Mental Illness is no party

On Saturday we had a party for Monkey's birthday. As an extrovert, this was as big a deal for him as the PS3 we got him. There was food, friends and games. 

I sat upstairs listening to the party. I cooked a ton of food and a special cake for the gathering, helped set up the house for guests and then ran upstairs before the first person arrived. I listened to the laughter and talking. Heard people praise my food and enjoy each other's company. I had zero interest in going down to join them. Actually, it was more like negative interest. I felt guilty for this. This is "anti-social" of me. This is "rude" and "inappropriate". That is what society and my upbringing tells me. What my brain tells me is "danger danger danger danger". This goes way beyond being an introvert. Thanks to Social Anxiety Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder and the up/down of my Clinical Depression I spent my spouse's birthday party ease-dropping, feeling guilty and anxious. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

The truth is it isn't my fault. The truth is that I was giving Monkey a great gift by taking care of myself so he could enjoy his party without worrying about me. The truth is there is nothing to feel guilty or ashamed of. I'm trying to remember that. I'm trying to learn that. I have an illness. The meds aren't working all that great so self-care is my only resource. 

I'm trying to accept that I have disabilities, that these aren't weaknesses or faults in character. I just wish I could have been there with Monkey. 

Under the blanket

I'm deep in my depression while I wait for my new meds to prove effective...or not. I'm spending good portions of my day under a fluffy red blanket on my couch. I'm doing my best. I am surviving.

Rather than blather on in a less than entertaining way about my pointless sadness I shall direct you to one of the best, yet entertaining, blog posts on depression I have ever seen. Enjoy.

Hyperbole and a Half : Adventures in Depression

After that I suggest you wander around her backlog of posts. They are hilarious and wonderful.

It is illogical.

I am a very logical person. I like to think things through. I like steps, processes and formulas. I often write notes and to-do lists in outline format. (I don't speak in a logical way but that is a whole other story.) Even my creative endeavors, baking and knitting, are ones that follow logical steps along with a bit of instinctive direction. I am very proud and very attached to my ability to logically think things through.

I think it is because of this trait that I suffer more than necessary with my mental illnesses. There is nothing logical about what is happening in my mind. I'm sure that deep in the biochemical level there is a logically explainable dysfunction that will someday be discovered but that is my "brain" not my "mind". I have two minds, almost like two identities, during a depressive and/or anxious episode. One is the logical and reasonable mind that sees all the illogical feelings and reactions. It says "I am depressed and crying yet my life is very good. I have loving partners, good health care, all my basic needs are met, and I have a wonderful amount of extra comforts. This makes no sense whatsoever." My logical mind, however, is locked in a glass box by the raving emotional nut ball that is my depressive mind. I'm not even going to try to articulate what that part of my mind sounds like. My logical mind sees all the crazy spilling out but can do nothing to stop it. The medications, when they work, help quiet the crazy part of my mind and let my logical side take most of the control.

Right now, while I change and adjust my new medications, the crazy mind is more often in control. With therapy and a lot of self-care, I can get the logical mind in control for small parts of the day. I can be functional but only in short bursts and at great cost. The rest of the time crazy-mind is running the show. I'm trying to accept that. If I manage to accept that, during those times, logic will not be likely perhaps I would suffer less?

The house guest

I could see it coming. I've gotten very good at spotting it lurking around the edges of my brain. Oozing into the folds of thought. Depression has claimed me once again. The "house guest", as my household calls it, has moved back in. 

I white-knuckled my rational brain through Monkey's surgery knowing that he needed me to be present and able. Thankfully, his recovery has been so uneventful and rapid that I wasn't needed for very long. As soon as he didn't need me I crumbled. Monkey and Author could see it coming too so they were ready for it, though hoping for the best. 

I used to be almost paralyzed with fear when I saw the darkness coming to swallow me. Now I feel like a person preparing for a bad weather. Put up the storm windows and check the flashlights. I can't stop it once it has begun to build but at least now I'm able to lessen the impact while I weather the storm. 

I've started on yet another new medication. Will this one help? More importantly, will it keep working for more than a year or so? There is no way to know. Psychiatry is full of very educated guesses. No one knows exactly how or why these medications work or don't work for some people. It is like juggling when some balls are invisible and you don't know how many there are. But I have try because the other option is to live in this darkness and I just can't accept that.