Emotionally Constipated

 I think I'm emotionally constipated because, lately, I've been struggling to feel anything more than anxiety.

Other feelings are present, but they're just below the surface, floating around, muted, unreachable and unnameable.

I'm a communicator.  And it's been really difficult for me to not be able to communicate how I'm feeling.  It's unsettling, actually.

Sure, there are happy moments.  Many of them.  And generally speaking, I am happy.  I love my days with J - playing at home, or running errands, watching him learn and grow and discover.  I spend much of my time with him laughing and smiling.  And I love and have fun teaching piano and voice.  And I love the time I get to spend with D.

But underneath...

I wish I could articulate it better!

All I can articulate is anxiety.  It is the omnipresent feeling.  And it's not even that I'm feeling a lot of anxiety (well, no more than usual), but it's the only feeling I can actually name with certainty.

I'm worried that sometime, in the very near future, the dam is going to break and all of these unreachable and unnameable feelings are going to come rushing to the surface and I'll be a hot mess for several days.

Ok, honestly, that's not really what's worrying me.  Because I know it's going to happen.  What I'm really worried about is that it's going to happen at an inconvenient time.  Like while I'm teaching.  Or while D is at work.  Or when my mom is unreachable via phone.

I spent last night trying to coax myself into crying or raging or emoting anything because I have an unbooked weekend (what?!  Don't tell anyone - they'll ask me to do stuff). 
It didn't work.

 I need an emotional laxative.

Tired of Being Tired

Back in summer 2008 (also known as the worst summer of my life), D* and I went to therapy for my depression and anxiety.  

*He went because he was my "primary care giver" and because I had no idea how to really communicate my needs to him yet.

While the therapy was less than helpful (because I didn't want to be there and I was a really good liar/faker), I did learn one thing.

Whenever the therapist would ask me how I was doing, I would say that I was tired.

Tired is the dominant expression of my d/a.

It's not like a "I need to go to sleep" tired.

It's more like I am burned-out, broken-down, drained, beat, weary, depleted.

It doesn't matter how much I sleep, how many caffeinated beverages I drink, how much I exercise or eat energy-rich foods I eat, I'm still tired.

But, I think I might've found something to help wake me up.

Yoga.

I took a yoga class in college and loved it.

I tried to keep doing yoga at home on my own.

But then, I kind of fell out of the habit.

I started doing it again this past week and holy amazing, Batman.

I've done at least 15 minutes every morning.  Usually more.  

And then another 15-30 minutes at night.

I have felt so much more awake and connected to my body.

And the awake-ness has lasted all day!

Maybe my days of being tired are over?

My Experiences With D/A Meds

I was officially diagnosed with depression/anxiety in 2008.

I wasn't at all surprised.  In fact, it was almost validating to have someone officially tell me that I had a medical condition and I wasn't making the fear and sadness up.

Apparently, I'm not really very good at taking care of myself.  I tried a couple times after I was diagnosed to take care of my mental health - a couple different meds and a few different therapists, and then got distracted and gave up.

It took me several years to get the help that I so desperately needed.  I finally got serious about my mental health after moving out to California and almost completely giving in to my depression/anxiety and going crazy.  I found a great Primary Care Physician who emphasized in mental health.  She did so much to get me taken care of.  After I got the runaround from Kaiser's mental health department (we're talking months of getting no where), she decided to just take care of things herself and prescribed me Citalopram.  

I slowly built up taking Citalopram to 40mg, but the building up was rough.  The side affects kicked up butt.  Hard.  But once I got up to 40mg, I suddenly felt like the Landon I was always supposed to be.  A lot of people say that on anti-depressants they feel numb - they don't feel any lows, but they don't feel any highs either.  On 40mg of Citalopram, I felt alive!  I could feel highs, and I could feel lows but the lows were no longer desperate, disparaging, or defeating.  It was like my emotional barometer was reset to normal. 

I've been taking Citalopram for 3 years.  I have never regretted it.

We switched insurance companies back in September.

We were insured with my employer, but when I didn't return to work we switched to D's employer's insurance.  I failed to refill my prescription before we switched and then failed to make an appointment with a new PCP.  I ran out of pills in December, but I couldn't call in a refill the "soonest available appointment" wasn't until the end of January.

The withdrawal symptoms were kicking my butt.  Restless leg almost as bad as while I was pregnant.  Itching.  Insomnia.  Irritability.  Not to mention the depression and anxiety that quickly clouded my brain and inhibited my functioning.  And despite my attempts to self-medicate with Coca-Cola and Peanut Butter M&M's, each day got a little darker.

But now, there is light again!  After several phone calls to my doctor's office, I was able to get an appointment with a nurse practitioner!  The appointment was all of 10 minutes long, but I walked out with my prescription in hand! 

I've now been taking Citalopram for two days and I feel my life force returning (ok, a little over-exaggerated, but only a little).  My brain feels more clear, my thoughts are more rational, I'm not such a pain-in-the-tush.  I actually feel a desire to do more than sit on my bum.  (Example, I did my hair and make-up and got dressed yesterday!)

Depression/Anxiety sucks.
But it doesn't have to define you.
It doesn't have to be the only thing in your life.

I realize medication isn't everyone's cup of tea.

But it has changed,

no, saved

my life.

I feel free!

Reflecting and Changing: Emotional Edition

This is my last quest/resolution for 2013.
My emotional quest.

This is my most challenging area. 

I have depression/anxiety and there's so much negative shiz going on in my head pretty much constantly.  Almost all of it is self-directed.

The depression/anxiety damns me.

Sure, I've been taking meds.  And they have been life changing.

I know they're not for everyone, but I probably would've been a lost cause by now without them.

But sometimes the negative voices break through.

The voices keep me from talking to people because I'm not cool enough.

The voices keep me from trying new things because I would not be any good at them.

The voices keep me from auditioning for shows or applying for directing gigs because I am sure that I'm not good enough.

All of these feelings of not being enough are keeping me from who knows what!

My resolution is two fold:

I am going to talk back to those negative voices.

I am going to put myself out there more.

I'm gonna make that voice in my head that says "you're not ________ enough!" shut the heck up.

At least, I'm gonna try.

I'm gonna talk back to that voice and say, "You're wrong.  Right now, I am enough."

And, I'm going to try to do more.  

Talk to people more (this is the most terrifying for me, honestly).  Try new things.  Maybe do a show (Jackson allowing).

I'm going to work break through my depression/anxiety damn and be a little healthier emotions wise.

Freak Out Friday

from Natalie Dee

According to the ever-reliable Dictionary.com, 

anxiety is defined as:

1. distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune
2. earnest but tense desire; eagerness

Some anxiety is a good thing.  

It can be motivating.  It can keep us from doing foolish things.

Too much anxiety is debilitating.  

I tend to get anxious in social settings (which is weird since I'm an extrovert).  After I leave a social setting, I will ask D, "Did I say anything stupid?  Did I talk too much?  Did I talk too little?  Was I rude?  Did I do ok?"

Every. Time.

Usually, he reassures me that I did fine, that I still have friends, and that I'm not as social inept as I feel.

Tonight I attended a bridal shower.

Which means no boys allowed.

Which means no D there to listen to my bumbling social interactions and reassure me afterwards.

By the time I got into my car to drive home from the shower, I was an anxious wreck.

I was sure I overstayed my welcome, said too much, was too loud, and was rude to people I should've talked to.

And there was no one to talk me down from my ever-growing anxiety mountain.

Maybe this is just me, but when I start feeling anxious about one thing, suddenly everything makes me anxious.

By the time I got home, my list of anxieties was taking over my head.

I felt anxious about my broken car, the DMV still having our wrong address despite many efforts to change it, Christmas, how we're going to pay for Christmas gifts, how to pick out the best Christmas gifts, J's teeth still not coming through, my dirty bathroom, my pile of dishes, the disaster zone that I call my bedroom, the fact that I didn't call my Grandma on her birthday, that my sister had texted me that she needed to talk but wasn't picking up her phone, that we haven't gotten more Christmas cards in the mail, that we haven't sent out Christmas cards yet, and on and on.

 

And then I freaked out in my head.

I'm a terrible granddaughter.  My sister must be dead.  No one likes us and wants to send us cards.  People think we hate them because they haven't gotten a card from us.  I'm a terrible wife/mother/housekeeper because my home is a mess.  Our family will think that we're cheapskates because we can't afford ritzy Christmas gifts.  Our family will think that we don't love them because we pick out crappy gifts.  

  

All of the anxieties and freak outs spun around in my head, magnifying each other, making it seem like my world was crashing down, there was no reason to be happy, and life was more than I could handle.

 

And then I freaked out out loud to D.

And I realized I'm ok.

 

So maybe I made a fool of myself at the shower.  Shake it off, do better next time.

The other anxieties that were there, waiting in the wings, I can deal with them.  One at a time.

The freaking out is illogical.  Shut those thoughts down.

But sometimes, you just need a good old-fashioned anxiety fest and hear all your worries out loud to realize that you're actually ok.

By saying what I'm anxious about out loud, my anxieties stop magnifying each other and getting all tangled in one another and I can look at each one individually.  And take back control.

 

So, freak out!  Out loud!  

Look those anxieties in the face and say I see you and I am strong enough to tackle you.

And then, take a deep breath and take a step forward.

Sleepless Nights

There's this little bugger out there called the insomnia monster who keeps coming to visit me.

Usually, when we're duking it out, I can be found on playing sudoku on my phone, trying to will my mind to sleep while my husband sleeps peacefully next to me.

Drives me bananas.

I'm pretty dang sure my insomnia stems from my anxiety.

Some nights, I'm not even worrying about anything specific.

I'm just up.

Worrying.

Last night, however, I was worrying about something specific.

(Blog posts regarding specific something are forthcoming.)

3:30 rolled around and sudoku hadn't helped.

Facebook hadn't helped.

Bejeweled Blitz hadn't helped.

Pinterest hadn't helped.

Reading hadn't helped.

Listening to a book being read hadn't helped.

So I just laid there.

Unable to shake my worry.

Unable to sleep.

At some point, I must've fallen asleep because I woke up this morning

(feeling like I'd been hit by a train several times).

What do you do when the insomnia monster visits?

Seriously, what do you do?  

Needy

First, a confession.  I love ANTM (America's Next Top Model, for those of you not "in the know").  Every once in a while, a plus size model makes it as a contestant.  Tyra doesn't call those models "plus size" - she calls them "fiercely real."  

As a blogger, I try to be "fiercely real."  I don't sugar coat or edit out things.  No, I don't post about every little detail of my life, but what I choose to share in my blog I am honest about.  And if someone doesn't like what I post, they don't have to read it. 

That being said, it's time for some "fiercely real" honesty.

I have depression/anxiety.  Not a revelation to anyone at this point.  I've been living with it for years.  It's not situational depression/anxiety, it is definitely a chemical imbalance in my brain.  I've gotten to a place where I can accept that it's a part of who I am, not the definition of who I am.  I have tried in many ways to take control of the d/a and not let it control me.  Part of that includes taking medication every day.  Every day.

I had a moment a couple of days ago where I thought, "You know, maybe I can go off my meds.  I've been taking them for a long time (2+ years) and I'm feeling pretty okay."

Simultaneously, I forgot to take my meds for 2 days (the previous thought about going off meds occurred on day 1 of forgetting).  Yesterday was day 2 of forgetting. 

As a result, yesterday was a war zone in my head.  Sure, on the outside I still looked like a productive human being.  My clothes matched (I even looked borderline cute yesterday), I was wearing makeup, my hair was done, I taught 6 lessons, I did dishes, I did laundry.  Actually, a more productive day than most (because D was off of work yesterday and watched J).  But on the inside, bombs were flying, negative thoughts were spiraling out of control, I was fixating on stupid and destructive things, and the negative voices in my head were indistinguishable from my own voice.  At the end of the day I lost it.  I stood at the sink crying while washing J's bottles.  D quietly came over and handed me my meds and a glass of water and then made me a sandwich.  And I realized I need my meds and that's ok.  It doesn't make me less of a person or less of a mother or wife or daughter or friend to need to take meds every day.  It's not a want.  It's a need.

And this brings me to another point.  It's ok for mom's (and daughters, wives, sisters, women, humans) to have needs.  And to have those needs met.  I am really good at delegating my needs to the later category.  Like, I'll eat later.  Or I'll sleep later.  And instead of spending a few minutes meeting my needs, I work on something else instead that is "more important" because my needs aren't as necessary as someone else's needs.  For example, why is it more important that my husband eat than me eat?  I don't know.  Somehow I feel like my needs don't carry as much weight or aren't as deserving of time or attention as someone else's needs.  But they do.  And I need to remember that.  I need to remember that I'm useless (like crying at the sink useless) unless I take care of myself and take care of needs.  You can't share your oil (ie serve others) if your lamp is empty, right?  Right?

D/A definitely makes life hard.  Challenging.  Shortly after J was born, D gave me a blessing and told me that Satan was going to work really hard to use my d/a to drag me down.  I struggle with my feelings of individual worth and with separating the destructive voices from my own voice in my head. Sometimes the destructive voices win as Satan definitely knows which buttons to push.  But it's easier to cope with and take control when my needs have been met (aka when I'm fed, medicated, well rested, etc.).

Reflections

Being a mom has made me aware of aspects of myself that I didn't know existed before and new dimensions to my already crazy-town personality.

After being diagnosed with depression/anxiety several years ago, D and I have had many tearful (on my end), late night conversations about how d/a would affect our future.  I was terrified that I would pass d/a onto my children and so I fought the idea of having my own kids.  I knew how debilitating d/a had been for me and I didn't want my children to ever have to deal with that knowing that it was because of me.  I was also terrified of postpartum depression.  I knew that because I had d/a, I was much higher risk for PPD and I didn't want to be one of those moms who loses it on her kids one day or whose kids thinks of her only as a sad panda.

When J was born, the doctor immediately called a Rapid Response team into our room.  J was grey, not really breathing and not really moving.  I remember feeling so helpless and so afraid.  I couldn't do anything for my baby.  I just laid there and watched and cried.  The Rapid Response team got J breathing and moving and he turned pink.  The nurse and D watched J to be sure that he kept breathing and I waited to be allowed to hold him.  Unfortunately, J started wheezing and the call was made to send him down to NICU.  I got to hold him for just a couple of minutes before he was taken down to the NICU.  And then he was under the care of the NICU nurses and doctors and we were only allowed to visit.

Now that J is home, I've found myself full of anxiety.  I hear J start wheezing or coughing and I worry that a team of nurses is going to descend and take my baby away.  Or that he'll stop breathing all together.  I worry that if I leave J, something will happen and I won't be there to help.  I have a hard time sleeping if he's not near me - we put him in his crib one night and slept in our bed and I straight up could not sleep.  I was just so scared that something would happen and I wouldn't be able to get to him in time.  The fear of being unable to help my own son has become overwhelming at times, mostly at night.

And the guilt!  If I'm not there taking care of J, I feel guilty.  I feel guilty for needing sleep.  I feel guilty for not being able to hold him and watch him every second.  He's so perfect and I don't want to let a moment slip by, I don't want to miss anything.  And I feel guilty if I can't comfort J.  He's had a hard time with acid reflux and that's painful.  He also has a clubbed foot and gets a new cast on every week and having his foot manipulated and cast hurts him.  I wonder how much of it is my fault.  And I can't always comfort him when he's crying or screaming in pain and discomfort.  I can't always ease his pain.  And I feel guilty about it.

I'm not nursing, really (there's more guilt there).  J had a difficult time with my breast milk and I wasn't producing much, really (because of the reduction surgery I had when I was 18).  Each feeding I had to supplement with formula, more formula than breast milk.  And it was such hard work each feeding.  J would get impatient because he was hungry but my milk didn't flow that fast.  But even though I'm not nursing and my body's not having to support another life, I'm still exhausted!  More deeply exhausted than I knew was possible.  I know, I know, the exhaustion is part of motherhood and I'll be exhausted for the rest of my life.  I just wish that I had something more to justify my exhaustion...

I love my son.  I love being his mom.  He is a miracle and I'm grateful for every moment with him.  I didn't know that I had this much love in me.  I love D deeply.  But this love for my son is different.  And the love I feel for my son has deepened the love I feel for my husband.  The joy is fuller, as well.  But the more you love, the more there is at stake to lose.  And I definitely feel the higher stakes.  The "what-if" scenarios that spin through my head are scarier than they were before because I have more to lose.  Sometimes, I wonder if I was crazy to ever get married and have a kid.  Sure I know that much more love and joy, but there's the risk for that much more hurt and pain.

I adore this face.  I adore his coos, his smiles, his squeals for food, the way he grabs my fingers, the way he sucks on my pinky, his deep blue eyes, his dimpled chin, how ticklish he is, and on and on and on.  He is a blessing and sometimes I feel very unworthy.  But I'm grateful.  And despite all my crazy-town quirks, I am trying to be a good mom.  After all, there's a reason we were sent to each other, right?

The D/A Monster

I don't know if this happens to anyone else, but when things go bad physically, things also go bad emotionally and spiritually. Everything falls out of balance at the same time.

On Monday, I was in the hospital for a couple of hours because of dehydration. Nothing major. They just hooked me up to an IV (which was the most challenging part of the whole visit - and I have the bruises to prove it) and pumped me full of fluids. But physically, I was (still am, off and on) feeling awful.

But the last few days, I've felt out of it emotionally and spiritually. Feeling physically awful leaves me feeling sad and emotionally inadequate, especially because it leaves D to carry so much of the weight. And then I start doubting my worth and merit as a wife and partner and as an individual and feel spiritally inadequate as well.

It's ineresting to me how difficult it is to obtain a balance between the three areas and how vitally important and interconnected they all are to each other. Feeling out of balance in one area suddenly brings into sharp focus where I'm lacking in the other two. And the only way to achieve balance again is to focus on all three areas, not just the inital "problem child." Which is difficult because I'm already feeling emotionally/physically/spiritually inadequate.

Does anyone else experience this same thing? What is the best way you've found to achieve balance again? (Other than self medicating with a Coca-Cola and peanut-butter M&M's.)

D/A

It never ceases to amaze me how my D/A (depression/anxiety) symptoms follow me everywhere.  Even when I'm feeling like things are kind of emotionally under control, physically D/A rock my body.

Today I was feeling really dizzy.  Actually, I have been feeling really dizzy on and off for several days now.  So, like any responsible person, I turned to the internet - webmd.com.  And, of course, one of the causes of my dizziness could be anxiety.  And why wouldn't it be?  I mean, I only started working in my store for reals this week, with my own cash, keys, codes and everything.  No big deal, right?  (HA!)  

I remember being so astonished when I was first diagnosed with d/a and the doctor handed me a loooooong list of symptoms associated with both.  Suddenly I didn't feel like there were a million things wrong with me.  Just two big things.  :)  The stomach aches, headaches, random tingling of feet and hands, trouble sleeping, changes in weight and appetite, short attention span (that I didn't have all through my public schooling years), could all be tied to d/a.  And, treating the d/a would also treat all the other symptoms!   Too bad I fell off of that "treatment wagon"...

Emotionally, I'm feeling ok.  Granted, ok isn't the best, but it's not the worst either so I'm content.  I get up in the morning.  I go to work and am nice to people.  I haven't had any major break downs lately.  Just a general low and stressed feeling.  I mean, going to work is hard.  Sometimes I wonder if I can do it or if it's the right thing to do at all.  But there are blessings.  And I'm grateful for them.  I do hope someday to not be just ok though.  I would love to be good.  Or even great.

I sometimes think about how ironic it is that I can be an extrovert (meaning I am energized by being around other people, talking with them, etc.) but experience extreme anxiety in large groups of people.  

I also sometimes think about how I would like to get "help" (I hate putting it that way...).  I would like someone to help me work through things in my past that are still holding me down (mostly my relationship with jerk-face).  But, I don't know if I can make the commitment.  Or be open and trusting enough.  I have so many doubts.  

Maybe I'll like the doctors out here better than the doctors in Utah.  Maybe things will be better this time.  Maybe it's time to get back on the "treatment wagon."

Dear Depression/Anxiety,

I want my life back, please.

-Landon