Depression Talk

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.

I feel bleh right now. That’s not to say that I *am* bleh, or that my life is bleh. But I’m tired, cranky, and I need a nap. I’ve missed dinner at The Ranch now because of social obligations that DIDN’T EVEN HAPPEN. And nothing makes me crankier than when my plans change. NOTHING.

Except running out of beer. That makes me MUCH, MUCH crankier.

I live in Canada, and as a result, the vast majority of my time is spent FREEZING MY ASS OFF. I am one of those perpetually cold people who is not happy unless she’s wearing three sweaters and has no less than two dogs, a cat, and a small child piled on top of her while she sleeps.

Summer has come here in Canada, finally, and so far we’ve had three days that I would consider hot. Today is one, the type where you head outside and within twenty minutes of working your body becomes drenched in sweat and your underwear sticks to your ass so that movement becomes all but impossible.

The cold makes me want to weep, to curl up in a little ball with fifty five blankets and seventy two pillows surrounding me, with three space heaters pointed in my direction.

And now here I am, finally able to be warm, and everywhere I go, I find myself drowning in air conditioning.

I don’t think that its really too much to ask of stores and restaurants that I BE COMFORTABLE for the two months of the year that it is actually possible for me to be so.

Hmph.

And after that, there were people, and after the people came a desire to eat the fruit, and then all reason was lost.

I don’t know why it is so difficult, and you’d think that managing fruit and who picks where would be easy, but it is not so. It is difficult, it is trying, it is madness inducing and mostly the people doing the picking are mad themselves.

Its hard not to throw up my arms in disgust. Like, if you went to a fruit farm to pick fruit, and you saw a big white sign that read ‘Picking Here Today’ and then you saw a large number of little blaze yellow flags beyond that sign, wouldn’t you think that PERHAPS you should obtain fruit AT THAT LOCATION?

I need Xanax.

I was sick the other night, so sick that I thought at one point I was simply going to stop breathing. Not because I wanted to stop breathing, you see, but because I was physically incapable of breathing any more. At that point, I spiked a fever and decided to call the health line that our province has set up for us to use.

So I called and the lady on the phone was absolutely lovely. First she asked me if my lips were turning blue, and after a quick glance in the mirror I assured her that they were not. She asked me questions for a good twenty minutes and then, in a very serious tone, told me that she would like me to be seen by a doctor within the next twenty four hours. Like, she personally would be saddened by my not seeking medical attention; as though the happiness of her soul rested on my desire to get off the couch and see a doctor.

I went to the hospital after that because my doctor’s office is closed this week and there are no walk in clinics in CowTown. Unless you count flagging down the vet when he passes you on the highway and he really, really hates it when people flag him down and ask for mass quantities of veterinary-use-only penicillin.

I think its really neat to go somewhere with a physical ailment rather than one floating about in the depths of your mind. The doctor who saw me didn’t even bother to sit down a safe distance in front of me. He didn’t eye me cautiously before he started questioning me and he didn’t look anywhere but directly AT the crazy person when he got out the checklist.

Further, he didn’t ask me my favorite question: “Do you ever hear or see things that other people may not see or hear?” And I was a little bit sad that I didn’t get asked this question, because usually I try and think of something really creative to say, something that will catch their attention and never allow them to forget me. Something along the lines of “You mean St. Joseph didn’t just ask you to bring us a large double double the next time you come in here?”

“So, I’ve been worried about my meds.”

“What about them?”

“Well, I take a lot.”

“Yes, I prescribed them. I know you take a high dose.”

“Well, I’m worried about the long-term effects.”

“Which ones?”

“Well, any side effects. Are there long term ones?”

“Well, you have to weigh the pros and cons of each side of the issue.”

“Right. Well, I’d like to reduce the amount of drugs I take.”

“You want to WHAT?”

“Take less?”

“Uhm. Well. See… Well. Hm.”

*Crickets*

“I don’t think we should alter the amount of medication you take.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think we should EVER ALTER THE AMOUNT OF MEDICATION YOU TAKE.”

Well, I guess that settles that, then.

Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund

April 16, 2007, will be remembered as one of the darkest days in the history of the Virginia Tech community and the world beyond.

To remember and honor the victims of those tragic events, the university has established the Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund to aid in the healing process and generate financial support.

The fund will be used to cover expenses including but not limited to:

• Grief counseling
• Memorials
• Communication expenses
• Comfort expenses
• Incidental needs

If you plan to give, please click the link below:

At this point in writing here, I’m not really sure where to go. My head is overflown with topic matter, but I’m just not sure as to how I should proceed to make it the most effective for those who are interested.

I’ve decided not to make this site about depression in and of itself. For one thing, I tend to think that things like “Some signs of depression are….” I mean, yes, we all need to know about signs and symptoms, but its’ already been done. Further, the signs and symptoms are so individual to the person that I really don’t want to have to make generalizations, lest someone take my word as gospel.

Further, I’d like to make this site about my own journey, with looking back type insights and so forth along the way. I’d like to share the story of a person who came out of a wonderfully loving, happy, stable family ended up so crazed and maniacal. I really don’t think it makes any sense. But then, so much in this life doesn’t make sense at all. The problem here is, do I really want the internet to know about my life? Do I care? Does it bother me to think that someone could potentially search ‘Depression’ and end up knowing the intimate details of me and who I am?

Which leads me to another part of me: Does my depression and anxiety define me? Have I created a definition of myself based on being crazed and maniacal? Is it wrong for me to identify myself publicly and online as someone who’s got some issues with her sanity? Should I be ashamed, or at least less vocal?

I’m hoping that the content doesn’t seem too dry or lacking in the coming days as I formulate a plan as to how I want to convey the information I have. At any rate, please know that I’m working my hardest to make sure that the place stays interesting and that the information is posted in some sort of logical fashion.

Amanda

Or rather, things that make your heart stop, your palms sweat, and your head feel like it is going to roll right off your shoulders and into oncoming traffic.

Anxiety, my friends. We’ve all had it. We’ve all stood on stage and felt those feelings that we have no control over. Oh, sure, you can try to deep breathe, you can try to say your Hail Marys.

It won’t help.

The things that make me tick the most:

Smelling odors emitted from other people’s bodies: When this happens, I hold my breath. If I feel like I’m going to come across someone who looks like they might smell, or if someone belches, coughs, sneezes, or exhales loudly in my presence? I have to hold my breath.

Socks: If your socks are gross, have holes in them, or emit an odor? I’m going to have to hold my breath and look away. Things with holes in them remind me of animal carcasses that have been outside in the sun with maggots chewing through it for a long time. (Read: Don’t ever buy me a cheese basket with Swiss or any other holey cheese in it.)

Dishes on top of one another: Leftover food on people’s plates reminds me of vomit. Hence, if you stack one plate on top of another that has what looks like vomit on it, not only do you have to deal with the vomit-y looking things on the original plate? But you have to deal with it on the bottom of another plate as well. I’ve been known to scream, throw myself across a room like a cannon ball through a warzone, and threaten certain death to all those around me when it comes to people stacking plates in my presence.

Other things that make me feel like it isn’t humanly possible for me to get myself out of the fetal position and out from under the covers: The thought of people touching my things; not having access to Q-tips so I can clean my ears before the day starts; the possibility that I may be out of clean socks AND DEAR GOD HOW WOULD I EVER SOLVE THAT PROBLEM; and the thought pf anything piercing my body. I’ve been known to dry heave for hours on end at the mention of a piercing, the taking of my blood, or the injecting of any substance into my veins.

I’m not sure what good any of this does me except to determine with absolute certainty that I will never be an injectable drug user.

What give you that heart-stopping feeling of palm-sweating goodness? Any one thing or group of things in particular?

And even better, how do you avoid situations that make you want to yak all over everything in your presence?