butterflies — I mean, anything other than butterflies. When you have a horse who is scared of butterflies, you DO NOT THINK ABOUT BUTTERFLIES.

At any rate, all the things I think to make me happy are rolled into one big, happy ball of loveliness when Thursday pops into my mind.

And now, I must admit why.

Thursday is the day that my ass gets firmly implanted on my couch, a tub of ice cream gets firmly entrenched in my sweaty palms, and I WATCH TELEVISION.

Hours, and hours, upon hours, and more hours of mindless television.

On Thursdays, I have been known to put children in my charge to bed early so that I can make sure the junk food is in order for Survivor. I’ve been known to take the phone off the hook altogether starting when the clock nears eight. I’ve been known to lie, feign illness, switch shifts, and contemplate quitting jobs because Thursday nights are just that important to me.

And while some of this behaviour may seem a little over the top, a little intense or strange or Hell, even bordering on psychotic?

It doesn’t matter one bit.

Because I’ll be sitting with my ass firmly implanted in the couch, a tub of Haagen Daazs in one hand, remote control in the other, and I won’t have a care in the world.

For several months now, I’ve been a productive member of society, and I’m feeling pretty good about it. I’ve been upright and conscious and sometimes, being upright and conscious is a bigger feat than one might think.

That is not to say, of course, that I don’t have my moments. Moments where I fear that nothing is actually ok, or moments that I fear that this thing will get the better of me.

This thing. I love how I call it that, rather than sticking to some sort of formal title. Oh, no. A formal title would be far to real for me, thank you. So I’ll stick to calling it whatever comes to mind that particular day.

I’ve been working a lot lately, working and going to school and going to work placement for school. I hear people in my classes talking about their work, and how they don’t have time to do extra shifts because they need to focus on school.

What makes me stop and think is knowing that I don’t make time for school. I don’t make time for the rest of my life. I just work, and work, and work until I have a nervous breakdown. And then I continue on my merry way.

I like being busy because it occupies so much of my time. It occupies my mind, it helps me sleep at night, and it makes me feel like a worthwhile person when I’ve been productive. I think that, at this point, the hard part is going to be balancing out the parts of my life that I need to maintain some semblence of sanity, and the other parts that I need to pass my courses, pay my bills, and keep me in my vices.

Sarah is always an inspirational blogger to me because of how much effort she puts into finding material for her site. I typically just ramble about whatever happens to be on my mind that day, without giving much thought to order and form. Here she posts a whole host of news stories relating to mental and emotional health, and rather than finding my own, I’m just going to send you over there because the write-ups are always so good.

I’m trying, as I have been since I started writing on this site, to think of a clever way to have order instead of randomness going on. Jooms, who I love just too much, has so much going on with her site that my jealousy is usually quite apparent. Sometimes I picture myself sneaking over to her house late at night so that I can see how she really does it. Her other blog now has a pretty new look, and her articles on Life Tips always seem put together and with it. Kind of like how she dresses, and the opposite of my entire life.

So, I’m thinking of adding some order to my site by doing Two on Tuesday and Friday Fives (Original, huh?). I can’t think of anything that you can do on Monday, and the idea of purposely setting out to write about weeping every Wednesday is just kind of… well, depressing. Thursdays… COme on, now. Seriously. What the hell starts with TH that could be related to Insanity?

And you know what’s really funny? As I start to peer around the computer room in my house for the dictionary, specifically so that I can look up things that start with TH, it IS NOT THERE.

At any rate, I am, I’m thinking, thinking, thinking, on how to make the site have more substance and less useless blathering. Even though useless blathering is one of my best skills.

I could blather uselessly until the cows come home.

Sigh.

Sometimes people say things in jest that can leave you spinning. I drove home from work today with two of the kids in the car fighting back tears over what a co-worker said as he made a joke.

I know that he was joking. At the time, I laughed, brushed it off, everyone else got a laugh out of my response. It went well.

But then I had to deal with the aftermath. When I got the kids back to their house, my best friend was there working. (Are you confused about my working situation? Oh, privacy!) My first instinct was to throw my head on her shoulder and weep, because what the co-worker said left me wanting to pick up my life and leave for the wild blue without ever looking back.

Instead, I’m going to list five positive things about today. Its easier to write nice things on your blog than it is to pack up and leave, anyhow.

1. I took a nap on the couch with Dixie and Kami instead of going duck hunting. It was a luxurious nap and I awoke to the sound of my nephew having an afternoon snack. Very, very quietly. And when he saw my open eyes, he yelled “Granny! I WOKE UP AUNTIE! But I PROMISE I WAS BEING QUIET!!!”. Thanks, Babe.

2. My car has three quarters of a tank of gas in it.

3. I have a FULL day off tomorrow. I don’t have to go to work, go to school, go to my placement for school, or get out of my bed for any reason.

4. I may spend all day in my pajamas, not because I’m spiralling into one of my fits where I do that for months on end, but BECAUSE I CAN.

5. I read to my nephew from the Bible before he went to bed. I have been doing this of late, and so far I’ve learned several things. Like, did you know that the Angel Gabriel told Elizabeth and Zechariah that they would bear their son, John, the same way he told the Virgin Mary?

One more reason to name my first born John!

Anything positive in your life lately? Jooms? Davey? Sarah?

I had a Psychology class the other day in which the teacher began by asking the difference between saying “Today I will…” And “Today I have to…”

The ‘I will’ statement is a positive choice, whereas with the ‘I have to’ has more negative connotations.

I wake up every day with a whole list of ‘I have to’s’. I wake up and think that I have to shower, I have to find something to eat at lunch, I have to go to school, I have to come home and ride my horse and go hunting and watch whatever is on TV that night. I have to write on my blogs, I have to call back the friend I haven’t called in weeks. I have to I have to do my homework, research something for an assignment, and think up something interesting to do with the kids at work.

Tonight I came home after a rather rewarding day at work looking forward to riding my horse. For the first time in weeks, I thought: I’m not going to worry about honing my equestrian skills today. I’m not going to worry that I seem to have lost any and all muscle tone in my legs, or that I can’t get the pony on the bit or into a frame for more than ninety seconds at a time. I will not be frustrated in aiming for ninety seconds of perfection in every hour, because two months ago, I lived for those ninety seconds.

Is there anything you could say “I get to” instead of saying “I have to” about?

Sarah has tagged me!

I now have to list six wierd things about me. And I must say, I’m a little upset, because I’ve been limited to SIX? Come on, now. I could write a post a day on that for a week. Sheesh.

1. My foods can’t touch each other for ANY reason. Not even if the peas have a huge crush on the potatoes, and just want to cuddle up for a moment before a torrential downpour of salt and their imminent massacre by my fork. They were grown apart, they lived apart, and they can die apart, dammit.

2. I own more pairs of socks than any one living being should ever own. It is one of my goals for this year to throw away ALL of my socks and replace ALL of them with thirty or so pairs that are all exactly the same.

3. I love underwear, like Sarah. I can never own enough pairs. Right now I’m in love with Haines’ girls boxer-briefs. Ever so comfy. I think I’ve bought about twelve pairs since I found them.

4. I’m totally grossed out, to the point of leaving an area, by people breathing in my air space. I can’t stand uncovered sneezes or coughs, and if someone belches in my airspace? I tend to dry heave. I hate nastiness and bodily functions.

5. Odd thing is, though, that my horse could snot all over my shirt for an hour every time I’m done riding him, and I could care less. Animal nastiness does not bother me nearly as much as human nastiness.

6. I frequently lament my single status, yet I hate dating. I mean, I would love to be in the middle of a relationship, but I hate the thought of meeting someone and having to get to know him and all that other crap. Like when he finds out that I hate getting flowers and that I don’t care, I don’t want to meet his mom but that in a year, she’ll likely be like one of my buds. I hate dating but I like relationships. Wierd. Sure.

I now tag Jooms because I love her!

I was the maid of honor in a wedding this weekend, a wedding that has been planned for some time now (I’m thinking at least two years). Somehow, this wedding managed to sneak up on us; however, and we were caught almost totally by surprise on Friday night. The decorations were graciously donated by a relative of the groom’s family, and they were beautifully done. however, there were a few places that needed a touch more spice. So the bride and I found ourselves hacking through the woods, through the back of my parents’ farm, through my garden, in and out of ditches and gravel pits looking for fall decorations: Corn, cat-tails, red leaves.

After that, we were at the reception hall until almost ten o’clock at night deciding where the head table should go. Of course, following that, the bride and I COULD NOT SLEEP. So, like typical girls, we took to having fits of giggling until the wee hours. We both woke up early and stared into he darkness before one of the longest days in my life commenced.

The bride cried when she said her vows, the maid of honor tripped on her high heels on her way up the aisle; the wind was cold and the groom was mortified when he accidentally dropped cake down the front of his new wife’s wedding dress.

All in all, a wonderful day.

But I’ve got nothing.

My neck hurts.

I’m cranky.

My doctor is closed.

And I have nothing of substance to say.

Five years ago, my family set out on a trek to find the perfect dog. We managed to find a breeder who deals with the perfect breed (that being German Shorthaired Pointers) but instead of giving us the perfect dog, he gave us Kami.

Now, before I go on, I have to say that Kami really is a wonderful dog. I love her to death, and she is sweet and generally well-behaved. She doesn’t pee on the floor and deals well with children. Mostly. He exhuberance typically leaves them laying on the floor shrieking while she wiggles and leaps and jumps and looks confused as to why her thirty-eight foot long legs have sent them sprawled across the floor.

I now work at a group home, and the owner encourages staff to bring their pets to work. Kami is a dog who is desperate for any and all human contact; she has a need to be physically on top of people whenever possible. Spending ten minutes brushing her sends her into spasms of bliss that most heroin addicts would kill for.

I was thrilled with how affectionate each of the kids was with Kami. They were all patient and kind as she wandered around the house sniffing them out. A couple of them played fetch with her for a good hour or so; she got to come to the park with us; and at the end of the night, one of the boys convinced her to climb on the couch and cuddle while watching TV.

Yesterday I was getting ready to go to work and Kami was acting odd. She followed me around the house wagging her tail and cocking her ears at me expectantly. She tried to scoot out the door with me and glared at me with sadness that would make the Taliban wince as I left without her.

By the time I got home, Kami was in a state. She followed me about the house, stared at me all night long, and laid with her head in my lap whining while I watched TV.

And now I feel a little bit guilty because I see how good her time with the kids really was. I see how much she loved going, how wonderful she was with the kids.

And I’m thinking, do I want to bring her back again because it is good for the kids, or because it is good for the dog?

And in the end, should I even care? That the kids get an afternoon of excitement or that the dog gets an afternoon of attention and happiness? Its kind of a win-win situation no matter how you look at it.

Oh, how I love a win-win situation.

I’ve embarked on a task for this week, a task that is so gargantuan that I don’t think God would undertake it without consulting the Pope. I’ve decided to meander about the farm looking for suitable horse blankets for my pony.

Unfortunately, this journey has led me to cross paths with only one blanket that looks like it might cover even a portion of his body. It is an old blanket from my mother’s favorite horse, a Hanoverian named Martin who was even bigger than Zydo.

I’m a sucker for the big boys, and I typically am only attracted to guys who are much, much larger than me. Its just one of those things; like, if I were to fall down the stairs on top of a boy I’m dating? I totally don’t want my heft to break both his legs. The same is true of my horses. I’ve always loved horses who are bigger, who are sturdy and sound. I feel less guilty hiking my big ol’ butt on to their backs if they look like they have what it takes to support me.

So far in my travels on the farm I’ve found six blankets, a wasp nest, the remains of what looks like a family of mice, and several spiders (All of which were as large as one of my hands AND which looked like they had teeth. Fangs, even. Fortunately, I’m on a farm. Spider-killing implements are always at the ready.)

ONE blanket looks like it will fit my pony, and only if I give it a good makeover with a needle and thread. Oddly enough? It was the first blanket I found.

All that spider killing, wasted.

The anger from yesterday seems to have subsided. Perhaps I was just over-caffeinated and bored, I’m not sure, but I spent a small portion of my time sweating in the barn today and I feel much better.

Also, The Ranch house has cleared out, at least a little bit, and silence almost reigns. Though not quite.

I still feel slightly bleh.

Bleh.