Friday, November 26, 2010

Oh shut up

I'm telling ya, I shouldn't allow myself to post when I'm feeling good.

I swear, it's almost like I don't even remember writing that last post. I don't know who the cocky twit is who wrote it but right now I want to bitch slap her.

No lie, it seems like almost as soon as I finished publicly preening over how BEAU-tifully I was doing, I crashed. The whole week since has been one of the hardest yet. In fact, I'm starting to see signs that it's not just yer common, garden variety grieving going on... it may be time to (gulp!) tweak the meds.

I HATE having to admit that, but I am grateful as all hell that I've had enough experience to know when it's beyond my control and it's time to call in the experts.

I realized recently that December 2010 marks TEN YEARS since I first started on anti-depressants. I remember still what a huge relief it was, after twenty years of toughing out the "dark times" curled up in a ball on the couch, rolling my eyes and snapping at the Ex like a hormonal tortoise, hollering at Lovely Daughter to climb a flight of stairs to bring me the TV remote that was ten feet away from me, and asking the doc to test my thyroid "just one more time" only to see the results come back normal again, to have those blue pills make the life-sucking cloud of Dementors* lift and fade for good.

I was so grateful to just feel normal. It was kind of pathetic, really.

*(Sorry for the gratuitous Harry Potter ref, I'm gearing up for Deathly Hallows. Squee!)

Sure, I've stepped in puddles of dark since, but they've been brief and shallow. The last one big enough register was four years ago -- almost exactly, oddly enough -- around the end of my 26-year marriage. I changed meds for a few months, but then I met Mr. B and it no longer seemed to be an issue, IYKWIM. Nothing will get your brain chemicals right faster than a bucketful of burning love. That's some good shit, mon.

Funny thing is, it hadn't occurred to me that I might run into trouble this time. I'm that used to being normal, and although I'm proud of that, WTF was I thinking? This particular Fucking Growth Opportunity is a gobazillionity times harder than the divorce, due to the divorce lacking an actual death. Of course my neurotransmitter tanks would be running completely dry by now. Duh. What a maroon.

If I want to have any chance of keeping the dirty dishes from piling up on the floor and Young Son fed on something other than Blue Box and grilled cheese sandwiches through the winter (Not lyin'. Ask Lovely Daughter about her childhood comfort foods) I figure I have two choices: I can do it "naturally" -- hit the dating sites hard, find someone to stuff in the Mr. B-shaped hole, and hope for the magic to strike twice -- or I can go to a professional and get hooked up. With the right meds, not guys.

I think this time I'll go pro. Bound to be much easier in the long run. This last round of the Dating Game had a pretty brutal finale.


  1. I don't blame you one bit. Get all the help you need to get you through this FGO! I've never been so depressed as when I lost my dad, and he wasn't even my husband/partner!

    You're doing what you need to do, and there's no right or wrong way to grieve or carry on after loss. ((hug))

  2. You get whatever help you need in whatever form you have to get it. Better living through chemistry! Bev's right -- there is no right or wrong way to grieve. I think you are very brave and I'm awed and humbled by your honesty. I love the way you write.

    I've buried my child, my brother, my mother, all of my grandparents, and two of the best dogs ever to grace the planet. You just do what you have to do to get by. I'd hug you big if I could reach you! :)

  3. I'm not big on the professional or chemical route, but these days, I'm even less big on the dating route (TWSS).

  4. Yeah, Frank, I'm not a fan of requiring chemicals but it beats the hell out of the alternative. Just ask the ex what 26 years of his life were like.

    On second thought, don't!

    (By pro I meant psychiatrist for the meds. Was that clear or did I fuck it up?)

  5. I hate it when you come in in the middle of a story. You know, I had to go back a few posts to figure out what the heck you were talking about. You'll have to forgive me if I was a little confused--but then if you visit my 'blog you'll probably notice confused is my natural state.
    Huggles and hopes, (it WILL get better, eventually)


  6. I give you a lot of credit for being so open about your issues and grieving process. Give yourself time, and allow yourself to believe whatever you're doing is right at the time that you're doing it. Wishing you the best.

  7. i heard that antidepressants actually can make you more depressed and have suicidal thoughts in some cases


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