Monday, January 20, 2014

Front Row Seats on THE Worst Ride

I'm riding that roller coaster again.  You know, the one that takes me in and out of that black pit of despair known as depression.  I asked to get off, raised my hand, I yelled, I did the universal both hands over my mouth get me off now signal.  It hasn't worked.  And, do you know what's the worst part?  The roller coaster broke down, way deep down in a valley and there's no rescue team in sight.

I'm going through a rough patch in life.  I know it will get better, I know all of those little upbeat sayings you say to someone going through a hard time, I pin them on Pinterest often.

I also know that everyone goes through these times.  It's different for me, and I assume other people with depression though.  It's not like we don't want to feel positive, don't want to say the sun will come out tomorrow, it's that we can't.  We, physically, can't.

How did I get here?  My roller coaster ride has been going up and down for years.  Nice little peaks and valleys.  Then, sometime over the last year or so my valleys were getting deeper and my peaks were not so notable.  I've been trudging along like a good little person and trying to make the best of it.  Until the day I couldn't anymore.  I wrote to my therapist in tears asking if she had any openings.  I needed to talk.  I needed confirmation that I wasn't crazy.  I needed someone to tell me I was OK to feel the way I did.  So I went to therapy and she said all those things.  She assured me that I just had SO much going on it was too much and would be for most people.  She told me I wasn't crazy.  She also told me I needed help.  I confided in her that most days I get up and put on a happy mommy face and shower, dress, feed and pack up the kids and send them off to school but then I come upstairs and crawl into bed.  Sometimes I sleep, sometimes I cry, sometimes I lose myself in Netflix.  But, I'm not functioning.  I do the things I need to do and most people wouldn't even notice anything is wrong because I hide it all behind a smile.  I volunteer at school, have lunch with friends and most of all make sure I've got it all together around the kids as much as possible.  Inside I am dying.  I am exhausted.  Every single thing in my life feels like an uphill battle.  I feel like I am walking through quicksand. 

I went to see my regular doctor to talk anti-depressants, again, sigh.  I swear I have PTSD from the withdrawal hell of Effexor, my last med.  I've also tried many others and some worked for a little while then stopped and some never worked at all.  I'm not convinced I will ever find one that will work.  I'm not convinced that the rest of my life won't feel like it does right now.  My doctor (she's new by the way), walked in knowing what she was going to prescribe.  I'd love to say we had a wonderful dialogue about my choices but she walked in the door practically saying Wellbutrin.  I've never been on it and she promises withdrawal isn't horrible.  So I took it.  Tomorrow will mark one week on the drug.  I can't tell you I feel any different yet which is to be expected.  A few times I've had panic attacks for no reason.  They were short but intense and gross.  One day I wanted to rip every one's head off.  I think starting a new med and having PMS at the same time is a bad idea by the way.  So I am waiting for another few weeks for it to build up in my system to see if it has any effect on me.  I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime if you happen to know a good mechanic who can get this roller coaster moving again please send them my way. 

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

It's Back and Why I feel like a Hypochondriac

So here I am, on the other side of major foot surgery and my foot is pretty good.  Sometimes I can even walk without a limp.  So I should be happy, right?  Ha!  I love that my foot is better and I am actually happy that I had the surgery because being able to get up from a seated position and just start walking without stiffness and excruciating pain is amazing.  Really, it is.  The problem is that something else is flaring up, again. 

I call it "something else" because I don't know what it is.  I don't know what causes it.  I am tired, again.  Not normal mom-of-two-boys low stamina after surgery tired. I mean exhausted, every cell in your being willing you to lay down and sleep tired.  I am skip going out with friends, put comfy clothes on after I shower so I can crawl back into bed tired.  And, I hurt.  My joints hurt like there's no tomorrow.  My neck, my shoulders, my elbows, wrists, fingers, knees ankles, toes, even my breastbone hurts.  It feels like when you get a really high fever and everything in your body aches.  Yea, like that, every day for the past few days.  The problem is I have no fever, I'm not fighting any illness that I know of and this happens to me every few months.  It can last a day or two or a few weeks and then it just goes away.  I can't pinpoint why, what I do differently, anything really that would give me an answer.

I have depression, could this simply be a physical manifestation of the depression flare ups?  Sure, I guess it could.  It would make sense.  Things have not been easy over the past month or more and I am faced with a lot of changes in the next few months that are daunting.  So, sure, it could be the depression and I am open to that but other times this has happened haven't coincided with depression flares. 

Is it that I'm fat?  Well there's an easy one to throw out there.  I am, fat that is.  Morbidly obese according to BMI charts.  So sure, that could be it too.  Extra weight on joints causes pain but why don't they hurt ALL the time.  Why are there episodes of pain and then long stretches without?  And, I've lost a few pounds over the last month or so.  Nothing to write home about but losing a few shouldn't cause me to suddenly have joint pain.

Sigh......I don't know.  Sometimes I think that I read in to my symptoms too much and I am a hypochondriac.  The thing is though, I hate the doctor and I have a huge tolerance for pain.  Huge.  So when I hurt and admit to hurting it's pretty bad because I can push through things that send others to seek medical help.  So while I worry I am a hypochondriac there is also this little voice in my head telling me there's something there, something is wrong, something has not been diagnosed.  I don't think it's deadly, I don't think it's huge I just think there's something that could be diagnosed and I would know I am not crazy.  Or maybe I am crazy.  Maybe people just feel this way and I don't know it.  Maybe, just maybe, it's just me.