Both Dr. B and Dooce have been writing recently about their depression. It's an incredibly brave thing to do, in my opinion. It is much, much easier, when depressed, to retreat, not tell anyone anything, hide. For me, at least, it's the natural response. Talking about it only makes it more difficult to ignore or explain away, not to mention just being embarrassing. Besides, on days when getting out of bed feels like a major achievement, talking about it is just too damn much work.
Inspired by Dooce and Dr. B, I decided to force myself to say a bit more about what is going on with me:
I'm back down in it. I've gone back on Wellbutrin (XL, 150 mg/day). I started on Monday, so I'm not seeing any effect yet, but hoping for some in the next week. I made the horrible mistake of taking a Zyrtec for my allergies yesterday morning, and spent yesterday and last night suffering the combined side effects of Zyrtec and newly re-introduced Wellbutrin (extreme dizziness and nausea, mostly). I called Dr. A and she said not to take any more Zyrtec for another week or so, then try it again, as it's likely that the Wellbutrin side effects will be diminished by then and I won't have the compound reaction I had yesterday. I'll decide in a week or so if I want to risk it. It has been raising here and the grass pollen is medium (which if you are severely allergic to it as I am is enough), though, so I probably will have another go at it. If I still have an adverse reaction, either the anti-depressant or the allergy medicine will have to change. I don't relish that idea, as I've already tried most of the allergy medications available and Zyrtec, spacey as it makes me, is the best. I've only been on a couple of anti-depressants, but changing anti-depressants just plain sucks all around.
I'm not feeling phenomenally bad, but I'm not feeling very well. It's very hard to enjoy things or get excited about them. As is my usual mode of operation, I seem to be putting on a fairly good show of being "normal" in my day-to-day (i.e. I'm showing up at work and not yelling at anyone or crying publicly), but I'm mainly going home and sleeping. As is typical for me when I'm like this, sleep is the only thing that feels good. The nightmares about Chance have stopped in the past few days, so that much is a blessing. They've been replaced by a series of very odd dreams about guys I used to date. While strange, this is not entirely unwelcome, as it at least gets me thinking about something other than my dead dog, my fat ass, and my aimless life.
I am trying to make an effort to get back in touch with people I've lost touch with, and so far it is successful (if you are reading this, hi E!). I've been thinking a lot about how lucky I've been in the people I've encountered in my life, and how wasteful it is when they slip away. As always, I am amazingly grateful for my friends here, and I miss my far-flung ones so much it brings me to tears.
Hopefully after a few weeks the drugs will have me up enough that I can pick up the rest of the pieces myself, make some diet and exercise changes, and get back on track. Going down to part-time work and adding part-time school is going to take more energy than I've got right now, so I am hoping to have my shit together before then.
Comments (2)
If you ever want to talk... In the mean time, you should know that the current recommendations is to stay on your antidepressant at the optimal dose for a full 2 years, regardless of how good you're feeling, before weaning off. Going off prior to 24 months puts you at a high risk for relapse. So stick with it. Use this tool and the next 24 months to make long lasting changes. And hang tough (I hate that saying).
Posted by the therapeutic writer | August 12, 2005 10:04 AM
I agree that talking about it makes it more difficult -- way too much work. If you've never been depressed, the last thing you want to do is try to explain how you feel to someone who hasn't a clue. I'm at a point in my life where, if my synapses stop sending little feel-good serotonin messages to the parts of my brain that are acting up, I call the shrink, we screw around with my meds, and then I go back to bed until I feel like getting up. I don't care why anymore; I just want it to go away. As for drugs, if they work, my motto is, keep those refills coming. (I've been on Prozac since long before it became a lousy metaphor in public discourse.) What I'm really saying is, even knowing that it may not be much comfort, you're not alone. Take solace wherever you find it.
Posted by alice, uptown | August 13, 2005 5:17 PM