Woe ISN'T Me

Hidey ho, blog readers!  I knew a spot of time had passed since my last entry.  However, realizing that TWO weeks marks my last official writing somewhat saddens me.  I've thought often of my topics, numerous times throughout each day, but my jam-packed physical and mental calendar have kept me from logging on and pounding out my sentences and pasting those amusing, oft times lovely, photos.

At the moment, I've bellied up to our kitchen island, sun lamp to my left, 10,000 LUX-worth of bright white light beaming into the rods and cones of my sun-starved eyes, working in conjunction with my anti-depressant to dispel a significant portion of this moderate depression which has colored my past month or two.  Not that my entries always reflect that.  I'm not a gloom-and-doom girl.  I want to cheer you all, uplift and educate and occasionally inspire you to think outside the box.  Not bring you down with the emotional and chemical battles I find myself fighting in my brain.  But I should probably share more of that as one or two of you may find yourselves in a similar rocking boat.

The good news here is that I love my life.  Not the financial stresses which may soon be exacerbated by the looming jagged cliffs which our politicos might have us all jumping over like lemmings; nor the chafing constraints of a modern suburbanite who longs for acreage, chickens and a pond brimming with wading birds of all species; and certainly not the lingering issues with which I struggle concerning food and weight and self-image.  However -- and this is an ENORMOUS caveat -- the people in my immediate circle, and those in the rippling waves which emanate from the epicenter of my flawed human existence, create a safe and comfortable cushion in which I can fall each and every day.  I am so cocooned in love, acceptance and admiration that it really is impossible to complain without feeling guilty about it.

Beauty and humor lurk everywhere.  Behind random people and Facebook posts and Hankie Mutt.  I adore the sky and earth and creation in between.  As amateur as I am with the application, photography helps me to focus, literally and internally, on these moments.  I capture them.  Remind myself and others of what is out there for the taking, for the internalizing, for the enjoying.  Then, when those down days hit me upside the head, those 'deposits in my bank' can be withdrawn without leaving me in the red.  I can function, even if it feels robotic or forced, knowing that this, too, shall pass.  Awareness is key.  Planning for it -- depression -- is vitally important.  Letting those who live with me know that a cloud bank has settled in so as to diffuse the power of the gathering storm.  Of course, I exercise and usually (though I've done a rather piss-poor job as of late) eat as healthy a regular diet as is possible to combat the physical aspects.  I don't allow myself to sleep all day or isolate from friends.  Attending my little Church at Cross Point keeps me floating along, reminding me of my very real faith and the journey of transformation and healing it has allowed me to take.

Looking back upon the landscape of my childhood and young adulthood, I can now clearly see where I maintained a semblance of normalcy under the mantle of mild to moderate depression.  Through familial lines, both maternal and paternal, the predilection for irritability as a symptom stands out.  Even in my siblings that is present.  There are other examples which don't need stating here.  But it must be stressed  that a family history of mental and emotional patterns is every bit as salient as a medical history.  Our bodies and minds do not operate independently of one another.  They were made to walk hand-in-hand with mind-boggling compatibility.  So when they lose that connection, it stands to reason that the the individual will mirror that disconnect through some sort of manifestation, however obvious or subtle that may be.  The chance of fixing, or at least mending, this rift decreases significantly without the facts.  The more complete the picture, the higher the odds of returning light to the shadowy corners.

For me, part of that process has involved realizing that my anti-depressant lost its efficacy.  For the second time.  Last year, when I crested the summit of 'feeling the most like who I felt I was meant to be' around the end of summer, my mood begin to slowly slide down the backside of the mountain as fall approached.  It scared me to contemplate upping my dose of the mild SSRI, citalopram (the generic version of Celexa), so I tapered off and eventually quit.  I was probably my most overwhelmed during last year's Christmas season; a season which generally causes me quite a bit of stress anyway.  I gave up on Christmas cards, except for a few, and my biscotti-making.  And way-y-y over did presents and stocking stuffers.  Decision-making in the midst of a heavy fog bank is as blind an effort as it sounds.

By late spring of this year, I returned to my doctor, surrendering to the fact that me and my family liked Gloria on citalopram far better than Gloria OFF of it.  My serotonin levels could not adequately manage themselves and were begging for HELP!!!  Again, within two weeks I began to sense that positive realignment of the ME within.  And those around me who spent regular time in close proximity, including my Earth Divas, could divine the difference.  I was greatly encouraged.  However, as is to be expected with these medications, by late summer I once again lost that strategic toehold on mood mountain.  This time, unlike in the previous year, I resigned myself to upping my dose -- after much research -- and added 10 milligrams to my prescribed 20 milligrams.  Yes, the irritability and emotional outbursts subsided, but no amount of coffee or walking could get me to focus on a string of simple daily tasks.  My energy was flat.  My brain could find no inspiration in words or ideas.  Barely two weeks in I had to drop those extra 10 milligrams before dishes and dust bunnies and drudgery overtook my home.

Back to the research.  I charted the steady with the low and a clear pattern of emotional descent was visible during PMS, coupled with the new development of irregular hot flashes!  If I'm experiencing choppy seas, this chunk of days before my period always absorbs and regurgitates the shock and awe of it all.  Effexor emerged as a clear front runner for this particular issue, especially in treating hot flashes.  My doctor agreed.  She, too, noticed a pattern in my charts: a lessening of mood and function around winter.  A series of questions revealed how bummed out I felt when the sun sets: as if the day suddenly became heavier upon my shoulders.  I've always hated the night and heaped serious love upon the dawn.  Along with my new prescription (because Effexor is an SNRI, I would not have to first wean off of citalopram and then re-start a new pill: Effexor works on serotonin levels, along with norepinephrine and melatonin levels), I was given a possible diagnosis of Seasonal Affective Disorder and told to try a 'light therapy' lamp.  Online searches assured me that I wouldn't have to shell out hundreds of hard-earned family dollars for this product.  I found a well-written article by an individual who actually suffered a psychotic episode due to her SAD.  She had waded through the myriad sun lamps available and figured out which ones worked best.  I ordered a full-spectrum white light unit and a portable blue light unit.  There are differing schools of thought as to which light is most effective in terms of therapy, but generally speaking they are both useful.  The main danger is to avoid poorly manufactured products which generate any amount of ultraviolet light.  Light therapy lamps are NOT made to tan your skin.  The two types of lamps are NOT interchangeable.

So that's where I am folks.  Yesterday was my first experience with the lamp because I've had special company and didn't open the box until my schedule returned to normal.  (As normal as it ever really gets!)  Tonight I double my dose of venlafaxine (generic for Effexor); that's how it is prescribed.  I'm not yet sure if it's working.  Two weeks into the med and I'm feeling rather down, blah and anxious.  I am aware that the month of December evokes stress within me: we are definitely redefining Christmas this year.  And my neighbor and husband reminded me that having full-on fun company in the house for a week and then having them abruptly depart can be rough.  Especially for one like me who remains at home.  I'm quite irritable.  Especially late afternoon into night.  I may need the higher dose.  No worries.  I'm tracking any and all side effects.  And I think a dose of Earth Divaery, whatever headcount I can round up, would be incredibly mood-lifting.

Well, you've most likely overdosed on all of that information.  How about I take a walk, chase Hank around the yard and eat some dark chocolate . . . you go find yourself a good comedy!

Here's an instant smile for you: pups at the family trough!
(My sister's dog had a litter of 10: the white on on the right is Hank's new partner come late December, little Gracie.  Zachary's dog.)

    



 

Falling Into Changes

Me at my desk in the under-renovation Writing Room (photo courtesy of Zachary Valdez)

Hulloo-o-o-o there, blog readers!  I just did the math and realized I let 10 days slip by since my last entry.  In that time, summer surrendered to fall.  Not intentional, I promise.  (The 10 days, I mean.  I have no control over the seasons though at one point I may have convinced my children to believe this for awhile.  Hey, some kids are gullible!)   It's been a rough couple of weeks.  Between my shoulder pain and the upped dose of Celexa (the mild antidepressant I started AND stopped last year, and then REstarted this year) my body and its chemistry have been out of whack enough to slow me down and subconsciously bum me out.  That's a long story made sub-compact right there. 

Was feelin' a little blue . . . 

However, I made two significant decisions to battle these detractors of me.  Namely, adding acupuncture to the list of prophylactic measures in my bag of tricks for this recurring injury to that wondrous joint which anchors my left arm to my torso; and, after a month of waiting for 30 milligrams of citalopram (generic Celexa) to make peace with my brain, I dropped back down to 20 milligrams this past Friday.  These simple acts of proaction (sorry, Spellcheck, it's a word tonight!) have psychologically nudged me back to a comfortable position far from the cliff edge to which I was scooting day by day.

My GAME face.

Because none of my fears revolve around needles, my problems with acupuncture centered more around the money than anything else.  I'd heard enough about Dr. Kestner to feel comfortable in choosing him as my practitioner of this Eastern medicine.  But insurance companies are not on board with the insertion of hair-fine shafts of stainless steel into nerve and muscle.  My first session began with a consult and questions which didn't end when the good doc stuck me with 9 teensy-weensy spears; at my second appointment, I told him to let me have it . . . full strength . . . that resulted in 20 of the little buggers.  I assured him I could sit very still for the roughly 20-minute session.  Oh, how I tried!  But I must admit right here that in reaching for my iPhone to attempt a few photos, I knocked out one of the acu-needles.  Ooops.  I was paying for that!  Lesson learned.  (So, what you see below are the 3 shots Dr. Kestner obligingly took for me during my maiden voyage.)  And with the addition of daily icing, a touch of ibuprofen as needed, and a complete withdrawal from all forms of physical exercise requiring my shoulder, I've noticed an incremental improvement each week 0f 10%-15% which differs from simply doing nothing or attempting physical therapy.  (That also means that for THREE weeks -- sad weeks for me -- I've refrained from my push-up regimen for the third late summer in a row.  Aaargh!  Amazing how quickly muscle loses its form in a post-40 body.)

I'm NOT apprehensive about the treatment . . .
I'm thinking about my wallet!

The doc suggested I try smiling so that folks wouldn't
the wrong idea about acupuncture!

Still working with some muscle here . . . 

Per the antidepressant, even with the aid of my organic cold-brewed Rwandan coffee twice a day, I found myself in a haze most of the day which robbed me of my natural energy and brightness.  It was as if I was unable to every fully wake up.  Concentration came and went.  Usually went.  My mornings took two hours to get me up and at 'em -- totally out of character.  Instead of being late to church or other events because I tried to cram too many quick chores right up against my shower-shampoo-and-shine-time, my tardiness stemmed from a very real physical inability to move or think quickly. I know someone who takes 60 milligrams of this drug daily; it explains a lot about the lack of quality function in their life.  (This little blip in my health radar further enhanced my awareness of the difficulty that my brother and people like him who suffer with mental and emotional illnesses face when they really MUST take lithium and stronger medicine in order to live day-to-day with any semblance of normalcy.) Add to that the increase in my desire to eat, full belly or not, which started to pack on some of those hard-fought ten pounds I lost earlier this year.  NOT COOL!  The lower dose decreased my appetite.  Part of the reason I added this particular anti-depressant on board was to alleviate my anxiety and thought-cycles concerning my weight, eating, etc.  All of which I've touched upon in this blog, or The Reluctant Suburbanite blog, over the past few years. 

Say HELLO to my little friend . . . 

On a positive note long in the works, my last visit to my primary care physician came with an order for blood work.  Turns out that I've finally succeeded in raising my B-12 levels to normal AND my iron is much improved.  It took years to get this right!  My orders are to continue my supplement regimen for the rest of my natural born life.  ROGER THAT!

  

That's ONE type of butterfly.

THIS is another type.

So, let's end this entry right there.  I'm back in the saddle.  Again.  Perking up.  And relieved to say it.  My dog is at my feet -- speaking of feet, he nibbled on my hubby's Harley Davidson black leather boots one morning after my son left them out, minor damage but aggravating to my man, AND I replaced an expensive pair of Nike Air Max tennis shoes to the tune of $120, ON SALE, plus a 20% coupon but STILL, that belonged to my son's friend and found their way to Hank's mouth because they were left in his domain, and there's my son in both stories, enough said about Hank, let's focus on the boy.  

But I digress.  It happens.  

The hubby.

The SON!

The HANKIE Mutt!!!