Pick a destination
By spinning round and round
Throwing pennies at an old map
Held on the floor
By your old broken beer bottles
Where will they land
When they finally come to rest
North South East or West
Which way shall I start to drive
And where shall I start anew
At last on my own
On and in my own time
To the place I will flourish
Alone without you
And those broken beer bottles anymore
JGR 2010
Friday, April 30, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
My name is Jennifer and...
Usually my posts are funny, light or humorous. Containing quips and stories of ironies happening in my day. But something happened recently that has made me change the tune of this post to be more of come to Jesus/reality check, sit with me for a while and listen to my life while I tell you about some deeper stuff. So please feel free to stay and listen. It won't be soap boxy, I hope. But I do ask that you understand that, in the end, you take away with you the idea that depression affects more people than you may realize, even in your direct circle of family and friends.
I suffer from depression. I feel like I am in group... 'My name is Jennifer and I suffer from Chronic Depression.' Ever since I was about 10 or so I have been bounced back and forth in therapy of one sort or another, even before I truly understood what therapy was. I don't know when it started, the depression, or how, what the trigger was, or even if there was one. All I remember is that it was always there. Chronic. Constant. Growing. Omnipresent. Like a cancer eating away at me. Always. When I hit puberty things went nuclear. Hormones combined with pre-existing depression together triggered an altogether new experience of lows I never thought were possible and I entered the world of medication. Back in the mid 80's depression medication was not as sophisticated as it is today. There wasn't a lot of choice. It was Prozac or Prozac, at least as far as my Psychiatrist was concerned.
It was also very difficult to 'prove' my depression to my Physician to even get referrals to Psychiatrists in the area. I had to go to my Physician on an actual 'I can't get out of bed bad day' to actually show him I was crying out of control, was near suicidal, was having a panic attack, can't breathe, am stressed with anxiety, etc. before he would actually believe me. He had to see it to believe it. To believe me. When I went on a good day, he actually dismissed me out of his office, telling me I was fine and just hormonal. A mistake which could have been deadly had I gotten to that point, which I thankfully never did.
So aside from feeling like an outsider, as every teenager does already, I felt even more so with the label of Chronic Depressive hanging over my head, and in my file. I did the talk therapy thing for years while I lived in New York, stayed on the same medication while I was in New York and everything seemed ok. Then I moved to Atlanta.
With that move came new Doctors, Therapists and Psychiatrists. Some even provided new diagnosis, to which I didn't think I needed any, but they were the ones with all the medical schooling so ok. New medications were given for a condition I didn't have... at all. And after 18 months of monstrous doses of medications for bi-polar disorder, (from Zoloft alone to super high dozes of Depakote, Trazadone, Seroquil, Rantidone, Xanax and Wellbutrin) which bring down manic episodes in people who suffer from mania, but in depressives make you more and more depressed as it did me, and @2007 I had a total and complete and utter breakdown.
I was sitting on the bathroom floor with a bottle of pills when I was found. Silent. Not speaking. Crying my eyes out. Unable to stop. Unable to communicate. At all. I was catatonic. I was brought to the ER under lockdown and was brought immediately to a Psychiatric Treatment Center some 30 miles away where I was also admitted under lockdown. Just me, my journal, a pen, hairbrush, some clothes and some underwear.
I didn't speak. I actually couldn't speak. To anyone. Not the nurses, doctors, therapists, group leaders, NA or AA team leaders, no one. I just wrote in my journal and listened. Wondering why I was there. I wasn't an addict. I wasn't an alcoholic. And I cried. I cried a lot. They redid my medications, weening me off the heavy doses of the wrong pills I was on and putting me on the right doses of the correct medications I should have been on. I had been sleepless for over a week before being admitted and I was sleeping now. Sleep was good. And I wasn't holding a pill bottle in the bathroom to kill myself, it was a bottle of Tylenol PM because I was desperate to sleep but I was up to 6 pills a night and they weren't working and I couldn't stop crying. And that's when I was found.
Sometime during the first four days I started really listening in all of the group meetings, of which there were a lot of. And I had an epiphany in one of the Narcotics or Alcoholics Anonymous meetings they made me go to, I forget which. And that was the realization that I really wasn't as different as I thought from any of the addicts or alcoholics in the center with me. The only difference was that in my depression, I didn't reach for a drink, the pills, the crystal meth. I punished myself in other ways though, and in my past I had indeed reached for other things to numb my pain. And that made me realize we really weren't so different after all. So I started listening more. And eventually I started to speak.
After a week and a half I went home. Found a new Psych & Therapist and went back to work. Life was good, then life threw shit at me. I keep going to my Psych and she keeps tabs on my meds. I need to find a new therapist though. I need to get back into talk therapy. That's a constant good thing to always have as an outlet.
Anyway, the point of this whole story isn't to say Hey I'm a functional Chronic Depressive, it's to say no matter who you are, everyone knows someone with some sort of emotional issues somewhere in their lives if they know it or not. What triggered my standing up and being counted today was one of my dearest friends and her 8 year old daughter. The other night she came home to a note her daughter had written and left on her bed, addressed to her Dad saying she wished she had never been born. Ever. And that she wanted to leave home forever and be left all alone forever.
It's not the first time her daughter had made statements like this and it's caught my attention every time. That's how I felt when I was 10. It always starts somewhere and we just need to recognize it so we can get that person help as soon as possible so they don't feel alone and so they know those feelings are OK. Most importantly so they don't feel alone. Especially at 8 years old. I'm thankful my parents did.
So, I'm not trying to be preachy at all, but please be aware when you hear negativity from children, especially from young children. Crying out for help can start at any age. Whether it stems from internal stress, anxiety, bullying at school... They look to us to help them out and sometimes they just don't know how to ask for help. That leaves us needing to know how to listen.
I suffer from depression. I feel like I am in group... 'My name is Jennifer and I suffer from Chronic Depression.' Ever since I was about 10 or so I have been bounced back and forth in therapy of one sort or another, even before I truly understood what therapy was. I don't know when it started, the depression, or how, what the trigger was, or even if there was one. All I remember is that it was always there. Chronic. Constant. Growing. Omnipresent. Like a cancer eating away at me. Always. When I hit puberty things went nuclear. Hormones combined with pre-existing depression together triggered an altogether new experience of lows I never thought were possible and I entered the world of medication. Back in the mid 80's depression medication was not as sophisticated as it is today. There wasn't a lot of choice. It was Prozac or Prozac, at least as far as my Psychiatrist was concerned.
It was also very difficult to 'prove' my depression to my Physician to even get referrals to Psychiatrists in the area. I had to go to my Physician on an actual 'I can't get out of bed bad day' to actually show him I was crying out of control, was near suicidal, was having a panic attack, can't breathe, am stressed with anxiety, etc. before he would actually believe me. He had to see it to believe it. To believe me. When I went on a good day, he actually dismissed me out of his office, telling me I was fine and just hormonal. A mistake which could have been deadly had I gotten to that point, which I thankfully never did.
So aside from feeling like an outsider, as every teenager does already, I felt even more so with the label of Chronic Depressive hanging over my head, and in my file. I did the talk therapy thing for years while I lived in New York, stayed on the same medication while I was in New York and everything seemed ok. Then I moved to Atlanta.
With that move came new Doctors, Therapists and Psychiatrists. Some even provided new diagnosis, to which I didn't think I needed any, but they were the ones with all the medical schooling so ok. New medications were given for a condition I didn't have... at all. And after 18 months of monstrous doses of medications for bi-polar disorder, (from Zoloft alone to super high dozes of Depakote, Trazadone, Seroquil, Rantidone, Xanax and Wellbutrin) which bring down manic episodes in people who suffer from mania, but in depressives make you more and more depressed as it did me, and @2007 I had a total and complete and utter breakdown.
I was sitting on the bathroom floor with a bottle of pills when I was found. Silent. Not speaking. Crying my eyes out. Unable to stop. Unable to communicate. At all. I was catatonic. I was brought to the ER under lockdown and was brought immediately to a Psychiatric Treatment Center some 30 miles away where I was also admitted under lockdown. Just me, my journal, a pen, hairbrush, some clothes and some underwear.
I didn't speak. I actually couldn't speak. To anyone. Not the nurses, doctors, therapists, group leaders, NA or AA team leaders, no one. I just wrote in my journal and listened. Wondering why I was there. I wasn't an addict. I wasn't an alcoholic. And I cried. I cried a lot. They redid my medications, weening me off the heavy doses of the wrong pills I was on and putting me on the right doses of the correct medications I should have been on. I had been sleepless for over a week before being admitted and I was sleeping now. Sleep was good. And I wasn't holding a pill bottle in the bathroom to kill myself, it was a bottle of Tylenol PM because I was desperate to sleep but I was up to 6 pills a night and they weren't working and I couldn't stop crying. And that's when I was found.
Sometime during the first four days I started really listening in all of the group meetings, of which there were a lot of. And I had an epiphany in one of the Narcotics or Alcoholics Anonymous meetings they made me go to, I forget which. And that was the realization that I really wasn't as different as I thought from any of the addicts or alcoholics in the center with me. The only difference was that in my depression, I didn't reach for a drink, the pills, the crystal meth. I punished myself in other ways though, and in my past I had indeed reached for other things to numb my pain. And that made me realize we really weren't so different after all. So I started listening more. And eventually I started to speak.
After a week and a half I went home. Found a new Psych & Therapist and went back to work. Life was good, then life threw shit at me. I keep going to my Psych and she keeps tabs on my meds. I need to find a new therapist though. I need to get back into talk therapy. That's a constant good thing to always have as an outlet.
Anyway, the point of this whole story isn't to say Hey I'm a functional Chronic Depressive, it's to say no matter who you are, everyone knows someone with some sort of emotional issues somewhere in their lives if they know it or not. What triggered my standing up and being counted today was one of my dearest friends and her 8 year old daughter. The other night she came home to a note her daughter had written and left on her bed, addressed to her Dad saying she wished she had never been born. Ever. And that she wanted to leave home forever and be left all alone forever.
It's not the first time her daughter had made statements like this and it's caught my attention every time. That's how I felt when I was 10. It always starts somewhere and we just need to recognize it so we can get that person help as soon as possible so they don't feel alone and so they know those feelings are OK. Most importantly so they don't feel alone. Especially at 8 years old. I'm thankful my parents did.
So, I'm not trying to be preachy at all, but please be aware when you hear negativity from children, especially from young children. Crying out for help can start at any age. Whether it stems from internal stress, anxiety, bullying at school... They look to us to help them out and sometimes they just don't know how to ask for help. That leaves us needing to know how to listen.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Braker braker number 9, who's that calling 'cross the line?
I break things. I always have. I never knew how to protect the things I cherish most. I have clumsy hands. Usually i get in my own way. I trip over my own feet. As one of my favorite authors says, I'm an 'Idiot Girl'. So give me something fragile, something that requires care and love and rest assured i will somehow unintentionally break it. It will happen. Its unavoidable. It's what I do. I am a breaker of things
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Home Is Where The Heart Is.
I wrote a blog. I wrote an entire blog about my trip to New York. I read it and deleted it. It spoke of a long drive, a hotel stay, pancakes and Facebooking while driving (...I know Leanne). I wrote it and it was pretty lengthy, but it didn't say what I wanted it to. It had no message. It said nothing... a lot of nothing.
Yes, I drove 16 hours home, alone. Yes I drove from Atlanta to New York to visit with great friends and to see old friends where the stretch of time between visits had been vast and too far between and since. And yes, I am craving and striving for a change of scenery in my life at 39 1/2 years old and am recognizing home as exactly what it is. and always was... Home. But who wants to hear about which road I took at which intersection when and which place I ate lunch at in my hometown? Sure, if this was a travel blog, but it isn't.
The trip North was a 16 hour meditation, fueled by occasional pancakes, driven by fantastic music (thank you my music purveyor, you know who you are...) in a Northern direction. I took in the sights of the road as well as the sights of my past, embracing them as part of my here and now every step of the way. I drove with my eyes wide open, as if looking at everything for the first time or having never made the trip. And each step of the way once at my destination I relinquished control and gave into...
Pure happiness
Laughter
Unencumbered joy
Walking in the cold wind and the warm sun
Smiling from ear to ear until it hurt
Unconditional friendship
Giggling at all hours of the night
Speaking in funny accents for the hell of it
and Sleep Deprivation (voluntary and forced... thank you anonymous guest with sleep apnea)
I have not felt this full of vibrancy actually in years. I feel alive, younger and free to be myself while not being nervous at the risk taken by doing so. If you are not happy with who I am, who I truly am, well then move on, no more to see here ma'am/sir. I won't apologize for it now or ever and hopefully you will appreciate me more so for that.
Even during the drive up, the closer I came to home the more awake I became, as if I had been asleep for years, penned in by others ideals, constricted boxes of expectations in familial roles.
As Mother Nature does each season, I have stretched outwardly and welcomed in the positive energies and vibrations and positive influences around me. I can only hope to increase the exchange as time goes on.
Home tends to bring out the best in people or the worst. This trip has most definitely been the continuing of the beginning of an awakening and has brought me to the threshold of a pivotal point in my life. I guess the rest will be TBD...
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Retribution for a Life Abused
For the past 39 1/2 years I have taken for granted everything given me. Everything. Family, jobs, financial security, a roof over my head and food on the table, even my own health. A month ago the latter of the preceding started to rapidly unravel and steadfastly so. Today I can barely type this and have to backspace to correct myself every second or third letter in order to for my readers to be able to read my posting and understand my entry. Otherwise, left unedited my entry looks like garbled nonsense. I have lost muscle memory in my hands, have developed severe rapid onset neuropathy in my hands and feet, loss of short term memory, stuttering over my words, muscle weakness and spasms in my extremities, a hard time swallowing and shakiness as well as blurry vision even with my glasses on and exhaustion. On top of all of this I was laid off. Yes ladies and gentlemen, while my body was falling apart I was still working, and was even taking shit for taking an hour off every other week for Dr appointments while working through lunches more often than not, and then to put the cherry on the cake I got laid off with no notice along with 10 or so other people.
The Doctors have ruled out the normal culprets, diabetes and B12 anemia from which I am fully recovered since my symptoms have increased while my B12 saturation has also increased, numbers over 2,000 now. Today is the start of my testing to be followed by my meeting one of my two neurologists. I don't know what to expect, especially since I will be facing a lot of it alone as Adam has to work, we can't risk both of us out of work. At least he will be able to be at the first appointments with each Neurologist to meet them so I can see who he likes best and at least we will have my unemployment until we hopefully have a diagnosis. In the meantime it's musical medications while we figure out what works (Neurtontin at half doses (300mg) every 6 hours seems to be the trick without knocking me out completely) and what doesn't (Lyrica doesn't come close to touching the radiating pain I feel in my hands or feet so I don't even bother taking it).
So is this some sort of retribution for how I have lived my life? Is it my body paying me for my state of mind? Am I a bad person deserving my body for paying me back for some bad deeds done in this life or another? Or am I just caught up in some pattern of fatalistic thinking? Could this be avoided or is this hereditary like my Dads Spinal Stenosis of which many of my symptoms match? Only tests, lots of tests and time will tell. I'm sure we won't have answers right away, if we did I would be wary of them and would be speculative and would turn to my second opinion Neuro for his ideas. Yeah, I already have him lined up for the day after my Dr referred Neuro appt. No time like now to get a second Doctor engaged I say.
In the meantime, relaxation and getting rid of bad habits and addictions have been recommendations from friends near and far. I quit cigarettes a month ago so if I could get rid of my attachments to food (emotional eater) and my self esteem attachment to what I do for a living that would be a step in the right direction.
Today, Spinal MRI #1 focusing on the lumbar region of the spine for symptoms surrounding the feet and legs. Wish me luck... well, I guess all I really need to do is lay still... anyone have tape for my arms and hands? :)
The Doctors have ruled out the normal culprets, diabetes and B12 anemia from which I am fully recovered since my symptoms have increased while my B12 saturation has also increased, numbers over 2,000 now. Today is the start of my testing to be followed by my meeting one of my two neurologists. I don't know what to expect, especially since I will be facing a lot of it alone as Adam has to work, we can't risk both of us out of work. At least he will be able to be at the first appointments with each Neurologist to meet them so I can see who he likes best and at least we will have my unemployment until we hopefully have a diagnosis. In the meantime it's musical medications while we figure out what works (Neurtontin at half doses (300mg) every 6 hours seems to be the trick without knocking me out completely) and what doesn't (Lyrica doesn't come close to touching the radiating pain I feel in my hands or feet so I don't even bother taking it).
So is this some sort of retribution for how I have lived my life? Is it my body paying me for my state of mind? Am I a bad person deserving my body for paying me back for some bad deeds done in this life or another? Or am I just caught up in some pattern of fatalistic thinking? Could this be avoided or is this hereditary like my Dads Spinal Stenosis of which many of my symptoms match? Only tests, lots of tests and time will tell. I'm sure we won't have answers right away, if we did I would be wary of them and would be speculative and would turn to my second opinion Neuro for his ideas. Yeah, I already have him lined up for the day after my Dr referred Neuro appt. No time like now to get a second Doctor engaged I say.
In the meantime, relaxation and getting rid of bad habits and addictions have been recommendations from friends near and far. I quit cigarettes a month ago so if I could get rid of my attachments to food (emotional eater) and my self esteem attachment to what I do for a living that would be a step in the right direction.
Today, Spinal MRI #1 focusing on the lumbar region of the spine for symptoms surrounding the feet and legs. Wish me luck... well, I guess all I really need to do is lay still... anyone have tape for my arms and hands? :)
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Too Early for Walmart?
So there I was awakened at 3:30 am by the pain in my hands and feet, staring at the ceiling in a contorted position. One big dog to my left, one big dog to my right so I figured what the hell, might as well get up and make some coffee right? No creamer in the house whatsoever. Major bummer. Plus its raining. Plus I must have tossed and turned a lot cause I look like Sid Vicious from the neck up, minus the makeup, at least from a hair perspective. But I have a cute hat and my Eeore PJs on and a jacket so I figure I can brave public scrutiny at 4 am. Fuck the public I say! I'm getting creamer!
To the jeep I go and head to the gas station, which doesn't carry any. Hmmm the grocery stores (Publix and Ingles) closest to me aren't open this early. Racetrack (other gas station one exit away) probably doesn't carry creamer either. I wonder if Waffle House would sell me some? Then it hit me! Walmart! The beacon to everyone needing items of necessity at all hours of the night! They have to be open right? So I put the jeep in drive and head one exit north towards the mall area, which is more of a boulevard full of strip centers. I drive into the Walmart parking lot and its pretty much deserted, save for a few cars. Are they open? They don't look open. A guy who drove into the lot a minute before me heads to the door and goes in. They ARE open! I grab my keys and my wallet and dart toward the door, beelining towards the milk isle. Immediately upon seeing someone on their cellphone I am reminded of that site Peopleofwalmart.com where people upload photos of people dressed in really bizarre and/ or skanky clothing in the register lines at Walmart and I am reminded of my Eeore pj's, hat and Thai silk silver, yes, silver shoes. Hey they were closest to the garage. At least I have a coat on. I get to the dairy isle and there it is like a beacon from heaven. A super size, two 32oz bottle equivalent, half gallon, expiring in two months, coffee lovers version container of coffee creamer! Mission accomplished I am out of here!
I am on the way home anticipating the cup of coffee waiting for me when I get there, see I pre-planned (anal retentive) and turned on the coffee pot before I left the house anticipating a successful mission! So I get home and have to fidget with the garage door since its raining - the sensor sees the rain and doesn't want to close as it gets confused thinking there is a small child or animal in the way - stupid door. Finally get that over with and come inside. Coffee time!! (insert happy coffee dance of joy here!) So I get my splenda out and I get my newly acquisitioned creamer out of the bag and the muffins I bought as well and oh crap! WTF? I forgot to add the coffee beans when I made the coffee! Nothing in the pot but water!!! $%@@(@)#*^#%$% Ha ha!!! MULLIGAN!!!! I get a do-over since its so early!
So I made Starbucks Christmas Blend, in the pantry for the last few years and never opened so its fresh fresh fresh! Tastes just fine since I just ground the beans in the pot before it brewed.
To the jeep I go and head to the gas station, which doesn't carry any. Hmmm the grocery stores (Publix and Ingles) closest to me aren't open this early. Racetrack (other gas station one exit away) probably doesn't carry creamer either. I wonder if Waffle House would sell me some? Then it hit me! Walmart! The beacon to everyone needing items of necessity at all hours of the night! They have to be open right? So I put the jeep in drive and head one exit north towards the mall area, which is more of a boulevard full of strip centers. I drive into the Walmart parking lot and its pretty much deserted, save for a few cars. Are they open? They don't look open. A guy who drove into the lot a minute before me heads to the door and goes in. They ARE open! I grab my keys and my wallet and dart toward the door, beelining towards the milk isle. Immediately upon seeing someone on their cellphone I am reminded of that site Peopleofwalmart.com where people upload photos of people dressed in really bizarre and/ or skanky clothing in the register lines at Walmart and I am reminded of my Eeore pj's, hat and Thai silk silver, yes, silver shoes. Hey they were closest to the garage. At least I have a coat on. I get to the dairy isle and there it is like a beacon from heaven. A super size, two 32oz bottle equivalent, half gallon, expiring in two months, coffee lovers version container of coffee creamer! Mission accomplished I am out of here!
I am on the way home anticipating the cup of coffee waiting for me when I get there, see I pre-planned (anal retentive) and turned on the coffee pot before I left the house anticipating a successful mission! So I get home and have to fidget with the garage door since its raining - the sensor sees the rain and doesn't want to close as it gets confused thinking there is a small child or animal in the way - stupid door. Finally get that over with and come inside. Coffee time!! (insert happy coffee dance of joy here!) So I get my splenda out and I get my newly acquisitioned creamer out of the bag and the muffins I bought as well and oh crap! WTF? I forgot to add the coffee beans when I made the coffee! Nothing in the pot but water!!! $%@@(@)#*^#%$% Ha ha!!! MULLIGAN!!!! I get a do-over since its so early!
So I made Starbucks Christmas Blend, in the pantry for the last few years and never opened so its fresh fresh fresh! Tastes just fine since I just ground the beans in the pot before it brewed.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Boggled By Jimminy!
Crikey, I am boggled. 40 is this year... like 7 1/2 months away... that's too soon. Stop the earth I want to get off. I'm SO not ready. I'm no where yet near ready. This is like getting ready for a big party where the guests are arriving in 20 minutes and you haven't showered yet and are standing naked in your kitchen stirring lumpy gravy for the roast which is still medium rare and everyone likes it well done. This is not good.
I always had plans. I am a planner. An anal-retentive one at that. I always knew what I was going to do, when I was going to do it and how it was to be done. Then life got in the way. Illnesses were had early on, finances suffered to detriment, yadda yadda yadda and *poof* I became an adult learner instead of an MFA at 25 and a PhD at 29 I was an MBA at 39. I never became a Psychologist or a Theologian or a Painter like my Dad. I never became the writer I always wanted to. Sure I still write, but have come to terms that I do it more for me than for anyone else.
I was sidelined as a corporate slave with a world of work and endless business travel instead of pleasure travel. Sure I was fortunate to bank those frequent flyer miles and hotel points for vacations and such but after a layoff, when can you really count on them and what benefit are they? I was able to make a dream happen at 25 when I backpacked the UK for 2 weeks to meet a pen-friend I had written to for 12 years. That was fantastic and I still owe him a trip to visit him at his new home in New Zealand just as he owes me a trip here to the States.
Am I ready to turn 40? Am I ready to say yes I am half way done with everything? Put the rest in a takeaway box for me to take home and finish another day after sitting forgotten in the back of my fridge? Not by a long shot Mister. I still have a wish list and it is ever growing just as I am ever growing. Will my needs tomorrow be the same needs as the ones I have today?Probably not. Will I be the same person tomorrow as I am today? Most definitely not.
Growth is perpetual. Without growth we whither and die and that would most surely suck and since I am not ready to shuffle off the mortal coil I am willing to be dynamic and change and accept change into my life moving forward. A little bit of this and a little bit of that. Bring it on big and bring it on now cause 40 is coming fast and she's coming hard so let's get this party started now. After all, the roast beef is already in the oven and the shower is running.
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