I am privileged, and I see what is going on here.

I have spent a great deal of my adult life working on my sensitivity.

It was with great reluctance that I posted this essay here. I do not want to be insensitive, or seen as jumping on any bandwagon. I hope I am more successful and evolved than some of the people I have seen sharing their thoughts - and I am using that term very loosely here - about two events that happened last week. These events may seem wholly unrelated, but a single, important fact connects them: two people died and left their families heartbroken.

The first event was the shooting death of Michael Brown, an unarmed teenager walking on the street outside his grandmother's house in Ferguson, MO.
The second was the suicide of Robin Williams at his home in unincorporated Tiburon, California.
(And seriously, they need to get incorporated so that we can just say "Tiburon" because really, do you care if they are incorporated or not? Me neither. /tangent)

I can't stop thinking about them, these two people who were here, until suddenly they were not. Judging by social media, other people can't stop thinking about them either. And that is a good thing.  Their lives had value. Both of them. Their deaths matter. Between the ice bucket challenge videos, there are Robin Williams quotes and people sharing their personal experiences with depression or offering support to others, and there are also photos of what appears to be a militia taking the streets of a town in the middle of America, Americans with their hands raised in the air on the street outside of their home chanting "Don't shoot" and video of children and journalists being hit with tear gas.

I wince as I look at my computer screen lately, through the tears and the anxiety attacks that seem to come in waves as I scroll. People are dying all over this world, and the planet is looking pretty bleak these days, but the two people whose deaths are affecting me and my life the most right now, and making me feel the most helpless and hopeless and confused, are Robin Williams and Michael Brown.

Full disclosure, lest you feel the need to call me out for discussing subjects I know nothing about - I hear you. I am not a mental health professional, nor do I have any experience interacting with law enforcement, aside from a few parking tickets. I am not going to hold up my six degrees of separation to try to gain some credibility. I am white, and currently my mental health is stable, I am married to a man, and I am not living in poverty. Things are good, for me and my family.

And that is precisely why I should say something. Because I am privileged, and I see what is going on here, and I refuse to wear blinders to continue on my happy way.

Here's what I do know:

1. Depression can be as deadly a disease as cancer. You do not need to be a mental health professional to know that much, but sadly I fear that this is not an acknowledged fact in the mainstream. Robin Williams died because he was ill. His death was a direct result of mental illness. Period. Just because he wasn't homeless, just because he had a family who loved and cared for him, just because he had access to healthcare and medications, doesn't make him any less ill than the guy sitting on the corner begging for change, barefoot and months from his last shower. Just because he died at his own hand, rather than at the hands of someone else, does not make it his fault, or his choice. (Side note: the numbers vary across the country, but generally speaking a significant portion of the people killed by police each year are mentally ill.)

2. And speaking of police killing people, let's talk about that. I expect police officers to hold their fire until they are staring down the barrel of someone else's gun and they have no choice - no other alternative - than to draw their weapon and be prepared to defend themselves. I mean, are cops in Ferguson not schooled in self-defense? Is there really no other way to protect and serve without shooting unarmed people? I have friends and relatives who are cops - some in in NYC, which I think we can all agree is a pretty good place to use as a reference for this conversation - and I know that they have been injured trying to subdue a suspect without using their weapon. And it is terrible that they were injured in the line of duty, while serving and protecting their community, but the bottom line is, even when they were faced with a very aggressive individual, they did not shoot them. In an ideal world - the one in my dreams - I thought this was how it was everywhere. A fictional sheriff from Mayberry said it best:

This is not the reality. I knew that on some level, but when I saw the armored vehicles rolling up to a line of peaceful protestors, I realized that things were much further from how I thought - and dreamed - they would be in this day and age.

I know that these events deserve much more than a blog post. But I have no idea what to do, or how to help, other than letting people know how I feel. The bottom line here is that both of these deaths were not unavoidable, and they are both symptoms of much bigger problems: In this wonderful country of ours, people discriminate all day every day. I feel fairly confident that every person has experienced some form of discrimination, felt some shame or helplessness. And I can assure you that there is discrimination against both people of color, and people with mental health issues.

I know this is true, because just last night I was at work and a couple walked in the door - he was black, and she was white, and from my vantage point behind the bar, I personally witnessed other customers look over their shoulder to watch them walk in.

My god you would think they were walking in naked, the way that people turned to look, and then quickly looked away again.

Then just the other morning at the therapist's office, as I waited for my appointment, I kept my head down. I did not make eye contact with anyone but the receptionist and my therapist the entire time I was in there. And as I was walking out through the waiting room, I saw someone I recognized - and as soon as I did I averted my eyes so as to avoid acknowledging that we were both in an office to see someone about our mental health.

As though there was some shame in getting help. In healing, and hopefully recovering. I was choosing not to share this experience, not to find an ally in this long and exhausting journey.

In both of these instances, the silence was deafening. It pulsed and it grew between us. Everyone in the room was aware of it, but no one was willing to take responsibility for it. To own the truth.

When Robin Williams died, his family and close colleagues knew he was battling depression. The rest of us were completely unaware, until it was far too late. And that is because depression is not always easy to spot. At times it is completely silent, a dormant volcano with the pressure building as all outward appearances remain unchanged. What is sad to me is that his beloved family were left so powerless. They had loved him and supported him and encouraged him to get treatment. Aside from standing next to him 24 hours a day - which is no way for anyone to live, and would not have helped his depression one bit, I'm sure - they had been there for him. Let him know he was loved, he was needed, he was important and valued. But the pressure was so great that it blocked out everything, like having a terrible throbbing migraine that impacts every moment of your life while it is there inside your head.

The same goes for racism. It can be a silent, unspoken, equally dangerous threat. 

Michael Brown was killed in a town where, a lot of people seemed to know there was a problem, an abuse of power within their police department, but no one outside of Ferguson seemed to know, or care, until someone's child was shot and killed in the middle of the afternoon a few steps from his grandmother's house. Racially, Michael was in the majority. The easy thing would be to believe he was enjoying the security and privileges that would come - one would think - from being in the majority. But perhaps it actually made him even more of a target. The police officer was white, and knew he was in the minority, and by all accounts, he claims he was afraid. And I have no idea why he was afraid - I was not there and neither were you, most likely, but even if he was afraid, there is still no excuse for shooting that boy. It is a damn shame that he felt he was not able to do his job without shooting an unarmed kid in the middle of the street. That he had so little training, and so few resources, that he instinctively reached for his gun, rather than, say, simply asking the kids to get on the sidewalk as he drove by. He didn't even need to stop, he could have just slowed down and said something like "Hey guys, use the sidewalk!" with a smile and a wave, and then driven away. There is no other excuse or explanation for what came next, except utter cowardice. And he lashed out with unforgettable, unforgivable violence, because of his fear.

And that is the essence of these two stories. Fear. 

People throughout this world experience racism and depression, and both of these appear to be rooted in fear. It remains far too easy to leave that fear silent between us, hoping that if we ignore it for long enough, it will go away. 

I am here to say that is not true. 

We need to be brave. We need to raise our voices - and not just across social media. Sure - it is easy enough to share a link or click "like" and think your work is done, your position known. That is not enough. We need to bring the discussion to our day to day lives, in our conversations with our children, our friends, and our neighbors. We need to let them know that we care. We need to stand tall and speak the truth. 

Before that dormant monster Fear rears it's ugly head.

Before someone else is killed by the unspoken, pulsing beast that is right there. Growing right in front of all of us, every day, gaining it's power through our silence.

Links:
Police Confront Rising Number of Mentally Ill Suspects

Dealing with Everyday Racism

Eleven Things White People Should Stop Saying to Black People Immediately

Becoming a White Ally to Black People in the Aftermath of Michael Brown's Murder

Robin Williams Didn't Kill Himself

Suicide a Disease?

I will add more links here as I see them, it is frustrating to me that most of what I am reading is a numbered list. People, life is not the David Letterman Show. I do not need or want a top ten list for every crisis. I welcome one solid piece of advice from anyone. Feel free to add your own in the comments. I also have a "depression" tag for some of my posts, so you can find some of my previous writing about my personal experiences with depression.

A Hot Mess: why I didn't seek help for my depression, and why you should

Hey! Did you know that before of all of my stiletto-strutting, cocktail-drinking, unitard-wearing, jet-setting, roller skating, "I kissed a girl and I liked it" madness, I was actually quite mad?

I was. But not any more. That was years and years ago. These days I am the stone-cold soberest, calmest, most rational and grounded person ever.

What?

Oh who are we kidding, I'm still nuts. But the difference between then and now is that then it was a terrible scary place to be, and now it's more like "WHUUUT?! Girl, YOU SO CRAZY!" I'm enjoying the ride, and most of the time the chaos in my brain is leaning towards "Girls Gone Wild" instead of "Girl, Interrupted". 

Which is a good thing, because spending time in a psych ward is simply not an option for me: I can only poop at home.

But just in case I find myself facing a hospital stay of any kind - no matter how brief - I am signing up for health insurance this week that will take effect January 1st. 

I am grateful to be able to get health insurance for myself.

I am grateful to still be here to need insuring.

There are some people who really feel strongly that "Obamacare" is a terrible thing. I get it. But I have another perspective. You know what else is a terrible thing?

Being afraid to seek treatment, because you know that if you do, you will become virtually uninsurable.

or

Having your doctor tell you that s/he wants to refer you to a mental health specialist, but that it will be a part of your permanent health record - and is that okay with you? Because from their tone, it seemed like a bad idea.

or 

Realizing that paying out of pocket for mental health care would cost more than a car payment each month. Unless you were admitted to a psych ward, in which case it would cost more than a whole car. Or a house. Or several houses.

What part was supposed to be okay with me, exactly? The mind-numbing depression that needed treatment, or the part where I would probably lose my health insurance if I admit I need help, or lose my house if I tried to pay for that help under the radar?

The night that I stood a little too close to the ledge of our hotel room balcony and stared 20 stories down to the pool glowing below, wondering if Sam would ever forgive me for jumping while he was out getting a pizza......that was the night that I thought "Hm. That was a little dark. I don't want to ever have a thought like that again."

It took me a while to actually go and get it, because the fear of losing my insurance over-rode the fear of losing my mind. THAT is a terrible thing.

How did I find myself at that point? It doesn't really matter. But the moment that I finally agreed to the mental health referral is a day that is burned in my mind. It was the day I finally jumped - and I landed safely.

I was furious during that first appointment. Furious that I had waited so long.
And sad.
And confused, because being sad seemed like a reasonable emotion - not a pre-existing condition. I had just had a hysterectomy. I was 30 years old. IT WAS SAD. Grief is a normal reaction to a loss of that magnitude, and yet everyone was trying to cheer me through it from the sidelines, instead of acknowledging that maybe I needed some help to get through.

So I just want to say this: if you are feeling sad or alone or scared, if grief is your constant companion, if joy is a flicker instead of a steady glow during the holidays, please reach out. If you are telling yourself that you have no reason - no right - to be depressed, then let me remind you that some of the richest, coolest, most famous fabulous beautiful creative fantastic successful people you can think of have been there. Even if your life is beautiful, it can be hard to see that through the gray velvet blanket of depression. It doesn't matter why you are wrapped up in it, sometimes it starts out as a safe place to hide but for some of us, the more we fight to escape it, the tighter it can become wrapped, making it hard to breathe.

Does this sound even vaguely familiar?

You can get better. You can get your life and your groove and your mojo and your inspiration and your libido and your reason for living back.

You can also get some health insurance. Because medical bills will not help your depression one little bit.

Thanks Obamacare. Pre-existing conditions be damned, it's a mad mad mad mad world out there. And I'm running through it without any pants on. Catch me if you can.

Peeing standing up should be an Olympic sport

This post is not my usual  "she so crazy" bullshit post. For now I am just going to bitch. I haven't even edited it. Feel free to skip this one.

"Max is having a snack of peanut butter and apples. I'm going to go outside and work in the garden." Sam stood in the doorway of the bedroom at noon on a beautiful Saturday.

That all sounded so nice. I was starving. And desperate to get out in the sunshine.

"Do you need anything?"

I lay with my back facing him in a darkened room, curled into a "c" shape, with a pillow between my knees. "No, thanks." I tried to roll over to look at him and smile, but the pain took my breath away. I tried frantically to roll back to that last position as I gasped audibly, shifting my weight almost imperceptibly as my muscles clenched involuntarily. I wouldn't have been able to sit up and eat anything anyway. Why bother. And as tears slide silently down my face, I wish it was different. I wish I was different. This can't be good for my marriage.

Endometriosis has ruined my life
.
I know, that is a really negative statement, and it may sound dramatic (I can hear you rolling your eyes) but let me tell you something: there is nothing fun or funny or positive or enlightening about this disease. Endo is a piece of shit.

You don't catch it. You don't cause it. You can't fucking STOP it. And there is not any medication to make it go away. The most horrific part about it (for me, anyway) is that it flares up during times of stress. So in other words, when I am already at the end of a very frayed rope, exhausted and impatient and frustrated and confused, suddenly I find myself bent double with this unspeakable, paralyzing pain. I have similar experiences with migraines and over time I have learned to deal with them - but endo has been a tricky bastard. In the beginning, I was told the pain was all in my head, part of "being a woman". Then one night my husband woke up out of a sound sleep to find me lying on the floor next to the bed screaming. And so they finally operated, and discovered the sticky bits of tissue scattered liberally all over my insides, like sprinkles on a sundae - from my diaphragm to my knee - and wrapped thoroughly around my ovaries forming cysts, one of which had ruptured. A few months later, my marriage followed suit.

When I remarried, Sam was well aware of the issues. Before we even started dating he saw me at my worst - hobbling around bent at the waist waiting for my next surgery - and at my best - dancing on tables with my skirt around my head. He knew the vows "in sickness and in health" were going to be tested. He is clearly a saint. He, too, has been living with chronic pain - but in a different way. He's carried me to the bathroom, been my advocate in the emergency room, gone for weeks without having a date night - or even a conversation that doesn't involve me sobbing into a pillow.

I am terrified that some day - sooner rather than later - he will tire of the cycle of pain and depression. He'll stay out late to avoid listening to me cry myself to sleep, and leave early so he doesn't have to spend an hour shuttling me in and out of the bathroom. Who could blame him, really. Today, when I was in bed sobbing because I had sneezed unexpectedly and the pain had hit me like a truck, he came in to tell me he was going to town with his friend. They were going to Home Depot, and to KMart to get a kiddie pool for me to soak in. And despite the fact that he was going to town TO GET SOMETHING FOR ME I was convinced that he was going to have a few beers and plan his exit strategy while his friend shook his head and said things like "I don't know how you've made it this long, man. She's nuts."

And maybe I am crazy. Living with chronic pain since the age of 15 has shaped me, my relationships, and my lifestyle, (Such as it is. Right now it's hardly an enviable one.) But this week I reached a new low. After trying several times to sit down on the toilet, I actually had to move to plan B - pee standing up. And when my daughter caught a glimpse of what was going on, she clearly thought I was out of my ever-loving mind. I, on the other hand, gave myself a mental fist-bump for ingenuity and perfect aim. Not a drop on the seat or the floor thankyouverymuch. Huzzah! Sure, it was awkward. And yes, it's not a skill I was looking to master. But the truth is, I'll do whatever it takes to keep the pain at bay.

Here are a list of things I have done (with varying success) in the pursuit of pain management:

various birth control pills
Lupron
Hysterosalpingogram
surgery (laparoscopy, laparoscopy, laparoscopy, laparoscopy, laparoscopy, laparotomy, laparotomy, laparoscopy, laparoscopy, hysterectomy #1, laparoscopy, hysterectomy #1b, etc.)
And almost every form of pain medication you can possibly imagine, from ibuprofin to morphine.
acupuncture
acupressure
homeopathy
faith healing.

Yes. I went to a faith healer. I'll just let you sit with that gem for a minute.

....................

May I continue?

I also changed my diet numerous times, variously omitting meat, wheat, dairy, soy, gluten, sugar, processed foods, and coffee. I gave up COFFEE. I am currently sipping on the most disgusting smoothie ever concocted - with almonds, flax, molasses, cocoa, yogurt, peanut butter and god knows what else. It's awful. Really, really bad. But apparently it is also loaded with Potassium and Magnesium, which are supposed to help cramping.

I have tried yoga, pilates, strength training, swimming, and massage.
I took a senior citizen water aerobics class.
I own my very own mineral lamp.

I went through fertility treatments to get pregnant in the hopes that pregnancy would "cure" me of the endo - The pregnancy ended in a c-section that took several hours, because they had so much scar tissue to remove. "This should do it!" the surgeon said cheerfully, up to his elbows in my abdomen doing god knows what to my insides. But just in case, I breastfed Max for 18 months for good measure.

I even breastfed Lucy when we adopted her.

And still, this disease continues to literally eat me up inside.
This week it has taken hold - once again - and I am back in bed almost exactly one year since my last surgery, which is pretty much par for the course. And so, here I am. Curled on my side under the mineral lamp with a pillow between my knees, flinching and grimacing as I move gingerly, staring for hours at the laundry on the floor that needs to be picked up and washed. I have given up on changing the sheets this week. I soak for hours in the tub or let hot water beat down on me for far too long in the shower until the steam starts setting off the smoke detector which I then smack with a broom and break in my efforts to get it to stop.

I just want it to stop.

I know I am not alone. I know lots of women (and coincidentally, many of my friends from childhood) who have endo or some other type of intractable, incurable, unbearable chronic pain. I know my case is not the worst one, but it is really fucking up my life right now and I am angry and frustrated. I am going back to the acupuncture and homeopathy because it worked in the past. I guess I have to stay the course, and stick with it. Maybe forever.

But if you have other ideas I am open to suggestions. Clearly, if I have gone so far as to see a faith healer then I have a very open mind. Well, pretty open.

Some things to file away for later.....or now.

After a week where I have been dealing with a lot of miserable menopausal symptoms, I thought I would take a few moments to outline what, exactly can happen when you go through menopause.

Guys, even though YOU will not go through menopause, chances are pretty good that you are going to have to interact, at some point, with a woman who IS going through menopause. A wife, a mother, a girlfriend, the teller at the bank, you know, a woman. You see them from time to time, no?

And on the outside, they seem like any other woman. Yes, yes they do. You won't be able to tell.

For instance.....I was 29 years old when I went through menopause.

Twenty Nine.

It took a while for them to figure out what was going on. By the time they finally ran the right test, and realized what they were dealing with, I was nothing short of a science experiment. And as such, I spent a very long time feeling pretty fucking miserable. In fact, every so often, even to this day (and especially today, my GOD today has been bad) the symptoms can just take over. This is serious shit. The real deal. THIS is the sort of stuff that tests you, that tests your relationships, that forces you to admit that your life is not in your hands. No, you're not dying. But damned if it doesn't feel like it sometimes.

So without further ado, here's a smidgen of the fun things you too can look forward to experiencing - either yourself, or vicariously through others. You lucky duck.

Night Sweats.

I am not talking about sleeping under too many blankets, and getting a little warm, and having to peel off a layer. I am not talking about just feeling a little damp.

I am talking about waking up in a puddle. Sweating so profusely that your fingers are pruny. Having all of your bedclothes - including the top of your comforter - completely soaked. I'm talking about flipping over your pillow, and finding that the other side is actually worse. I am talking about having to get out of bed - sometimes more then once a night, to take a shower, strip off all of the bedding, and sleep on a towel wrapped in your bathrobe because you have run out of blankets. That is, if you can sleep. Because we have another fun symptom:

Insomnia.

Insomnia is a beast. I sleep for 3-4 hours at a stretch, and then I am awake for potentially the rest of the night. And the entire next day I will be a zombie, but I am afraid to nap in case I won't be able to sleep at night. Since I already sleep so little at night, the idea of sleeping even LESS is frightening. The thing about it is, during the night, while you are awake, you don't feel tired. You only feel tired when you are awake DURING THE DAY, say at about 11am. And again at about 1pm. And 4:30pm is really hard too.

Hot Flashes.

These can come at night, and that is bad. But they also come with no warning, perhaps during a lovely meal or in the middle of your commute, or perhaps at the busiest time of your day - a time when you do not have a moment to spare.

But you have to take a minute.

Because all of a sudden, your entire head and upper body are suffocating. You can't breathe. You can't THINK. You can't stand it. You would strip naked right that second if you could, but usually you can't. So you just have to sit down, and wait. Wait for your head to stop spinning. Wait for the sweating to subside. Wait for the ringing in your ears to die down, and your pulse to slow and the panic to ease. You are not going to spontaneously burst into flame at any moment. I swear. Try not to cry or hit anyone. It won't help.

Migraines.

These are awful. These are not headaches. These are episodes where the pain is so bad that you might vomit. And cry. And walk out of work in the middle of something and go home (if you can even make it - sometimes you have to call for a ride) and crawl into bed and curl into a ball and just wait for it to be over. You won't care if you are going to get fired, you'll deal with it later. You don't care who you offend or inconvenience or blow off or disappoint because OH MY FUCKING GOD THE PAIN. The only way these can be worse is if you have a simultaneous hot flash.

Zits.

What. The. Fuck. I used to have good skin. Yes, yes I did. I have no idea what happened.

I didn't change my cleanser. Or my moisturizer. I just woke up one day with a huge zit between my eyebrows, and since then it has been a real adventure. I think I have it under control now. Minimum washing, lots of moisturizer because THE WRINKLES come with THE ZITS and it is very very very depressing.

Weight.

Well, it fit YESTERDAY. But it doesn't fit anymore. It might fit again next week. In the meantime, you will need to buy new clothes. Buy something stretchy and forgiving. These maxi dresses that are in style these days? Perfect. Embrace the muu muu.

Hair.

Congratulations, you are a fucking Hair Farmer. You can grow hair anywhere, at a moment's notice. Chances are, the hair will grow in all sorts of places that you wish it wouldn't. In other words, it probably won't grow on your head. But you might be rocking a sweet guido 'stache and not even know it. The unibrow you thought was eradicated? Is back.

Mood Swings.

PMS is small potatoes compared to menopause. It might be because you feel so miserable to begin with. It might be because you are not sleeping. It might be because everyone is a stupid asshole. You are going to be moody. And you have to figure out a way to be moody, without being a total bitch. It's going to be very hard. I have found that the best technique is to just own it.
"I am feeling VERY UPSET right now, and if you do not go away, immediately, you will feel my burning wrath. I would suggest going far away and finding something else to do. Something quiet, so as not to draw attention to yourself. I don't want to yell at you, but I will."

Forgetfulness.

I'm not kidding when I say that I have forgotten what I was going to write about this. I have begun putting reminders on my phone, with alarms, because otherwise I will not remember anything. Here's an example of how bad it can be: My husband returned a movie one day. I forgot he had taken care of it. I tore the house apart looking for the movie. He reminded me he had returned it. Two hours later, I searched the entire house again, because I wanted to put the movie with my purse - SO I WOULDN'T FORGET TO RETURN IT (oh, the irony). After a while I remembered that it was already returned. But then, a few hours after that, I was pulling out of the driveway to run an errand, and remembered that I needed to return the movie. I pulled back in the driveway, walked back to the house, unlocked the door, and went looking for the movie to return while I was in town.

I wish I was lying. It happened.

I can walk into a store for one item, say hello to the greeter at the front door, grab a basket, and then HAVE NO IDEA WHY I AM THERE. If I make an appointment, it has to be put into my phone immediately - or I will miss it. I took the dogs with me in the car one day, and got out of the car and walked in the house and left them in the back - and thank GOD my son was all "Uh, mom? The dogs?" because honestly they would have been in there until someone had found them and let them out. It can be very scary. Many times I feel like I am losing my mind. Seriously losing my mind. Most of the situations are pretty harmless, but leaving the dogs in the car was a near-tragedy. And I can say without a doubt that the forgetfulness will be one of the single most disruptive parts of menopause for you and your co-workers and friends and family. It is really hard to deal with, and it is hard to explain when it just happens over and over again.


So that, in a nutshell, is just a short list of some of the fun things you can expect with menopause.
Keep in mind, that when you are interacting with a woman who may seem irrational or ornery, she could be experiencing any of the above - or possibly ALL of the above. Doesn't make it any more pleasant to deal with her, but you know, maybe she has a good reason for being such an unreasonable douche. And as a side note, depression is a serious possibility, so if you are having a hard time dealing with all of this call your doctor. Nothing wrong with a little Vitamin X to make your life easier at a time when every damn thing seems so hard.

Don't get all "Just Say No" on me now

Yesterday I mentioned that perhaps a little wine at the end of the day might help me deal with the ginormous task of Third Grade Homework.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

But there is something else that would probably help too......and I am just not sure if I need more of it or not. I am speaking, of course, of prescribed pharmeceuticals.

My mother just LOVES it when I talk about my depression on this blog. Oh, she does. She really does. She would never encourage me to keep it quiet, in case anyone ever read about it and made a judgement about me based on my mental health - WHICH IS FINE. My mental health is fine, just a bit droopy, and a tad manic, and maybe a little OCD. Nothing major, I don't think they're gonna lock me up or anything. I mean, if Nancy W. Kappes (paralegal) and her Judy Garland Trail Mix is free to walk the streets, I have nothing to worry about.

Point being, I have tried a few different kinds of anti-depressants at the encouragement of multiple doctors, and they all leave me feeling sleepy and groggy and not myself. At all.

And I am FUN when I'm myself. So why ruin a good thing.

Which is why I am currently not taking any pharmaceuticals at all, and why by 1 pm yesterday I was shaking and teary. (Or maybe that was because I had not had anything to eat that day, and the only drink I had was an americano with about 2 inches of sweetened condensed milk stirred in. Don't knock it till you've tried it, but for GOD'S SAKE try it with food. Trust me on this one.)

ANYWAY the point of all of this is that I am not taking my antidepressants, so I'm depressed. Which means that this morning in addition to my espresso with sweetened condensed milk, I also had 3 strips of bacon. And now I am thinking about what else to eat, and reading The Pioneer Woman for inspiration because if anyone can come up with something that looks tasty to someone with no appetite, it's Ree. I'll bet she doesn't take antidepressants either, because with all of that bacon and all those cowboys, how could anyone possibly be depressed.

Reality Check

Yesterday, very shortly after writing the previous post, I got a phone call from a friend. She sounded awful. And right away I was all "you haven't called me in months and you sound AWFUL what's going on."

And suddenly, all of my whining about empty bassinets and being seperated from the foster baby and depression and frustration and red tape and blah de blah blah blah all snapped sharply into focus and I was humbled.

My friend was calling to tell me that a mutual friend, expecting a baby girl in about 8 weeks, had just gone to the hospital to be induced. Because her baby's heart had stopped beating at some point.

(pause)

So. I sat in a ball, clutching my heaving stomach, and thinking about my friend. About my friend - the second friend I know who has been through this horrible, unspeakably awful tragedy of losing a pregnancy in the third trimester.

Basically, I am writing this to remind me, and everyone else, of how precious life is. Do not take it for granted. Because it can be taken from you at any time, even before birth.

Where have you gone, Daffodil Campbell ?

Good GOD people.

I have been accused of living a chaotic life by design, and I swear to you, that is simply not true.

However, chaos reigns.

First, the car saga. We ended up trading in the truck, and getting the car I wanted, and I don't feel totally and completely screwed, so I guess that is good - right ?

Second, the depression. It's been hard. HARD hard. I think things are getting better. I am coming out of the fog, a bit, and having some clarity with regards to my life, my goals, my priorities......now I just have to clear out the chatter and riff raff. HAH !

Third, and now for something COMPLETELY different. We are bringing home a new foster baby next week. He has a complicated medical history, and will need a lot of extra-special care. I am really looking forward to the opportunity to foster again, and I will be dialing back my level of involvement with other work, in order to focus on the baby, and my family. I think it is going to be good for everyone, frankly. Yes, I will be up at all hours with a newborn again. Yes, he will eventually go home to his parents. Yes, his medical history is complex and the level of care required is very VERY high. But still. And yet. I feel totally prepared, completely ready, and honestly when I foster parent I feel as though I am serving my community in a valuable tangible way. And Sami is a great partner in all of this. He is an amazing father, a supportive partner, and a caring foster parent. The fact that he accepts this part of me, and allows me to fill a need I have that I cannot fully explain, is a sign of the utter faith he has in me. God, I love that man.

Trouble in paradise

This weekend has been full of work and friends and family and fun, and a massive struggle to keep myself together. But really, it's not a crisis or anything like that, and I feel like a shit for even bringing it up. I mean, I know there are a lot of people out there who actually have REAL PROBLEMS. And mine seems like nothing. A shadow of what real problems should be. So does that make them less valid ? I think it does......and yet.......but still.

Even with my trusty Prozac, over the past few months daily life has become increasingly difficult for me. I go for days without leaving the house. I avoid answering the phone. I sit at home, online, drinking tea, and thinking. And worrying. If you have recently sent a text or left a voicemail, there is a pretty good chance I haven't checked it. I get my email, but rarely respond - I don't know what to say. I don't have anything really important to say right now. I guess. I don't feel much like talking. I don't know how to respond.

The night sweats are back with a vengeance - one of the first sure, physical signs I have that the medicine is losing it's efficacy.

And more frequently now, I am having panic attacks - with the pounding heart and blurred vision and tight chest and breathlessness that, when I first experienced them, I thought were signs I was having a heart attack. Now, all of these years later, I know I'm not dying, but it's still scary. Especially since I have experienced them so INfrequently the past year or so - theirs is not a welcome return.

But the worst is I am not sleeping - maybe because my bed is soaking wet and I am chilled to the bone from the damn night sweats. Maybe because I lie in bed thinking about Sami and the kids and money and work and the dog and the truck and the house and things that happened that day and people I know and conversations I had......

With that said, it should come as no surprise to hear that I am constantly exhausted. You know, I read that sentence and I think: I feel as though every time I speak to someone, or write something, I mention how exhausted I am. I am starting to think that isn't even an accurate description. I am not exhausted. I am not just tired, or weary, or sleepy, or fatigued, or worn out.

This is more then that. This is having to pull over on the side of the road at 3pm because I am afraid I am going to fall asleep at the wheel. This is struggling to stay awake in the morning to get Max to school, then coming home and climbing back into bed with Lucy and a movie on the laptop, and sleeping for another few hours. This is having to drink an espresso to go out to dinner. It's not every day, but it is frequent, and frustrating. I have a lot to do, a lot to get done, a lot of things I want to accomplish - not just in my day, but in my LIFE. And this struggle is keeping me from doing too many things.

I hate to be on a prescription. I hate to take a pill every day. I have tried Paxil, and also tried a higher dose of the Prozac, but both left me feeling like a zombie. Since I am already barely awake as it IS, that option is not very appealing. I always hoped I would take the Prozac for 6 months or a year, and then stop, and be magically better. But as I have gotten older, and progressed through menopause, then had the hysterectomy, then dealt with the emotions and hormones relating to all of that...well.......it has been a hard couple of years, and instead of getting easier, it just seems to be getting harder.

This shouldn't be so hard.

This doesn't feel like me.

That is the weird thing about depression - it's not as though I am sitting around feeling SAD all the time. I'm not ill, I am still dressed and functioning. I'm still ME, everything still WORKS, but I feel like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, with a heart 3 sizes too small. I'm living life wrapped in a comforter, muffled and confused and a little off balance. I can't feel things the same way. Reaching out is almost impossible. I cannot touch, or be touched. I can barely lift my arms sometimes. But inside, I am fully aware that I am wrapped up like a mummy, and I WANT to get out, shed the weight, the constrictions of all of these layers......I just don't have the energy. Maybe tomorrow, I think. Maybe later.

I have been here before. Depression is cyclical for me - damn long cycles, but cycles nonetheless. Crippling sadness, followed by outrageous, manic behavior, followed by a period of calm - where I can give advice ad nauseum, and take my own advice to heart. And then, something happens, a switch is flipped, and suddenly everything that was do-able is now undone. Sometimes, a stage lasts for months - but it always evolves. Or at least, it has before. I am sure it will again, sooner rather then later since it has been a while now......

So, this post is really just to say "Hey. I am still struggling. I am here, but it feels very far away. Hang in there with me."

I am fine, and yet I am not fine - all at the same time. Not a scary "not fine" - they're not going to admit me to the Molokini ward or anything for God's sake - this is just a muddled version of the real me, right now. I have all sorts of thoughts and feelings in here - and I am trying to find a way to let them out, share them with you, show them to everyone and say "HERE. THIS is what I think. THIS is how I feel."

It should be VERY interesting, hm ?