I'm Working On Being Less Irritating One Day At A Time
Wednesday, September 10, 2008 Balloons waterfront Orwellian corndogs.
Maleficent recliners conditionally clotheslined tenterhooks.
Didacticism, adjudicative!
Yeah, I thought so. That doesn't make any sense to me, either, but that is the best way I know how to describe my memories of the last month of my life. I have some pictures and snippets of ideas in my head about where I have been and what I have done, but there is no coherent, chronological string along which anything is threaded. Imagine that everything from the past month was pairs of socks, and that they went through the wash only to have half them fall into a black hole in the dryer.
That metaphor sucks.
Another way to describe it is that I am a guppy. 'Round and 'round I go, and where I stop, I can't remember.
My guppiness is largely attributable to the increased dosage of my psych medication over the last month. Rather than quell my rising depression and anxiety, it has let those stay and then thrown in compulsive thoughts and behaviour to flesh out my issues, because what's the use of being crazy if you're not going to go all the way?
[After that last sentence, I left the apartment to get the mail and found myself standing downstairs by the mailboxes with a mug of coffee in one hand where my keys should have been, which meant that I was locked out until the Palinode arrived home from work, and so I have spent the last hour-and-a-half sitting outside and then in Abigail and Smyrish's kitchen in the clothes I slept in the night before with a cold cup of gritty coffee as my sole possession. If a guppy could have opposable thumbs, receive mail, and drink coffee, then call me Bubbles.]
Today is the first day of moving myself back down to my original dose, because my obsessive scratching, refusal to wash anything sharp when I do the dishes, and need to keep track of exactly how many squares of toilet paper I use in a twenty-four hour period harshes my buzz in no small way. Tomorrow, I have an appointment with the medical doctor who I have been seeing while I wait for my referred psychiatrist to see me some time in October, and I am hoping that he won't say the following to me again:
Think of your husband. You must do something about this. Your behaviour is probably irritating him by now.
Oh, really? I am sitting in your office, crying into a tissue with my hands shaking around my face, at a complete loss as to how to move forward at the moment, but you have managed to put your finger on the exact heart of my problem. I am annoying to my spouse! I am irritating! All I have to do is stop being so damn nettlesome!
Douchebag.
I am in somewhat of a better place since then, though, despite the increased medication's side effects. Choosing to lower my dose means that I will be in a slightly better position to make decisions for myself soon, and October, the month in which I will finally meet my new psychiatrist, is fast approaching. All I have to do between now and then is weather the storm of physical and emotional weirdness that comes with dosage changes and the stress that is meeting with my medical doctor, who seems to be more concerned about my being irritating than the fact that I can't bring myself to leave the house most days.
Until then, I am concentrating on being kind to myself. If I have to sleep sixteen hours a day, then so be it. If what keeps me on even keel in the afternoon is muscle relaxants and an hour of Tyra Banks, well, that is what it's going to be, (except that where I wrote "Tyra Banks", substitute something less embarrassing, like a PBS documentary). I am making a concerted effort to stop feeling guilty for needing some space in which to heal. Even if it means that I am going to be medically diagnosed as irritating.
What I mean to say is, don't worry too much about me making it through this messy spot. There are still some difficult times ahead, but I know that there is another side ahead where spending three to four hours a day watching old episodes of "Will & Grace" will no longer have to be my security blanket. (Also, I am running out of old episodes of "Will & Grace"). I will just keep inching forward until the hurt trickles out.
Or maybe, I should just take a vacation with hard liquor: Chris Rock on Depression (video).
Reader Comments (12)
I'd like to administer a medicinal kick straight into your psychiatrist's crotch.
As usual, your ability to express these things with such grace blows my mind. Sending you lots of love & light, Schmutz.
Jules
http://bigpikchur.blogspot.com" REL="nofollow">House of Jules
You just inspire me. And I think that old shrink needs a good old fashion ass whoopin. WTF? Yes, because feeling like shit is fun when your DOCTOR has the gall to tell you to "snap out of it" so you won't be annoying. If we could "snap out of it" assholes like him wouldn't have a job.
I hope the new guy is an improvement. Mine was nicer at least and didn't tell me I had a "type a personality". I'm not sure I agreed with him. But, whatever. I'll take nicer over ass even if I'm still playing the wheel of "will this pill help or aggravate the situation".
I sincerely hope you're feeling a little better soon. And don't beat yourself up about hours of Will and Grace reruns. Sometimes we just need some zoning out. And tv is one of the best ways. Then there is hard liquor, too. You know what I always say? Mix the two. It's like the Reeses of depression. Awesomeness.
this is the kind of doctor that suggests that women disinfect their vaginas so that their husbands will find them appealing.
i'm thinking of you. in a good way. :)
For me it's usually "Frasier". I realize that's so much less cool than "Will and Grace" but all I'm saying is a few hours of reruns a day...who does it hurt?
Too bad the adjustment didn't work and that you'll have to keep trying at combinations and doses.
I had a recent therapist try to suggest that all my problems could probably be explained by a B12 deficiency. Stupid ho.
Aww Schmutzie...I hope you feel better soon. I do.
Hope that you have a good psychiatrist who knows more than one old fashioned anti-depressant! PCP's don't know doo-doo about it- obviously!!! What an ass-hat he is!I love your new 12 steps philosophy to being less irritating! The guy I work with swears by cod liver oil capsules to help depression and mania and we've seen good results from it!
I am NOT that far away. Please allow me to come and kick that Dr repeatedly in the face.
13,4 hours of driving, I could be there.
I'm so sorry :( I really like you.
And if it makes you feel better I continually managed to lock myself out.
All the time.
And then they changed the lock. So now I can't.
Rewatching the Will & Grace is even better, because you can watch the evolution/continuity problems of Karen with all of the knowledge of the future.
And you would get to see this again:
Karen consoles Jack who is worried he can't play a straight dude in the mattress store commercial: "Oh, Jack, no one would ever believe you're straight. Your gayness can be seen from space. You're as gay as a clutch purse on Tony night. It's like you fell out of a gay tree and hit every gay branch on the way down and you fell on a gay guy--and you did him."
You'll get to see that again. And Minnie Driver. And Parker with the Christmas window. And Matt singing in the gay men's choir. Let's hear it for the boys.
While I hope you don't need all 7 or 8 seasons again, you would be in good company if you did.
xoxox
You are welcome to come over anytime Bubbles, even if you didn't lock yourself out of the apartment!
oh me too. I thought my loss of words and moving slow had flown (with the entrance of ear infection, stage left) but am learning that a day of all rain doesn't make me want to go home and open all those bills and organize them.
And I know exactly what you mean. We WILL both get out of this tight spot, but in the meantime, if it takes my mother reminding me to take laundry out of the dryer from a hundred miles away, so be it.
Hoping your new psychiatrist is better. I've had two douchebags in my 10 years of psych drs. and currently have a great one. Well, actually two, but I think I've used up my allotted comment space...
What. A. Callous. Shithead. I'm talking about your doctor. This jerk is trying to *guilt* you out of your condition? Ugh. Projection much?
Sending you good vibes to get you through to October. Take care and be nice to yourself, one moment at a time. If that means a Tyra Banks-fest, well, then, do that!
And hugs to your spouse, too. Gotta bless the Sweeties who love us.
I'm not sure how I landed on your page, but I truly enjoyed the reading. I've been where you are and probably will again someday - i think that might just be how crazy works. I'm almost able to retain some semblance of whatever normal is most of the time. You are right that you just have to give yourself the time you're going to need. And, really - screw how everyone else feels about it right now. It's not about everyone else at this point.