I used to say my daughter – my only child – is my anchor to life.

In my darkest, suicidal moments she is what kept me from “doing it.” I believed and actually told my therapist and doctor that if anything “happened” to her – as in death – I would be “out of here”" – as in suicide.

That is no longer true. I realized this on Mother’s Day. I truly love my daughter more than I ever dreamed I was capable of loving anyone. I would lay down my life for her without a second-thought. But I could – and would – go on if anything “happened” to her. She is not my only reason for living and I do not want to place that burden upon her.

I consider this progress. My life has evolved beyond the lonely, self-absorbed nights shared with a couple of bottles of chardonnay and the despair of depression to living with the knowledge that I have the power to control my alcoholism and depression. It is work and most of it goes on between my ears – unseen by my daughter or anyone else. But progress is not only my willingness to do the work but actually doing it. Just do it. Take the meds. Go to therapy. Make and take that phone call. Attend meetings. Ask for help. Pray.

Young woman in the city image available from Shutterstock.

Heard yesterday, 10 am, near the coffee pot in the newsroom…

Co-worker: “Hey, you’re back. Were you on vacation?”

Me: “No. I was sick.” End of conversation, I walk away, hoping there are no further questions about my illness.

Despite having gone public and written about my depression and alcoholism for 8 years, I still cringe when I take time off because of my depression. I would think nothing of discussing my ailment if it was the flu or strep throat, but admitting that I took time off to deal with my depression somehow makes me feel weak and lazy – like I’m a fraud.

Then I feel bad about feeling bad about feeling weak and lazy because I’m the one always ranting about how depression is real – it is a bona fide illness and the #1 workplace disability in the U.S.

So, why is it that when it’s my turn at bat, I bunt? In most areas of my life I don’t give a rat’s butt about what other people think of me. I confidently do the next right thing without fear of being judged. I have no problem admitting I am a recovered alcoholic. In fact, I’m in awe and proud that I have not had a drink in nearly 15 years.

But when it comes to saying that I had to take time off work because of my depression, I feel like a dog with its tail between its legs. I feel like I’m faking it. Like somehow a fever and snot running from my nose is more legitimate than being paralyzed by hopelessness and an intense fatigue.

My mother was a farmer’s daughter and I was taught to pull myself up by my bootstraps. Suck it up. Do what needs to be done and don’t make a stink about it. A little voice in my head says, “You’ve run marathons. You can dead-lift 195 pounds. You love the tiny roar of your little 14-inch  Barbie chainsaw. Now get off your ‘effing ass and get to work. You know you’re faking this so you can get time off work.”

The logical side of my brain, which apparently is very small, says, “Look, you make a living using your brain. You’re a journalist. You must have razor sharp focus, recall and the ability to analyze events and organize your thoughts. You really think you can do that right now?”

Help me out here. Does anyone else feel this way?

*Update: Still working on the generic issue.

Coffee at the office photo available from Shutterstock

I’m back.

For once I did what I was told to do – called the nurse practitioner – and she helped pull me out of it. I told her I had not hit bottom and had not thought of suicide but I was definitely on my way down. Her first question: Are you on the generic*? I had to check the bottle and indeed, I was.

Before tweeking my cocktail, which has worked well for years, she wrote me a script for the brand name. If that’s the problem, you should start to feel better in a couple of days, she told me. If not, then we’ll look at changing doses. Thankfully, I did feel better after a couple of days. It still took most of the week for that foggy, thick feeling in my head to clear up. But I am feeling much, much better.

Which begs the question: What’s up with generic antidepressants? My nurse practitioner said I am her third patient who has had problems with this particular antidepressant’s generic version and her last patient ended up in the hospital. I also take Wellbutrin and found out that the FDA took a second look at the generic version of Wellbutrin XL 300 after complaints that it wasn’t working. I have an appointment coming up and want to find out if we should report this to the FDA.

The weird thing is that I had been on the generic version for awhile and didn’t have any problems. I have a mail-order prescription program through my company’s insurance program. I get a three-month supply for the ridiculously low price of $60. I had just refilled the prescription and started taking the newly filled generic about two-three weeks before I tanked.

I hadn’t felt well during those few weeks and after a little research discovered that the symptoms I experienced were similar to withdrawal symptoms. Is it possible that I got a bad batch? Or is it that my body up and decided that it didn’t like the generic anymore and wanted the real deal?

I want to to know.

* I deliberately left out the name of the drug. Last thing I need is to be sued by a pharmaceutical company.

Pills and prescription photo available from Shutterstock

“This” has been coming on for a few weeks. It’s been creeping up on me so it was no surprise this morning when I woke up and said “uncle – game over.” I have reached a tipping point and the depression is now ahead.

I sent my boss an email and told him I would not be in today – maybe the rest of the week. I called my psych nurse – which I hardly ever do – and she said she thought it could be the generic antidepressant I’m taking. She prescribed the brand name and $152 later, we shall see if she is right.

I went back to bed. When I got up, I had slept 15 of 17 hours. I could have slept more but I dragged myself out of bed. I know the longer I lay in a dark room the worse this will be. Prone is the enemy.

I am going to try to describe that it feels like when the depression becomes debilitating. First, I am tired. It is a consuming exhaustion. All my muscles, especially those in my face feel slack. The back of my eyeballs ache. Everything – my thinking especially – is thick and heavy. It feels like you are living underwater and every movement requires effort. Life feels relentless. I just want to sit here and stare off into space, or sleep.

Driving back from the pharmacy I told myself, “this is not real. This is a chemical imbalance in your brain. This will not last. This is not what your life is about. You will feel better.”

I don’t feel any better. That’s the problem with antidepressants. You have no idea how long it will take for them to kick in or if they will ever kick in – which sucks.

My dog needs a walk and I do not want to walk him. I want to go back to bed. But I have to walk him and this is a good thing. Thank God for that mutt. I know I need to get up and move. So does he.

After that, I am going to the gym. Frankly, I would rather pluck my eyebrows with a pair of pliers because everything feels futile right now. But I know this is the right thing to do. In my last major depression – the big one 8 years ago – I went to the gym everyday. It got me out of the house and even though they were fairly lame workouts, I did them – alone – but I did them.

I’m heading out the door now. It’s time to go. I really feel like crap but it’s time to go. Time to go.

Depression image available from Shutterstock

A friend sent me an article this weekend about a study done by the Indiana Alcohol Research Center at Indiana University: “Taste of beer, without effect of alcohol, triggers dopamine release in the brain.”

“Using positron emission tomography, or PET, the researchers tested 49 men with two scans, one in which they tasted beer and the second in which they tasted Gatorade. They were looking for evidence of increased levels of dopamine, a brain neurotransmitter. The scans showed significantly more dopamine activity following the taste of beer than the sports drink. Moreover, the effect was significantly greater among participants with a family history of alcoholism.”

Research has already linked dopamine to drug and alcohol use but apparently this is the “first experiment in humans to show that the taste of an alcoholic drink alone, without any intoxicating effect from the alcohol, can elicit this dopamine activity in the brain’s reward centers,” said David A. Kareken, Ph.D., professor of neurology at the IU School of Medicine and the deputy director of the Indiana Alcohol Research Center.

How did they do this study: Forty-nine men tasted their preferred beer and Gatorade.  Small amounts of the beer and Gatorade were sprayed into the their mouths. The amounts were so small – 15 milliliters over 15 minutes – that the men could taste the beer without causing a detectable blood-alcohol level.

Here’s the really interesting part for us alcoholics: “The stronger effect in participants with close alcoholic relatives suggests that the release of dopamine in response to such alcohol-related cues may be an inherited risk factor for alcoholism, Dr. Kareken said.” Results of the study were published online Monday by the journal Neuropsychopharmacology, the official publication of the American College of Neuropsychopharmacology.

Here’s the really interesting part for for us women alcoholics: The study wasn’t done on women. Maybe the results would be the same. However, 54-years on this planet has taught me that  a woman’s brain work differently than a man’s brain.

Could you do the study again on women and perhaps using Chardonnay and hot chocolate? Or champagne and  lemonade?

I have to wonder how much of a role psychology played in this study. For a man, his favorite beer is likely to evoke memories of steak on the barbecue or watching the Green Bay Packers crush the Pittsburgh Steelers in Super Bowl XLV (Go Packers!). I know that released some dopamine in my brain. Gatorade, on the other hand, reminds me of sweat, a pounding heart and getting my ass kicked at spin class. An endorphin rush, yes, but dopamine? I think not.

Spray some chardonnay in the back of my throat (which isn’t going to happen because I’ve been sober almost 15 years), and I’m going to think a candle-light bath with Billie Holiday singing  in the background. Spritz some champagne in my mouth and I’m going to think wedding toasts and New Year’s Eve.

So, what I’m wondering is…couldn’t the memory of a taste associated with a pleasant or unpleasant event skew the results?

I’m an alcoholic but beer was not my preferred libation of choice – although I did train my dog to jump up and grab a lime off our lime tree for my Corona. I can sit here, too, and get a rush thinking about sipping hot chocolate high in the mountains while taking a break from skiing.

I don’t know if any of this really matters. It’s just something that’s been bugging me since I read about this study. I’m still a recovered alcoholic no matter.

The important thing is that there are researchers out there trying to figure out how the brains of addicts and alcoholics work – research that has been overlooked for many, many years. So God bless the researchers who did this study. Keep at it. Maybe someday you can figure out what causes these terrible illnesses.

In the meantime, Go Packers!

Beer photo available from Shutterstock

I know a woman who barely escaped the World Trade Center on 9/11. She sent me a text message after the Boston Marathon bombing: “Charge your cell phone.” Seemed like an odd request. Then I recalled her telling me how in the frantic minutes and hours after the attack, survivors’ cell phones died as they frantically tried to call their friends an co-workers.

In times like these, we need – really need – to do something. Not just anything, but something that will help yourself and others. It’s just the way we are programmed, especially if you have been through some horrific event before. Some people have special prayers they say during tragedies. Others talk about it incessantly. And some people charge their cellphones. It’s an emotional security blanket.

For me, it’s batteries. AAA, AA, C, D – any battery that will illuminate a flashlight in those dark, powerless nights after a hurricane. I have been through several hurricanes. They scare the hell out of me. When my home is at the end of projected paths The Weather Channel starts drawing while the storm is still hundreds of miles away, I buy batteries.

Makes me feel better.

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I got up this morning, made my coffee, massaged my old dog’s hips and got the newspaper. On the front page was a story about a team of nurses who had been specially trained to provide immediate medical care to rape victims and collect evidence. It’s a great program and desperately needed. Often the victims are taken to a special exam facility near the hospital so the victims don’t have to wait hours in an emergency room.

The special exam facility opened in 2011. It is lovely and now with specially trained nurses, victims can be assured of getting compassionate care in a comfortable, private setting. There is only one problem: the facility is located in a fairly affluent area west of the city. So, how are the victims’ loved ones supposed to get to the exam facility if they don’t have cars? How are the victims – who been given a ride to the facility by police or paramedics supposed to get home?

It’s a helluva long bus ride to get out there.

Part of my job as a newspaper reporter is to analyze crime data and I know that there are very few sexual assaults in the community near the exam facility. Most rapes occur in urban areas miles away. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to build a special exam facility near a hospital that is closer to the communities where rapes occur?

I asked this question at a meeting of a women’s group that a friend had invited me to. The meeting fell silent and the women looked at each other, surprised. They hadn’t thought of that.

What does any of this have to do with mental illness?

Well, in the aftermath of the Newtown shooting it looks like lawmakers have finally decided to free up some money to beef up and build more mental health facilities. Amen. But before we start spending and building, let’s take a really good look at those we need to help and their caregivers and loved ones. We cannot assume that everyone has a car and can drive themselves to a mental health facility.

Transportation is a really big issue for people with mental illnesses. For many, their mental illnesses are so debilitating that they cannot work or have lost their jobs and cars. We can build the best mental health facilities in the world but if people with mental illnesses and their families/caregivers and loved ones cannot get there – what’s the point?

We need to work with public transportation agencies to make sure people can get there. We need to make sure people know – and make it easy to know – which bus routes will take them to the facility. We need to make sure they have the money to get to and from mental health facilities. What good is it to offer free or discounted medications if we people can’t get there?

We need to ask ourselves, what are the hours of service and how often do buses stop at community mental health centers that offer drop-in respite, recreational and vocational programs? We need to make sure the bus shelters are protected from the elements. We need to speak with clients about their needs. Perhaps most important, we should get input from the workers and volunteers on the front lines. How would they improve services. What needs and waste do they see?

It took the horrific deaths of 26 children and teachers to convince lawmakers we need to spend more money on programs and services for people with mental illnesses. Let’s use common sense. Let’s squeeze the most out of single every penny allocated for mental health care.

I lost faith in politicians in the late 1980′s.

I was a cub reporter and my editors decided to send me to Tallahassee to cover the legislative session. I looked a little different then. Actually, I looked a lot different: thin, long blonde hair and great legs. I was shocked at how the lawmakers looked at me and invited me out for cocktails.

It felt like a bunch of middle-aged white guys had been dropped off at summer camp and had morphed into horny, junior high nimwits. They would get what they wanted by bullying, belittling and extorting whoever and whatever was in their way. I remember thinking, “Wow, these are the people running the state of Florida. ”

I was reminded of my spring at the capitol yesterday when a friend sent me a link to the Mother Jones story about Kentucky Sen. Mitch McConnell and his aides discussing ways to undermine McConnell’s potential opponents, including actor Ashley Judd. According to the article:

The aide who led the meeting began his presentation with a touch of glee: “I refer to [Judd] as sort of the oppo research situation where there’s a haystack of needles, just because truly, there’s such a wealth of material.” He ran through the obvious: Judd was a prominent supporter of President Barack Obama, Obamacare, abortion rights, gay marriage, and climate change action. He pointed out that she is “anti-coal.”

 But the McConnell gang explored going far beyond Judd’s politics and policy preferences. This included her mental health. The meeting leader noted:

 She’s clearly, this sounds extreme, but she is emotionally unbalanced. I mean it’s been documented. Jesse can go in chapter and verse from her autobiography about, you know, she’s suffered some suicidal tendencies. She was hospitalized for 42 days when she had a mental breakdown in the ’90s.

In her 2011 memoirs, All That Is Bitter & Sweet, Judd discusses her depression, her thoughts of suicide as a sixth grader and her stay in a rehab center for depression. There is a lot of laughing by the aides, who go on to poke fun at her thoughts on religion, gay marriage and abortion rights. I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. I learned my lesson back in the 80′s. I know both Republicans and Democrats do this. (I am not affiliated with any party.)

Still, as a woman who has had bouts of depression, suicidal thoughts (and attempts) and a stint in rehab for depression – it hurts. Even though it has been years since my last major depression and I have worked very hard to manage my mental health (I take my medication without fail, participated in years of therapy and have been sober for nearly 15 years) I realize there are some things I will not be able to do without having my mental health thrown in my face as proof that I am not fit for many of society’s positions.

Forget about the marathons and triathlons I have run, the journalism awards I have won, the hurricanes I have survived, the boo-boos I have kissed and my 195 lbs. deadlift – in certain circumstances my mental health would trump them all. To Sen. Mitch McConnell and his aides I would be a divorced, mentally ill, alcoholic single mother who must take medications to maintain her mental health.

Stigma. Ugly stigma.

But my favorite part of this story is McConnell’s response to the secret tape. Three times at a press conference yesterday, McConnell was asked about the comments made by his staffers about Judd’s mental health. Three times McConnell denied answering the question.

Instead, he offered a response that sounds like it came straight from the mouth of his spin doctors: “As you know, my wife’s ethnicity was attacked by a left-wing group in Kentucky and apparently they also bugged my headquarters. (McConnell’s wife is former Labor Secretary Elaine Chao.) So, I think that pretty well sums up the way the political left is operating in Kentucky.”

What does that have to do with questioning Judd’s mental health? Nothing. Of course McConnell failed to mention that Judd responded to Progress Kentucky’s tweet about Chao by tweeting back: “Whatever the intention, whatever the venue, whomever the person, attacks or comments on anyone’s ethnicity are wrong & patently unacceptable.”

I don’t know the status of Judd’s mental health. It’s moot now because Judd has decided not to run. I also don’t know whether McConnell is morally fit to hold office when he allows his staff to entertain the idea of using someone’s mental health against them.  Instead of stepping up to the plate and making a benign statement, such as depression is a horrible and potentially debilitating illness and how we, as a society, need to do something about it, McConnell’s re-election campaign has asked the FBI and U.S. Attorney’s Office to investigate how Mother Jones obtained the recording of the strategy session.

McConnell’s behavior reminds me of a second-grader trying to explain to the teacher why he said something nasty on the playground about a classmate. “Oh yeah? Well, you should have hear what those guys said about my mom last week!”

None of this is going to get us any closer to eliminating the stigma surrounding depression or formulating a comprehensive national policy on how we are going to deal with depression – the #1 one workplace disability in the U.S.

Unfortunately, we – the people – cannot respond by making McConnell and his staffers write on the board 100 times: “I will not make fun of mental illness.” It’s too bad because with the way they are behaving, it might be the only thing that works.

Politician photo available from Shutterstock

Seems like every state has some kind of bill pending that would limit or prohibit ownership of a firearm by a person who has a mental illness.

I looked at Florida’s bill last night and did a Homer Simpson “D’oh” after reading it. You know legislation is messed up when it contains phrases like, “as provided in sub-sub-subparagraph b.(II).” What?

The Florida Senate Criminal Justice Committee unanimously approved the NRA-backed measure on Monday. I expect it will move up the food chain fairly quickly and by summer, it will be law.

As someone who has depression, hypomania, alcoholism, a couple of suicide attempts and 12 years of sitting in courtrooms covering humanity’s inhumanity as a reporter for the local newspaper, I would like to weigh in on this bill; It is a subterfuge deliberately created with so many bureaucratic obstacles and constitutional pitfalls that it is destined to fail even if it passes.

The bill (HB 1355) would expand the definition of commitment to a mental institution to include those who voluntarily agree to outpatient or inpatient treatment and would prohibit them from buying guns, applying for or keeping a concealed weapons permit.

Sounds like an admirable thing to do. While the current focus of such laws is to protect us from homicidal, mentally ill “lunatics” (a Wayne LaPierre word – not mine), it will more likely save more lives by preventing suicide, which is far more common among people with mental illnesses than homicide.

The bill requires a “preventative assessment” that enables the state to suspend a person’s right to purchase or possess a gun or ammunition and obtain a concealed weapons permit for at least 90 days after a physician determines they are a threat to themselves or others.

Hurdle #1: The bill requires a physician to notify the Florida Department of Law Enforcement within 24 hours of such a finding. Do you have any idea how many suicidal people end up in emergency rooms having their stomachs pumped after botched suicide attempts? Then there are self-inflicted gunshot wound and wrist slashings.

What about alcohol poisoning and unintended overdoses? These people are clearly a danger to themselves and possibly others. Do these people lose their ability to purchase, possess, “or to have in his or her care, custody or control a firearm or ammunition, or to carry a concealed weapon for at least 90 days?”  Does this mean emergency room physicians must do a preventative assessment on these patients and fill out the paperwork  and submit it to the FDLE within 24 hours of the patient coming into the ER?

Hurdle #2: How are we going to make sure that a person who was court-ordered to a 30-day drug treatment program won’t be released and go home to their guns and ammunition? Are we going to expect them to surrender their weapons and ammo or are we going to have an official go to the house and remove them? You think the NRA is going to stand for that? And who gets custody of those weapons and ammunition for the remainder of those 90 days or as long as it takes for the person with a “firearm disability” to get well and petition the court to get their firearms back?

If you want objective understanding of what this bill will do, look at the “Government Sector Analysis” done by the Senate staff. Because the bill requires the state to issue a 90-day-suspension of a concealed-weapons permit upon a finding of a “firearm disability,” “an indeterminate number of suspensions would result.”

Hurdle #3: Florida has issued more than 1 million concealed weapons permits and the way the proposed bill is worded, a gun owner could lose their concealed weapons permit because of what is said during a counseling session. The agency that issues concealed-weapons permits ” would have to track any licensee whose license was suspended pursuant to the bill as the (agency) would be required to automatically reinstate the license after 90 days,” if the “firearm disability” is not renewed by the physician.

“If only one percent of the current one million concealed-weapon licensees were to be the subject of a preventative assessment, more than 10,000 concealed-weapons licensees would require immediate suspension, to be followed 90 days later by either an immediate reinstate or suspension extension,” the staff wrote. Depending on the number of suspensions, “the bill may significantly affect the timeliness of other suspensions, revocations, and reinstatements that the division’s legal section currently handles.”

Hurdle #4: The portion of the bill that I believe could give the NRA heartburn is the process by which a person who has lost their gun ownership/possession rights because of a  “firearm disability” can get those rights back. That person must file a petition with the court. The petition then goes to the state attorney. If the state attorney objects, a hearing is held.

The state attorney and the “firearm disabled” person can subpoena witnesses to testify, present evidence and cross-examine witnesses. The hearing must be recorded and the judge must issue a written order. If the judge denies the request, the person with the “firearm disability” can appeal to a higher court. Do you have any idea how much that will cost? It’s easier – and cheaper – for a felon to get their gun rights restored. Do you thing the NRA is going to sit still for this?

Consider this: In Florida, state attorneys and judges are elected. That means they must campaign. Imagine their chance of re-election if they allow the gun rights of a “firearm disabled” person to be restored and then that person goes out and kills himself or someone else.

I am not against restricting the access and ownership of guns of certain people with mental illnesses. It would prevent many deaths – especially suicides. I am just not sure this bill is the best way to do it. It has been thought through by lawmakers who are responding to public outcry after the Newtown massacre.

I do not have a solution. I do have a suggestion. Invite representatives from organizations such as the American Psychiatric Association, emergency room doctors, clerks of court, licensing agencies, the judiciary, state attorneys, community mental health centers, law enforcement, correctional facilities, mentally health organizations and, yes, even the NRA to come together and share their concerns. Hold a hearing. Convene a blue-ribbon panel. Whatever it takes.

More importantly, ask them for recommendations. They are on the front lines. They need to be involved in drafting new laws.

Gun law image available from Shutterstock

I started drinking and drugging when I was 14-years-old. I eased into it. I didn’t drink or use drugs everyday and it would take decades before I was. But it definitely started when I was 14. I was a freshman and I did it more to impress the 16-year-old junior I had a crush on that because I wanted to get high.

But as the years went by, I realized that despite the horrific hangovers and drama that followed my drinking bouts – many of them that ended in a blackout – I discovered that for a little while – maybe just a few hours – drinking made me feel good. I did not know that alcohol was a depressant and was making my depression and mania worse. All I knew was that a drink or a joint took away the darkness for awhile.

That is how self-medicating begins. And it will always – ALWAYS – end badly. It did for me.

I am telling you this because we need to screen our youth – all of them – for mental illness and we need to do it in school. Why? Because maybe it would have helped a kid like me. Back in the 1970′s we didn’t know a lot about mental illness, especially in kids. We do now. And we are ignoring the greatest asset we have – teachers – in helping our kids.

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