Monday, July 29, 2013

Fighting My Demons

For the past several months I have been submerged in a whirlwind of anxiety, depression and OCD.  I have been trying to buy a house. Not just any house. THE HOUSE. The only house I want. I want to live, and raise babies, and love on grandbabies and die in this house. But enough about the house. I will post about that another time.

I do not handle stress well. I never have and I sure haven't started recently. Stress makes me physically ill in so many ways. Gastrointestinal distress, flu-like body aches, migraines and it lowers my immune system so catch whatever bug's going around. The thing is, while I have gone to many doctors for these symptoms, nobody has once suggested to me that they are stress-related. Which is somewhat weird.

But as you may know if you've been reading along, I have been trying to lose weight. So every time I go to the doctor for some ache or pain I am mentioning, "Oh and I've been really trying to lose weight and I haven't been having any luck." and they say "What are you doing?" and I say "I cut out all fast food and simple carbs including all sweets, bread and white rice and I started walking daily." and they say "Well I think it's possible you're taking in more calories than you think, are you keeping a journal?" and I say "Well yea, but I don't have it with me..." And that is where it ends.

And then one day my doctor wasn't available and I was sent to another doctor and she looked at my record and she said "You have been coming in with the same complaints for years." and I said "Yes I have. And don't forget that I haven't lost a pound despite making major lifestyle changes over the course of several months." So she sent me to an endocrinologist. Finally, something. But no. Nothing.

She sat me down and gave me a stern talking to. She told me that she thinks I have mental illness, Depression and Anxiety are real illnesses and nothing to be ashamed of and highly treatable if I'll let her try. She said that all of my symptoms may be related to depression and anxiety and if I get them under control I may lose the aches and pains and stomach aches, my immunity may improve and I may lose the weight.

So I said okay. And she gave me Celexa. It wasn't her first choice, but my insurance does not cover such things.

First week on Celexa every symptom I have ever had hit me all at once. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. I was so miserable. I could barely move. Aches, pains, anxiety attacks, heart burn, nausea, it was all there, piled on all at once. And all the time I felt, this is my journey. I am fighting the demon. I KNEW it was right. I was going underground, submerging myself in my pain so that I could emerge clean on the other side. It was like a mighty purge. Like some Shamanic journey. She said if I could just hold on two weeks I would feel so much better, and something inside me tells me she is absolutely right. This goes against everything I have ever believed about drug therapy for mental health issues. But I believe this is my answer.

It's only been 10 days. I feel better. I still feel a bit like crap, but so much better than say three days ago. Last night the anxiety that kept me from sleeping lasted only a few hours instead of all night. As soon as my husband got home from his gig and took my hand, I drifted right off. I am taking my pill in the morning instead of the evening now, so we'll see how that changes things.

I think this whole process would be easier if I didn't have the added stress of buying the house right now. If I had someone to help me out around the house, with the baby and everything. If my husband came home at night instead of going to rehearsals and gigs, but it's summer, wedding and festival season, and I did marry a musician. This is probably the worst possible time for me to do something like this. But when is it a good time to fight your demons?

Yes, I am fighting. I feel like I am fighting to come out of a cocoon. To shed all the crap so I can finally be the person I know I am instead of the person I'm afraid I'm not.

So, if you've been wondering where I am and why I've been a total blogging slacker, now you know. Am I back? Well, I hope so. But I think I am going to go out on a limb and allow myself to write more personally. Like this.

Sunday, July 28, 2013

Sunday Mornings

I love Sunday mornings. I don't know why exactly, but I do.

Usually I wake up to the sound of my husband making coffee (it can be quite loud) and, if school is in session, my teenager slamming the door and pounding down the porch steps to go meet the bus (he's not angry, he's just like that). As I stagger into the kitchen, my darling husband presents me with coffee, made just the way he likes it (milk with lots of sugar). And I drink it, gratefully as I start breakfast. Then he gets the little one changed and dressed and plops him in the high chair and we all have breakfast together before he goes to work. And I wish he didn't have to go. Then it's just me and my Sunshine till Jet gets home from school. Mr Rabbit gets home from work just in time to give Sunshine a bath and read him a bedtime story. That is, assuming he doesn't have a gig or a rehearsal.

Sundays are completely different and I like them so much better. On Sunday mornings my teenage son and husband go to work at 6am and return at noon. So my very small son and I wake up at our usual time to a silent, empty house. We lay in our respective beds for a few minutes calling out to each other. He says "Mumine!" I say "Sunshine!" he says "Hi" I say "Good morning!" he says "A baga ble nama mumum da ba goo fa bade bum" I say "Oh really?" and then sometime he says "NiNi" and goes back to sleep for a half hour or so, and so do I. Or he says "Down?" and I come get him.

Eventually we get out of bed, I change him and we head to the kitchen. The coffee is made, it just needs to be reheated. I plop him in his high chair with an appetizer of Cheerios and a cup of milk and then I prepare my coffee just the way I like it (Soy milk, no sugar) and proceed to scramble us some eggs which we eat together. After this, I shove all the kitchen furniture into one corner so he has a big wooden floor to roll his balls on while I undergo the Sunday morning cleaning ritual. I strip his high chair of its cover, collect all the hand towels and stray dish cloths I can find and wash them, take all the small appliances off the counters and wash them and clean out the fridge. This inspires me to cook something.

When Jet and Mr Rabbit come home a little after noon, I have some lunch started and some sort of meat ready for the old man to grill (or he picks some up on the way home).  I hate it when he grills. He disappears from the house and spends hours out back communing with his grill and his beer and returns with some poor charred animal that would have tasted so much better broiled, baked, roasted, stir fried or even steamed. Meanwhile, the rest of us have already eaten all the sides and salads I've prepared to go with it because we were hungry and couldn't wait the requisite 3 or more hours.Grilling is my husband's Sunday entertainment. It has nothing to do with feeding us. But I don't complain because it could be worse and he cleans up after himself and he always eats my baking disasters with a smile.

Sunday morning bliss, has come to an end.

After lunch, I'm off to work. I will be home in time for dinner and to get my Sunshine ready for his daddy to put him to bed.