Archives for March, 2010


Depression and The Pony Tail Holder, Part 2

Yesterday, I wrote about my anxiety over the possibility that my hair was disappearing. Read on to find out the rest of the story.
After considering the slight possibility that my hair was disappearing, my quest began in earnest.

Dermatologist, OB/GYN, vitamins, volume producing hair products, colored sprinkles, men's 5% minoxidil (screw the warnings -- growing another ovary is worth it to me) and sprays -- and in return I received an irritated scalp and some sympathy. Lots and lots of sympathy.
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Depression & The Ponytail Holder, Part 1

I will be 45 for another 2 months, 11 days and 21 minutes. I do not want to be 46.
46 is starting to feel a little like heaven's waiting room.

It seems that as I age, my bipolar is beginning to play tricks on me with more ups and downs closer together and well, more bouts, period. As if that's not enough, it appears that I am heading (no pun intended) for a one on one...
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K9 Comfort – My #1 Tool for Depression

Between sobs, I heard him say in a slow, sad voice, the kind that can come only from a father who feels his daughter’s grief, “You know what you need, Les? You need a dog.”
Just 2 weeks shy of Thanksgiving, one of the few that my parents were flying in to share, my boyfriend and I abruptly ended our long relationship. It had died a long, slow death, so though it was a healthy change, you would have never been able to tell by one look at my swollen eyes and ratty sweats. I have always subscribed to the theory that my bipolar magnifies a situational depression 1,000 times.

The K-9 thought registered somewhere in between the aroma of overly cooked turkey and my complete inability to stomach it. Glasses clinking, heart breaking.

That night, as I lay in bed, I pondered – what would it be like to have a puppy snuggled up against me? And then, I wondered how soon I could make it happen. It  would surely be as effective if not more, than therapy and tranquilizers – both of which I had plenty of.

My Break-Up-Dog found me just a few short days later.

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Repacking My Bags – How Depression Complicates a Move

There were boxes absolutely everywhere and mounds of clothes took up each square foot on my carpet. Wrestling with a trick roll of packing tape, I slid down the wall and crumpled into my own little pile on the floor. I was moving again and not, I might add, with a lot of grace. I was coming apart. An hour later I was still lying on my side on my bedroom floor wondering if they had 12step groups for bubble wrap popping.

I’m not on the lamb, I’m not Top Gun, and I’m not even in the witness protection program. The best I can figure is that it’s God’s hand gently pushing me along for His reasons. Despite my feisty debates, he just keeps on nudging (sometimes, I feel like He’s shoving) me along. Anyone who says “I like change -- Change is good” is lying. Sorry, they’re lying. Change is good in one place, and that place is in hindsight.

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A Case For Staying In

A couple of weeks ago, I begrudgingly attended a singles event at a local museum. Depression can often keep me safely tucked away in my apartment, but in the spirit of not wanting to further cultivate my reputation of being a stick in the mud, I went. Besides, visions of fancy steak on a stick h’or dourves and a complimentary coat check danced in my head.

Let me give you some history here. I am 45, I’ve moved 4 times in the past 3 years and as a connoisseur of really long, dead horse relationships, I’ve been out of the dating scene for quite a while. Now that you have a little picture of my wild social life, let’s get back to our story.

The night began innocently enough: servers in crisp black and white, an array of refreshments and jazz resonating from the back of the museum. Mingle. Mingle. Mingle. After relishing in my new found urbane coolness for awhile, my girlfriend and I went off to explore. A short time later, after becoming intimately familiar with Egyptian tombs, we headed back to the party. Apparently, while I was out getting cultured, the crowd multiplied and grew rabid.

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