Meds-- when to say "Enough Is Enough."

"Someone oughta give her some meds."

Have you ever heard someone say that to someone they felt was acting inappropriately?  A little too jolly, a little too much drama, a little too much non-conformity.

As a society, needing "meds" is synonymous with being a little "off."  A little less than what is okay for a "normal" person.  We can joke about meds-- take a Xanax-- you'll feel so much better....  but boy is it hard to admit you are really on them.

Besides being so unaccepted by society, the medications used to treat depression and other mental disorders can have multiple, major side effects.  Weight gain/ weight loss, tremors, insomnia, drowsiness, sexual side effects....  the list goes on and on.  Over the years I have suffered with depression, I really wish I had at some point started a spreadsheet with all the medications I have tried and stopped and the side effects.  I've been on Lexapro, Cymbalta, Zoloft, Celexa and I can't even remember the rest.  I've given up on trying to find the best medication and am just hopeful now for "the lesser of the evils."

When I "tumbled off the deep end" last summer, my current doc prescribed Wellbutrin for my depression and Xanax for my panic attacks.

The Xanax didn't really help the panic attacks-- it helped keep me from bursting into unstoppable tears (this was one of my main symptoms-- it was like I got to the top of a rollercoaster and once I started the downslide, the tears just would NOT stop.  I could cry non stop for 3-4 hours-- even if I wasn't sobbing crying, the tears just kept flowing.  I was starting to wonder if I might have some kind of eye infection instead of a mental disorder).  However, the quickened pulse, the shallow breathing, the feeling of falling, unfortunately is still present when I am in a situation that makes me anxious.  Fortunately, I have learned to cope better with those situations, and so they are farther apart.  My prescription is "as needed," and I've gone from "needing" several times a week to maybe once or twice a month.

The Welbutrin did help, after a while.  I know that this and other antidepressants take time to build up in your system and counteract the chemical imbalance in your brain that is causing your depression, but the waiting for them to start acting can be agonizing.  But eventually, they do-- they start doing what they are supposed to do and they really do HELP. This particular one even had no noticeable side effects, unless I can blame it for the ten pounds I've added but I think my distant gym membership is more to blame.

The hardest thing is stopping though.  Once the medication is in your system, you start feeling good.  You feel like you can actually accomplish things and not want to cry every 10 minutes. Even if you have physical side effects, you just feel BETTER.  As you start accomplishing things and getting out more and mending your relationships that have suffered so much from your depression, you start thinking maybe you've gotten through it--- maybe you are OVER your depression. ("Can't you just get OVER it?"--the worst thing you can say to us).  So you stop, or like me, you just start forgetting.  Then a couple of weeks later-- when you look at a sinkful of dishes or dread crawling out of bed (yes, I know we all love snuggling in our bed, but a depressed person often feels real, agonizing DREAD-- it's a horrible feeling) or just try to think back to a fun time in your life, you feel the tears welling up.  You feel your stomach churning.  You feel the feeling like you are falling again into a pit and cannot crawl up the steep, damp sides.

And you know.  You're not healed.  The depression is still a part of you, the medication was just masking it.  You know you are going to fall farther and deeper and faster this time.  Unless you go find that bottle, fill up your pill dispenser, and start over.  And wait.  And finally, thankfully, blessedly, you find relief as your brain chemistry once again evens out.

I had a big family event last week, and we traveled nearly 600 miles, after four sleepless nights finishing up decorations and last minute details.  We slept at a relatives and then at a hotel and I just got BUSY.  I forgot my meds.  I think I may have taken two or three doses over the last two weeks.  And I thought, just for a little bit, that I had had enough.  That this blog and my lifestyle changes and my time on meds had done the trick.  But I was wrong.  I'm not okay yet.  I still need the meds to get through the day, the week, the month.  I hope I will not need them someday soon, but not this day.  This day, I am still on meds.

Yours in healing,
Nena

Church camp chatter

Yesterday I talked to a woman I knew from church.  She has been ill for several years with the same chronic auto-immune disorder my sister has.  (we'd rarely said much more than hello at church, but I knew of her situation because of my sister)The disease has taken its toll on her body and she has been in and out of hospitals, poked and pricked everywhere and is now confined to a wheelchair.

She was  kind of stuck in the area where I was helping with our church camp registration and so we got to talking a little bit.  We talked about all the meds and surgeries and side effects and I could tell that she is just TIRED...

Add to that the fact that she has a son with a brain disorder and ADHD and she was sending him off to a week-long church camp under the care of a (trustworthy and smart) teenager, and I could tell that she was just about at her breaking point and it was not even 8:30 a.m.  

We started talking about her son and I shared some of my story and she began to chatter excitedly about behaviors and treatments and such.  It was as if a switch had been flipped and she was now "on."  I realized it had probably been a long time, if ever, that she had talked to someone in the same situations.  

I asked her if she had any support from people who were going through what she was.  Not a church to pray for you, not friends and neighbors to bring you casseroles, but someone to say, "Oh, yeah, my son does that too and here's what works for me."   Someone for when you are pulling your hair out that can say, "Now, c'mon, you know it'll be better tomorrow."  Someone that when you start spouting off acronyms and slang terms and side effects, knows what you mean.  

She said, "No, and I wish I did."  

I told her about a support group I'd found online for parents going through what I've been through with my kids, how refreshing it was to have someone to talk to who KNOWS. 

I've even been thinking of looking online for some local support groups.  Maybe I can make a friend who'll meet me for nachos and talk.  And will understand if I cancel at the last minute or show up crying.  

I'll continue my newfound friendship with this woman.  But our situations, though similar, are still vastly different, and I know there will come a point where I have no idea what she is dealing with.  But I know there is someone out there who does, and I know that if she seeks them, she will find them.  And she won't be alone any longer.  

Just as I'm not anymore.  

Lessons from my Journey

Wow... 5 years have just disappeared into a pit of depression.  Twice, I have tried to recover this blog and share my thoughts on the world wide web for anyone, anywhere who maybe has gone through this journey to see that there is light at the end of the tunnel.  But then I just get stuck in the tunnel.

I'm recovering-- I really am.  I've come to terms with living in a family plagued by mental illness and all that entails.  I've been to the dark side of near suicide more times than I can imagine and my love for my family has been the one thing that has kept me alive at times.  I'll freely admit that I am in a place now that without those wonderful drugs we call antidepressants, I could probably not function without dissolving into a wet mass of snotty tears, often in public, several times a month.

My pit has taken its toll though.  Once a promising teacher, I left a campus where I was two steps away from getting booted out because I could not admit my failures and learn from my mistakes.  I've thought about going back-- financially we are struggling-- but the stakes are just so high, I can't handle the pressure.  Of course, pinching pennies is its own type of pressure.  My home, once welcoming and unique with its Southwest style and custom ragged walls, now seems dark and dingy and even more depressing.  But the task of repainting or the expense of repairs is even more daunting than I can handle, so I live with it and tackle a little each day-- at least cleaner, if not lighter.

So many times, I have just felt so ALONE but yet I am realizing as I am becoming more vocal about my struggles, that so many of my friends have struggled with depression, ARE struggling with depression, and I've decided that my voice, my story, just might help.

My problems are nowhere near gone.  I'm the mother of two children with very real, very debilitating illnesses and it just wears you down, mentally, physically, financially.  I won't go into detail on this blog about my kids and their battle, because they are very private and I have to respect that, but if you ever want to meet for coffee, I can share a little and what it's meant for us as a family.  Because of these illnesses, we decided to take a fledgling direct-sales business in home fragrance and jump in completely full time, so that I could have the time and flexibility to be with my kids in crisis as needed.  Unfortunately, this year, it's been so often that the business has not taken off like we planned and money is very, very tight.

But writing, sharing, opening up to my bare soul, will help me pull out of the pit and I hope it helps you or someone you know.  My hope is to write a new blog post at least 2-3 times a week.  My reality is you'll be lucky to hear from me once a week or even once a month, and if you do, you will know that at least I am getting better.