My sister heard me cry over the phone over my destructive depression, and she knew it was bad. Then she sent me this article which turned my depression into an angry beast. (See link below.)
My thoughts on it, can’t wait to hear yours…
Why is it that mainstream media doesn’t look at the more then obvious fact that Robin Williams was medicated for mental health and had a drug that might have prompted his suicide? Why is everyone trying to hide it? Why is everyone so ignorant? Or why is everyone so afraid? Why are we still here in this modern age shoving aside obvious reasons why people kill themselves. Why people go on killing streaks in schools, or movie theaters. Why are we so un-evolved that we look at the glossy forest but can’t see the trees?
Are we a lost people, or just stupid.
When and how are things going to start to break through and make a tiny change? I’m not asking for people to recognize or understand, or accept, or not fear mental illness. I’m just angry that we put a known blanket over a bright hot pink elephant in our culture.
Stop the madness. Really, people.
It was my period. That was the reason I lost it last weekend and plummeted into a terrible bed glued depression. I didn’t understand most of the technical psych terms my psychiatrist used when he tried to explain it to me but thankfully, now I know, I am not crazy, I just need to watch out when the next menstrual cycle comes around. I don’t recall ever having this problem in the past when I was on the same antidepressant so this is all new to me. I went into my session knowing that he wasn’t going to change my meds cause I guess I am doing better then our last session. It’s hard to know what to say when you see your doctor. You want to squeeze as much information in the expensive time you have to get answers and positive results and that alone is a stress. But all you can do is do your best to retell the stories you lived through since you started taking a medication and hope it’s enough to help your shrink monitor your behavior.
Well, tomorrow is the big day. My first psychiatrist appointment since he prescribed an antidepressant for me, and I am not sure what to tell him. I’ve been trying to track how my antidepressant has affected me these past several weeks and, to be honest, it’s all a confusing mess between seeing good things, experiencing bad things, and finding no changes in my mental health at all but some movement, I think.
So, I had two weekends that I was social and managed to leave my place. Then out of nowhere this past weekend I couldn’t get out of bed and cried uncontrollably over external difficulties with the plot of my life like a breakup that continues to haunt me (and I really screwed up cause during my crying episode I called him after months of being strong and staying away), hardships at work that are only getting worse, and fighting change when I desperately need but change is hard for me. But these challenges have always been the case so I can’t say external issues caused the crying, but this crying was bad. It didn’t stop and I couldn’t place it or understand why now? Did I screw up my med dosage?
Weekend number three happened. I’m still trying to monitor how my antidepressant I started about a month ago is working. So, let’s see, weekend number one I went out dancing alone at a hip hop club. Weekend number two I went out dancing at a DJ warehouse party and tore up the dance floor, alone. And now it’s weekend number three and we’ll see what happens…
Weekend number three was tragic.
Something has gone wrong. I don’t know what happened, I just know that I couldn’t get out of my bed yesterday and cried in my sheets. The kind of cry from the bowls of your stomach that you haven’t ever heard spill out of your mouth. I couldn’t make it to work today, which is just another added stress. I’ve been trying to figure out or gage what the antidepressant is doing or how it is working, or not, and I’m lost.
It’s the second weekend since I’ve seen some changes in my behavior since I started my antidepressant, most specifically, my social life. Last weekend I went out dancing and this past weekend I really went out dancing. A friend of mine invited me to some DJ dance party in the Arts District in Downtown LA. It was one of those warehouse parties where you walk down an unknown alley and a bouncer stands by a door, stamps your hand, and the doors open to the scene. I am not a “scener.” The last time I was at a huge house dance party I was in my early twenties living in New York. I was not yet diagnosed with Bipolar II so found myself going out all the time and dancing out all my mania.
Well, I guess the antidepressant is starting to work cause I made it out for the first time in a long time. Manic, no, but I ended up at a club by myself at a hip hop party. Awesome. I sat at the bar and took in the scene and the next thing I know I was dancing. Was anyone else dancing? No. But I got the party started. I didn’t even change from my work clothes before I decided to go out. I had on an orange top, black pants, and Michael Jackson shiny moonwalk shoes with white socks. I closed down the club. I went home and saw the clock and it was 2:30 in the morning. I don’t recall the last time A: I went out dancing and B: Went to bed past midnight. So I woke up at a reasonable hour and went to take my meds and the antidepressant stared me down.
It has almost been over a week on my new antidepressant and it’s getting easier to open the pill box and take it. Not perfect, but I’m trying. I skipped a couple days which I know is bad but I waffled on taking the whole thing to begin with so I needed to take baby steps. However, this week I was more diligent about keeping a daily routine of taking them and did my best to fight the feel I get when I have to open the box. The stupidest thing I did was look up all the side effects. I prefer not to know.
Well, I started taking a new medication for depression. So far, so good, until bam, lunch with no hot sauce. I was at lunch with a new coworker and was trying to put hot sauce on my sandwich and my hands started shaking. Everyone at work knows I’m bipolar which causes me to be paranoid to begin with. Now I have new medication with new side effects. I quickly put my sandwich down and hoped that my coworker hadn’t noticed but, quite frankly, what would anyone say to me in that situation. I stared at the hot sauce and frowned.
The beast is back. I had a good run though, and I’m not sure how it happened. Well, that’s a lie. My environment hasn’t been the healthiest one. I keep running into my ex, which is terrible cause things did not end on the most amicable terms. I am really burned out at my job and have had other external factors to play into the beast. The beast: Depression.
I’ve spent the last couple weekends finding it hard to leave my bed. Not my place, my bed, which is way worse. I finally broke down and made the call to see my psychiatrist before our scheduled appointment.
When I was growing up, when it came to sex, running the bases were as follows:
Today, things have changed, and most of these changes are due to advancements in technology. Kids now a days are not only having sex at a younger age, but their journey toward crossing home base has changed. As technology continues to flourish the playing field has become drastically advanced, and the privatizations of sexual acts are open to people’s vulnerability, and more public exchanges of sexual behaviors. Mild foreplay to get to home base is out. Here is an example of a modern day look at running bases through the power of technology: