Forgive me, readers, for I haven’t written since March 6th. Let’s see if I can even remember how to do so.
Mostly, I wish I was writing something amazing, guns a-blazing, something that’ll make both me and you go, “damn! It was worth the wait!” Sadly, it’s not the case. I’m going to whine a little, be a little despondent, and a touch of depression thrown in because that’s my schtick.
I woke up again an hour ago, which is really kind of annoying to me. Getting up at 6:30a.m. on a weekend day seems like I don’t know how to weekend, but oh well. I guess I’m growing up? Isn’t that what adults do these days? There are adult things to do! I have to get up and seize this fine day! And really, I do have some errands and whatnot to do, so it’s all okay.
It seems lately, everyone I know have been the opening line of the Red Hot Chili Peppers song “My Friends”: my friends are so depressed. I read Facebook posts and see people struggling with various things in their lives, or I see the lack of posts from people and wonder if they’re doing okay. I admit to being kind of a c-word and thinking at times, “oh good Jesus eff, stop it already! We get it! You’re sad!” which I wholly admit is really rather rude, inconsiderate, and hypocritical of me, because what did I just write a paragraph before this? That’s right. Cunt, table for one.
I’m sitting here trying to think of how to word what I want to say next, and it’s proving difficult because I genuinely don’t want to sound like a jerk, but there really is no proper way to do so without sounding like a jerk: there’s a fine line between always seeming depressed and having a general “my life is garbage,” or the phrase I loathe, “FML (fuck my life, for those not in the know)” and having the occasional bouts of depression. Those happen to everyone. You can’t avoid that crap. I guess what I’m eluding to is it’s all in how you handle yourself when suffering from depression. Would anyone know I technically have been “diagnosed” with bipolar type 2 disorder if I didn’t write about it? And I put “diagnosed” in quotations because I question that. Sometimes psychiatrists like to throw out diagnoses without really giving it much thought. Isn’t there a term for that? I think there is. Or not. I don’t know.
Anyway, I don’t doubt I have depression. Pretty sure getting vaccinated as a kid caused that (zing!). I do doubt that pretty hefty diagnosis, though. And it was made in 10 minutes. I took a questionnaire, checking off boxes next to the symptoms that scream “me! Yes, that’s me!” I don’t remember some of the questions, but I’m certain that if 80% of the population were to take this exact thing, they, too, would also be diagnosed with bipolar type 2. Which makes my point, kinda sorta in a roundabout way–either depression has reached pandemic heights…or the psychological community is doing a piss-poor job of properly and accurately identifying mental illnesses and not taking the time to fully investigate their patients thoroughly. Take my incident four years ago; the shrink I saw in the mental ward–after a whole 5 minutes of talking to me–said I had PTSD. What? I wasn’t in Vietnam. I never killed a guy. I hadn’t saw some truly horrific event…I was just despondent over the end of my marriage. PTSD? Really? I was then pumped up with 3mg of alprazolam, which is enough to knock a rhino off its arse, and prescribed antidepressants and sleep aids. After a while, I wasn’t really any different. Sleeping well, sure, but as for my other stuff, not so much. Hey! Let’s try a different medication! Okay!
Now, I’m in the medical profession. I know the basic ins and outs of medication to an extent. I know that it is tricky finding the right medication for a person with a mental illness. Trial by error, which gets frustrating, and it takes about 4-6 weeks to really reap the benefits of the medication, as it needs time to accumulate in your system. And sometimes, these medications are wicked effing expensive. After three other failed medications, I was told about one that just came out and it’s great. Let’s try that. Okay, lets. I got the first month free because weeee! New drug! See how awesome it is! It was until I went to get it refilled and because it was a new drug and no generic was available yet, I would have to shell out $600 and that was with my health insurance and prescription assistance. Holy mother. Needless to say, I did not end up taking that drug and got shuffled through two more. Then, I quit my job because I’m stupid, moved away for an even more stupid reason, and lost my health insurance, so bye-bye drugs. That was a 18 months ago. And honestly truly? I do not notice any difference now, being off any and all medications as compared to when I was on them, which makes me awfully suspicious about this crap.
My opinion? I don’t think it’s a brain thing at all. I mean, yes, to a certain extent, because like I’ve said, everyone haz teh sads now and again, but I think my issues are not serotonin, but with estrogen and progesterone. My ovaries are jacked up. I have something called polycystic ovary syndrome and that messes with my hormones something turrble, just turrble. I was a happy kid, a happy teenager, a happy young adult, but when I started experiencing issues with my reproductive system, that’s when my other issues cropped up. Say whhhhhhhaaaaaaaaattttttttttt? I’m no doctor, I’m probably full of crap, but logically, that makes a whole lotta sense to me, but again, this is coming from the person who once thought a roadkilled raccoon was a buffalo head (my mom and I were driving, there was a dead animal on the side of the road, and as we drove by it, the angle was funny and it was a huge raccoon, but I gasped in horror, “what was up with that?!” My mom, bewildered at my strong reaction to a raccoon, was all, “what was up with what?” “That buffalo head!” Please keep in mind it was probably 1995, and not 1895, so it wasn’t like we were dodging buffalo left and right. Anyway, my mom lost it and I haven’t seen her laugh that hard in a very long time. The end. I’m an idiot.).
My point is that…well, I don’t remember now because I got distracted by the buffalo story.
Good story, E.
I want to say all this is my opinion. I don’t mean to come off as knowing all there is to know about all there is to know, because I do not know all there is to know, you know?
Goshdang, that buffalo story really derailed me. Sorry! And now I have the giggles because I keep thinking of how my mom reacted to me, and that was a billion times more funny than anything. Oh, Ma.
Anyway, as usual, thanks for reading.