Antidepressants: Eleventyseven billion dollars. Cheap Sparkly Bangle Bracelets: Priceless.

 

This post has taken me forever to write.

 

Like, at least four hours yesterday and almost three today.  And I just scrapped my entire last draft.

 

All I’m trying to say is that, despite the fact that I’m terrified that I’m never going to earn actual “income” again, I frivolously spent $9.50 (+ tax) on sparkly bangle bracelets yesterday. 

 

A whole stack of them.  All for me. 

 

And I think they are beautiful.

 

Sparkly greens, sparkly pinks, sparkly oranges, shiny silk coral thread with gold sparklies and probably my favorite one is made entirely of moss green silk thread. 

 

And here’s the thing:

 

They make me happy.

These silly bangles are so sweet/shiny/sparkly/tiny and they sound all “tinkle-tinkle” when I move my arm (normally this would annoy the shit out of me, but not today!) and also they are all “Sparklesurprise!” when I happen to see them out of the corner of my eye.

I fucking love these sparkly bangles. 

I love the way the way they slip around on my forearm, playfully reminding me that I’m a girly-girl at heart. 

I love that they make me think (or maybe remember) that I can be the kind of girl who doesn’t think twice about wearing 14 cheap sparkly bangles on a regular-old-Tuesday in July. 

Mostly I love that looking at these sparkly bangles on my wrist reminds me that, at least for today, I am the kind of girl who (a) has some sparkle and, (b) is not afraid to show it.

Today I am celebrating every hint of sparkle that comes from me (via sparkly bangle or otherwise).  Each little sliver of sparkle reflects a part of me that had to fight like hell through the doom doom doom of depression to even find a little light to reflect.  

I’ve spent like eleventyseven billion dollars over the past 15 years on antidepressants and not one of them ever made me feel as good as these cheap sparkly bangle bracelets.

Alive.  Playful.  Amused.  Grateful.  Curious.  Confident.  Silly.  Sexy.  Girly.  Happy.

These sparkly bangles are priceless.

 

xoxoxoxoxo

kim

Sometimes I wish I were related to someone who knew something about art or design, so they could just design this fucking blog.

I know what you’re thinking…

“Who doesn’t wish they were related to someone who knew something about art and/or design, Kim?  No one, that’s who.”

Or, if you know me, you might be thinking:

“Ummmm, aren’t you always talking shit about your artistic genius mom (with great hair) who, like, uses her fancy MacBook to design amazing stuff all the time (when she isn’t actually painting stuff/making collages/making jewelry/bedazzling everything) and therefore is very familiar with design software and using it to make cool shit?

And you would be right! 

I am always talking shit about how creative and fabulous she is and it’s true that she uses design software in her sleep to create pictures and posters and prints and calendars and pretty much anything you can imagine.

Huh.

You might also be thinking:

“And aren’t you always going on and on, ad nauseum, about how your brother is rich and famous and a brilliant entrepreneur, but more importantly a kick-ass graphic designer who has tons of experience with website design and a finely tuned sense of knowing what it is that other people are going to think is cool long before the other people have any clue?”

Yes, I do that too!  He’s also an internationally famous kick-ass DJ, dontcha know.

Anyway.

All that is true.

And that makes me wonder why my blog design isn’t (a) done and (b) extremely cool and culturally relevant.

Oh sure, my Mom has that whole “ovarian cancer” excuse (also affectionately known as the “C-card”) to explain why she hasn’t been slaving away on creating some fabulous art for my blog and/or teaching me how to do stuff on the design software. 

And I guess my brother is just too insanely busy being the boss at his design firm* and/or hob-nobbing with celebrities and/or having a life, to create a fabulous online presence for me.

I don’t really know, because I haven’t actually asked either of them to help, directly. 

And, unfortunately,  I may have said something like “DON’T BOSS MY ART!” when my Mom “offered a suggestion” (read: told me that I doing something WRONG, according to her) on my first theme.  This, in hindsight, maybe wasn’t exactly the right response.  What I should have said is “DON’T BOSS MY ART, please” and “maybe you can show me how to use your fancy-pants graphics stuff on your computer some day and then you can be all gloaty about how superior your MacBook is and I can be all “I’m my own artist, thankyouverymuch.”

Win-win, mamacita.

When I started this post, I really just intended to address the elephant in the room, i.e., my ever-changing theme so you wouldn’t think one or both of these things (a) “Am I going nuts?  This theme was totally different 15 minutes ago.” or (b)  “Is Kim going (more) nuts?  This theme was totally different 15 minutes ago.”

And then it turned into wanting to reassure you that neither of us is (completely) nuts AND, I guess, to shame my Mom and brother into helping me.  I mean, you would think that they would be kind of embarrassed about the bad graphic design going on here. 

I know I am and I’ve never even come close to being an award-winning graphic designer, Jonas.

And that is when I realized that I’m passive-aggressive.  Sometimes.  Especially with the people I love the most and/or when the topic is something I’m feeling particularly vulnerable about.

FUCK.

FUCK.

FUCK.

I hate when I have uncomfortable epiphanies while doing something totally benign, like just trying to get SOMETHING posted on my blog, for the love of Gawd.

Insightfulness is not as easy as it looks, people.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  YES!  That “Don’t Boss My Art” picture is something my artistic genius mother (with fabulous hair) just doodled in her journal one day, while recovering from brain surgery. Art just oozes out of her when she isn’t even trying.  When she is trying, it shoots out like water out of a high-pressure firehose, except with more bling and bedazzle.  Anyway, her name is Marguerite, and she owns that art so don’t use it without her permission, or else.

*Ok, Mom says Factory is not some two-bit “design firm”, and she’s offended with how I’ve referred to it.  She’s right, of course,  Factory Design Labs is like a huge bazillion dollar a year full-service advertising agency that represents little brands like, oh, I don’t know, “The North Face” and “Audi” and “Oakley”, to name a few.  What Mom doesn’t understand, since she isn’t a famous blogger, is that I was trying to make it seems like all my brother does all the time is graphic design/web design/whatever it takes to make it seem like it would be super-easy for him to just fucking design this blog in his spare time.  That’s all.  I am fully aware that Factory is a big-ass deal.

 

 

 

Is it just me, or have you noticed that there appears to be a circus in my head?

Or, to put it a little less delicately….

What the fuck is going on in my three-ring circus of a brain?

And when I use the term “circus”, I don’t mean it in the Cirque du Soleil perfectly choreographed and organized and synchronized and beautiful world of make-believe and love and excitement and wonder and “oh my gawd, that is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen done with a huge gerbil wheel and motorcycles and sparkly unitards!” type circus.

(which sounds kind of dirty now that I see it in print and, hello, I know exactly what you’re thinking, pervert….)

I mean it in the kind of dusty, faded, circus tent thrown up out at the fairgrounds by inexplicably happy people, somehow holding within it hundreds of clowns and worker-guys and bored girls who spin on those rope/cloth thingies (which, by the way, I always wanted to do, like, as a career) and huge animals who are hot and tired and wondering what the weather is like back home in India and looking for any opportunity to bolt the fuck out of that tent and hightail it to somewhere with a happy hour and air conditioning, for the love of GOD.

That kind of circus.

Oh, and my circus also has extremely loud and falsely chipper music blaring from speakers whose ability to play bass blew out in about 1972, or 73.  And there are at least three rings with lots of sparkly action in each, but no overall coordination most of the time.  Which makes it hard to concentrate.  Also, there is cotton candy here and drippy blue sno-cones (and, anyway, what the fuck flavor is “blue” sno-cone?)(actually that is a dumb question, as all circus sno-cone flavors are SUGAR or SICKLY SWEET + PERMANENT STAIN)

I know what you’re thinking, Doctor Blog Reader, Psy. D.  “Hmmmm, perhaps Kim should rethink her “I’m going off all antidepressants!” strategy, which I, for one, knew was a horrible plan from the very beginning, for the record.”

Thanks Dr. “I have an opinion, after the fact.”  You’re the best….

But I think you are wrong.

The circus is kind of freaking me out. 

There is lots of noise + lots of crying + deep sadness + more crying + bursts of domesticity (YES, you read that right, I’ve been positively domestic, ha ha motherfuckers!) + noticing of  beautiful things + crying at the beauty of  the beautiful things + cringing at the sounds + overwhelming love + something that looks dangerously close to “happiness” + eating like a starving meerkat (you know… jerking my head around at all times to make sure no one is coming to take my food away, just like a meerkat, right?) + intense sugar cravings + at least one whole day without a drop of Diet Coke (but 2 gallons of iced tea, which is fine, because it is sans aspertame) + river kayaking (again, NOT A MISPRINT, and yes, the river was outside, in nature)  + laughing + bursts of creativity (like, ummm, a whole nother blog?!) + reaching out and/or thinking about reaching out + being pissed off at our government + wondering who invented music (who figured out that if you bend wood and stretch some strings on it and pluck at them in different combinations you will get “music”??  seriously, it’s kind of a big deal. that shit didn’t just appear.) + did I mention the crying?

But it’s not like being in and around and under OSCAR.

For one thing, the circus doesn’t hate me as much as Oscar does.

Huge.  Fucking.  Relief.

The crying is a little hard.  It’s starting to feel excessive.

On the other hand, I’m feeling my feelings.  Which is good.

And a lot of those feelings are straight-up sad. Which is what it is, turns out.

 It’s sad when people you love are suffering.  It’s sad when someone says to you “I’m not ready to die” and you have no good response, except “I’m not ready either, please don’t go” and they say, “You’re going to be fine” and you want to scream “I don’t want to be fine without you!” but instead you say “I know.  I’m ok.  Please don’t worry about me.”

 It’s sad to invest 20 years into a career that ultimately left you feeling worn out and exhausted and like you’ve given every single thing you possibly had to give to help people but all your work added up to was relieving a teensy-weensy portion of the awfulness that substance abuse/mental illness/domestic violence wreaks on it’s most helpless victims.  And then you have to defend yourself from criticism for your excessive kindness.  And then you feel like you’re slinking away from your career with your tail between your legs, instead of a sense that you did something that changed people’s lives for the better.  Plus you worked your ass off and you missed out on some pretty important shit in your son’s life and where is all that money you traded off for your son’s childhood?

It’s sad when your baby is suddenly a high school graduate and you can’t remember all the tiny, sweet things about his childhood that you promised yourself you would remember.  And you don’t know if he remembers that you used to be his favorite person in the whole wide world and how he cried when he was five and you told him that you couldn’t go to college and live with him because he only ever wanted to live with you and that was Not Fair.  And then he grows up and he says “I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Mommy” and you feel like your heart will break from happiness.  And then he says “I hate antidepressants, they took you away from me” and you know for a fact that you will die from this irretrievably broken heart.

And there’s more where that came from.

Living with Oscar is like trying to hear underwater — everything is muffled and you aren’t sure which direction it is coming from.  He is doom and gloom and pointlessness and guilt and second-guessing and loving but never allowing love and paralysis and ruminating and hide, hide, hide and never stand up for yourself because whatever it is, you deserve it (as long as it is bad) and sure you can laugh about things but behind every self-deprecating joke is the truth because you are the joke and the disappointment and the fear and the need that never gets filled.  And there is no music.  At all.  Ever.

The circus is a whole different deal.

The music is fabulous, even when it is awful and tinny and too loud.  The circus isn’t perfect, but it tries to be sparkly and alive and other-worldly and daring and take-your-breath-away-ish and there is family.  Huge family.   The circus is  kind of everywhere at once, but it’s also contained and everyone sees the tent differently.  It’s faded!  It’s fabulous!  It’s playful and whimsy and furiously happy, even when the storms rage outside.  It’s home and it isn’t.  It says “show up!” and “sparkle your pants off!” instead of “hide hide hide” and “don’t say a word!”  It has space for the sad.  Without judgment.  And it seems to coax the happy.  The jokes come from a different place — one that doesn’t believe in your utter awfulness.  The circus has hope.  Sometimes it crumples down on it’s knees, but then the inexplicably happy people come and put it back up.  There is always another show and it doesn’t have to be just like that last show.  Things can get better.  Applause helps.  I’m still concerned about the animals, though.

 Anyway.

It may not be Cirque du Soleil in my head these days, but it’s starting to feel a lot more like “living” than it has in a long time.

Woo-hoo!

xoxo

kim

p.s.  Mom started a clinical trial of a new cancer drug yesterday and we were all “OMG will we ever get to leave this fucking hospital?” but we learned today that at least two other ovarian cancer patients are on the trial and their tumors are shrinking!!!!  So we’re bitching a little less.

p.s.s.  I’m torn about the theme.  I love it, but it seems too busy.  Ugh.  Back to the drawing board.

p.s.s.   Is it weird that I started another blog?  Is it weird that it is anonymous?  What if I want to be a big deal on the internet?  Can you do that with two very different blogs?  What if I don’t care and just want to write like a motherfucker?

p.s.s.s.  Turns out there is a fat lady in my circus….ME…seriously!  Mom thinks I’m retaining water.  I think I’m retaining fat.  Either way it isn’t making anything easier, fyi.

bye again!

Oh look, my “friend” started a blog about online dating, sex & relationships for the jaded and snarky.

Here’s something you don’t see every stinkin’ day:  my “friend” started a blog about online dating, sex and relationships for the jaded and snarky. 

 It’s called violetfemme65.

(if you’re wondering what kind of weird name “violet femme65” is, chances are you’ve never had to make up a ridiculous/catchy “username” for an online dating profile.  if you have had occasion to make up a “username”, you’re probably jealous, cuz this one is good y’all.) (unless you’ve never heard of the band “violent femmes”, in which case you’re probably not going to understand anything about the blog.) (you don’t have to appreciate the “violent femmes” music to “get” how good this username is, you just have to be aware that there is/was a band called “violent femmes” and the blog name is a play on that name… get it?)

Anyway.

Just thought I would mention it.

To help her out.

Cuz I’m already pretty famous on the Internet.

Ha.

xoxo

kim

One way to avoid writing brilliant shit is to mess around with your blog theme, FYI.

Which is what I’m doing today, obviously.

I kind of love this “theme” — it is Talavera pottery-inspired (as is, ummm, my artistic genius Mother (with great hair)) and I love all the color. 

 Color!  Color!  Color!

It is pretty “busy” though.  And Mom is kind of offended that I would use anything other than the picture of her hammock at her house in Pto. Morelos as my background/header.  Which, frankly, probably would have stopped me from changing it but instead of saying something reasonable, like “That’s nice, but I really like your current theme”, she said “But you can’t change the hammock picture!” 

And you know how I feel about people telling me what I can’t do.  Especially when they are my mother.

Yes, I am oppositional/defiant.  Is that a problem?

So, I’m going to mess around with this new theme and see if I can make it work.  It might not work.  I’m just playing.  It makes me feel creative, MOTHER.  We weren’t all born with creative genius just oozing out of us and showing up in every single thing we do.  Nor were we all born with perfect fucking hair.  Thankyouverymuch.

Thoughts?  Suggestions? (Unless the suggestion is “do what your mother says…”)

Oh wait.  One more thing:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAMACITA BONITA! 

I love you the most, even though Jonas got all the artistic talent and Sarah got the pretty teeth and dimples and they both got the curly hair.  I got to be your first baby and your best friend and the person who drives you the most crazy and your comic relief and the person who drives you around the most, period.  And my baby boy (who is almost NINETEEN) got the best grandma ever and I only hope that I can be just like you when I have my own grandbabies (a loooooong time from now) and even if I can’t be just like you, I will make sure they know the beauty of picking up rocks and eating ice cream for breakfast (and lunch and dinner) and pillow fights.  Mostly I just love you.  If I had a donut, I would give you the hole.

xxxxxooooxxxoooxxxxoooxxxoooo

kim

 

The Book of Me: De Plane! De Plane!

I’m working on the Book of Me again.  Turns out there is no plane.*

(but if there were a plane, it would be a G6, cuz that I’m feelin’ so fly, like a G6)

There is, however, a plan.  A “How to Stop Taking Antidepressants Without Entirely Fucking Up My Life and Falling (Further) Into The Clutches of the Dreadifuss Beasties” plan.  But that title is a little long and not glamorous at all, so I’m going to call it “De Plane! De Plane!”….

Makes perfect sense, right?

Also, the thought of a little french midget (who looks vaguely hispanic) in a white tux and questionable facial hair running around and waving his little arms in the air while yelling “De Plane! De Plane!” to remind me about the aforementioned plan makes me surprisingly happy.

I haven’t worked out all of the details yet,  and I’m sure there will be lots of tweaking in the future, but here is the plan as it stands today.

De Plane! De Plane!

Oh hello, sweet pea.  Today is Day 10 of the Great Anti – Antidepressant Experiment of 2011.  Here are some things that have helped so far and some things that I’m sure will help in the future, even though I’m not doing them, ummmm, yet.

• Vitamin Supplements — I’m taking the “Women to Women” program Essential Nutrients packets twice a day.  Multi-vitamin/mineral formula, EFA formula and calcium/magnesium formula.  I’m also taking HemeVite (k-26) which is Vitamin C and Iron.  This has made a pretty huge difference in how I feel physically.  I think it is helping me manage blood sugar/energy and minimize cravings.  Ran out of Adaptisol – which is the women to women formula for adrenal exhaustion, but I’ve re-ordered and I’m sure that is really going to help in the long run also.
• Sleep —  My sleep quality sucks.  Sleep Apnea + I hate wearing the Darth Vader mask that treats sleep apnea = sucky sleep.  Taking a sleep aid helps me sleep through the night.  Going to bed at the same time and getting up at the same time would probably also really help.
• WRITING WRITING WRITING —  Do I really have to explain this?  It helps.  No matter how much you don’t want to do it, do it.
• Eat protein first thing in the morning.  It makes a huge difference.
• Cutting back on Diet Coke (or anything else containing aspartame) — This one is uber-painful….  but the writing is on the wall (i.e., all over the worldwide interweb)  there seems to be quite a bit of “evidence” that aspartame/diet drinks contribute to DEPRESSION and YOUR FAT ASS.
• Yoga —  It is good for the body AND helps manage anxiety.  And it makes me feel good.  Just do it.  It’s not like you don’t have the yoga pants…
• And probably more exercise —  Me: “Wow!  Exercise helps depression?  Who knew?”  Also Me:  “Besides everyone in the entire fucking world?”
• Food/Mood Diary — this seems like a super good idea that I have huge resistance to implementing.
• Gratitude Journal — see above re: Food/Mood Diary.
• OH!  Vitamin D, don’t ever stop taking Vitamin D.  Mere sunshine is not enough for your sweet body/brain.
• Stop watching the news.  Nothing good ever comes out of it.
• Limiting gluten — this seems to make our digestive system happier + calmer.
• Reach out to someone every day — or, in other words, STOP ISOLATING.  I know it is hard when you’re in the dark abyss of doom, but do it anyway.
• Hide — reaching out is good, forgetting that you are an introvert is not good.  Force fields!
• Don’t worry, be happy!  — JUST KIDDING.  That is stupid.

THE END

That is about it for now.  I’m feeling pretty darn good today.  My retreat to the mountains this weekend was fucking awesome.  I met some lovely people and was reminded that mostly people are good.  Mom enjoyed the break also …. 🙂  Her birthday is this week!!!  It’s on Bastille Day, so that is cool.  We are going to her home on the farm in SE Colorado (a/k/a “practically Kansas”)  to celebrate.  Friends and family are going to join us, yay!  Then she starts a clinical trial next week.

I’m feeling super grateful for the people who read this schtuff and post comments — thanks for being awesome and hilarious and reminding me that I’m not so different from everyone else.

All y’all rock.

xoxoxoxo

kim

*  I’m assuming I don’t have to explain “De Plane! De Plane!” — Fantasy Island?  If that rings no bells, I’m not sure what else to say…

My Depression has a first name…. it’s O-S-C-A-R.

If you have no idea why my headline is super-catchy, you aren’t old enough to be reading my blog and/or you’re anti-American.*

Anyway.

I’ve decided to get up close and personal with my Depression.  Turns out  it’s name is “Oscar”, and he is a beast.

A Dreadifuss Beast.

From now on all my monsters shall be known as Dreadifuss Beasties, unless they prove themselves to be something else entirely.  Which is unlikely, because they suck.

Oscar the Dreadifuss Beast and I are communing with nature this weekend.  Yes, we are on retreat!  At this very moment I am sitting in a yellow plastic Adirondack chair (except it is plastic, which means, by definition, it’s not an Adirondack chair…) approximately 4 feet away from the Big Thompson River and about a mile away from the entrance to the Rocky Mountain National Park.**  And I am blogging…. God I love wi-fi.  And the internet.

It is gorgeous here.  The river is running really high, which is a little scary, but that also means it’s really loud, which I love.  It almost drowns out Oscar’s voice-o-doom….

but not quite….

Oscar:  “I fucking hate nature.  I want to go back home and straight into our bedroom and under the covers.  Plus there are people here and they want to chat.  Let’s go home, can’t we just go home now?”

Me:  “I love it here, but you are totally welcome to leave at any time.  I don’t even understand how it is possible for you to exist when I’m in such a lovely, peaceful place.”

Oscar:  “Nice try.  I’m not leaving you now, or ever, for that matter.  You should know that by now.  If years of medication and therapy hasn’t worked to get rid of me, a little sunshine and communing with nature is sure as hell not going to motivate me to go anywhere.  That is just crazy thinking, Kim.  We need to go home.”

Me:  “How ironic that you accuse me of  “crazy thinking”….. You ARE crazy thinking!  AARRGGH!  I hate you.  I don’t want you to be part of me.  I hate everything about you.  You’ve stolen so much of my life that I can never get back, I’m not letting you steal this experience.  We’re staying.”

Oscar:  “Interesting.  If you had paid any attention to any of the obsessive reading you’ve been doing about depression, you would know that I am not just “crazy thinking”, I am an actual brain disorder, a physical problem with the structure of your actual brain and I would appreciate it if you would keep that in mind.  Furthermore,  I hate you too. 

 I haven’t stolen anything from you — what did you have to steal?  You’re fat and lazy and incompetent, a really bad mother (and sister and daughter, and auntie, and, sweet mother of JESUS, did you ever suck as a wife) you’re horrible with money, a slob (borderline hoarder) and I don’t know how you ever had a job or a relationship.  You’re a fraud.  You don’t even deserve to be here, in this beautiful place.  For one thing, you have no income. You can’t afford to “take a break” and you really don’t need one.   A break from what?  Unemployment?  A break from not taking care of the shit you should be taking care of?  A break from reality TV?  Maybe the world needs a break from you and your awfulness.”

Me:  “Wow.  You’re going easy on me today…”

Oscar:  “Well.  I don’t want people to think I”m a total dick.”

Me:  (snort/laugh) “Right.  It’s important to protect your image.  Obviously I don’t want people to think my mental illness sucks, because that would just reflect badly on me.”

Oscar:  “Exactly.  Just one more thing about you that sucks.  By the way,  have you noticed how old you look?”

Me:  “What?  Where did that come from?”

Oscar:  “Are you not seeing your reflection on the computer screen?  That old woman with the stupid hat on and multiple chins is you.  Gross!  We need to go inside immediately, I think you are scaring nature.”

Me:  “Oh.  I do see more than one chin.  Thanks for pointing it out, asshole….  Anyway – I doubt I am offending nature, Oscar.  Have you ever seen a platypus?  Or one of those monkeys with it’s butt hanging out all red and bare naked?  Nature loves that shit.”

Oscar:  “Yet you disgust her.  Let’s go go go go go away and save nature from your presence.”

Me:  “I’m starting to notice the incredible lengths you will go to in order to convince me that I’m awful and useless.  It’s kind of embarrassing when I see it in black and white on the page.  I think maybe I am not as bad as you say that I am.  I think maybe I’m starting to be done with you.  I would like to know what life could be like if you were properly managed.  I would love it if I could see what life would be like with a different — dare I say “healthy” — brain, but I don’t think my insurance will cover a brain transplant, plus, ewwwww.”

Oscar:  “You are awful and useless.  You say you want to “manage” me, but you’re  just going to stop taking the antidepressants?  AWESOME.  That gives me even more room to work my magic….  What an idiot.  Honestly.  Don’t you know that going off meds is crazy?  Are you smarter than your psychiatrist now?  What a joke.  What next?  Are you just going to sit by a river and expect that to “manage” me?  OH, maybe you’ll take up praying too.  That would be super-effective….NOT.”

Me:  “No.  I’m not going to just sit by a river and hope I get better.  I have A PLAN, Oscar.  And I’m not ruling out medication.  I’m just trying to see where my “baseline” is without it and I don’t think that is totally crazy.  I realize that is exactly what crazy people probably say when they stop taking meds, but still, I don’t think it’s that crazy for me.  I guess we will find out.  And guess what else, smarty-mcfuckpants…. I think I will take up praying (in some form that probably looks a lot like meditation or soul writing) and I think it just might help.  It can’t hurt.”

Oscar:  “If there is a “GOD”, which I doubt, why would he/she/it help you?  What have you ever done to deserve help from God?”

Me:  “I was born, Oscar.  Turns out that is enough.  I am worthy and deserving just the way I am, and I always have been.  Bet you never thought I would figure that out.”

Oscar:  (almost speechless with shock….)  “What?  Where did you hear that?  Someone is blowing sunshine up your ass, sweetheart.  You are the definition of “not worthy.”

Me:  “Yes.  You’re right.  Jesus has been blowing sunshine up my ass.  I was hoping no one would notice, but nothing gets past you, Oscar.”

Oscar:  “That’s disgusting.  And sacrilegious.  Now you are even more not worthy.”

Me:    “It was a joke, Oscar.  I would never let Jesus near my ass.“

And that is how things are going with Oscar and I today.  It’s super fun.

Time for a nap…. OUTSIDE.  In nature, dammit.

xoxo

kim

*  Or maybe you just didn’t grow up here.  Or maybe you grew up here, but didn’t have a TV or radio, which seems unlikely.  How could you not know the jingle “My bologna has a first name, it’s O-S-C-A-R, my bologna has a second name, it’s M-A-Y-E-R, I love to eat it every day and if you ask me why I’ll say…… cuz Oscar Mayer has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A.  🙂

**  I’m staying at “Idlewilde on the River” (www.idlewilde.net) outside Estes Park, otherwise known as heaven on earth.

Now is the summer of my discontent, yo.

I know I’m misquoting Shakespeare with the whole “discontent” thing.  But guess what?  It’s my blog.  And my discontent.

So.  It’s July.

Gah.

Here is how I want to feel:

Summer!  I love Colorado in the summer!  It’s beautiful and there are mountains and rivers and flowers and live music and festivals and communing with people and nature!  I must not let a moment slip by!

Here’s how I actually feel: 

 FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.  Here I am.  Losing another summer to depression.  It looks pretty outside.  Maybe I should leave the house.  Maybe I should ride my stupid bike.  Or go to the mountains.  Or go to a concert.  Or do any number of the bazillion things that I need to get done…. I’m exhausted just thinking about it….  Maybe tomorrow….

I wonder if the fact that I am frustrated with this depression is an indication that I’m getting a little better?  I mean, I can remember other summers that went by without me even noticing that other people seemed to be having lives.

Could this fucked up/horrible feeling of noticing that life is slipping away be a good sign?

Who knows…?

Anyway.

I went to my psychiatrist a couple of weeks ago.  I really like him.  He’s Canadian.  But that isn’t why I like him.  I like him because he’s smart and he listens and asks good questions and has a great sense of humor.  When we first met in 2008, it took him about 30 minutes of listening to my story to determine that I had been misdiagnosed with “bi-polar disorder” and, consequently, took the exact wrong medications in the exact wrong dosages and combinations for, oh, I don’t know, a fucking DECADE.

Dr. Canuck:  “Who said you’re bi-polar?!”

Me:  “Ummm, a psychiatrist?  Dr. X”

Dr. Canuck:  “That’s crazy.  You know that is crazy, right?”

Me:  “Ummmm. No?”

Dr. Canuck:  “It is.  It’s completely fucked up.  (Note:  he totally said “fucked up” – that’s how I knew I had finally found the right psychiatrist.) and I’m looking at this medication you are taking and I’m looking at you and I don’t even know how you are conscious right now.  If you weren’t sitting right here I wouldn’t believe it.  I can’t believe you even have a job.  You probably shouldn’t even be driving.”

Me:  “Well.  I just lost my third job in, ummm, 3 years.  Technically I quit the first two, but I probably should have been fired.”

Dr. Canuck:  (head in hands) “This might be the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen.  That Dr. X should be in jail.”

Me:  (trying not to cry)  “He’s dead.”

Dr. Canuck:  (smiling)  “Good.  Now I don’t have to call him and tell him what an ass he is.  Don’t cry.  We can fix this.”

Me:  “We can?”

Dr. Canuck:  “Of course we can.  Unless you are actually insane, in which case you’re on your own.” (wink)

God I love that Dr. Canuck.

Upon reflection, I don’t know why I went along with the “bi-polar” diagnosis for so long.  It never really made sense.  I mean, for as long as I can remember (ok, that is an exaggeration, it would be more correct to say that for about the past 20 years that I can remember…) I’ve pretty much had one mood: 

D E P R E S S E D

Maybe two:  Depressed and less depressed.

Maybe three:  Depressed, less depressed and highly anxious.

The point is that none of those moods looked remotely like “mania”, and if you don’t have manic episodes, you don’t have bi-polar disorder.  And you sure as hell don’t need “mood stabilizers” if your ONLY mood is “completely fucking depressed”…

In short, I was not bi-polar and coming off the mood stabilizing and anti-anxiety meds was a bitch.  It took over a year.  Realizing how messed up I had been was also a bitch.  Realizing that I had pervasive memory loss and fuzzy thinking and difficulty speaking for much of that DECADE of DOOM is sad and humiliating.  Not knowing what part of my behavior was “me” and what part could be primarily attributed to the medications is particularly troubling.  I would like to think that some of my more questionable choices/behavior/reactions were the result of being misdiagnosed/medicated, but I’m not sure it’s that simple.

I wish it were simple.

So.  Now we have A New Plan.

It’s kind of scary.  Two weeks ago I started to take reduced doses of my antidepressants and then stopped taking them altogether last Sunday. 

You read that right.  For the first time since 1997, I am not taking any kind of anti-depressant/mood stabilizer/who-knows-what.

I’m supposed to start taking a completely different kind of anti-depressant next week.  It is an “MAOI” drug.  I kind of understand what that means, but not well enough to explain it to anyone else.  I think that the important thing for me is that I’ve never taken a MAOI med, so maybe it will work.  And MAOIs used to be uber-scary, but now they can give it to you via a skin patch and bypass some bad side effects that occurred when the drug was ingested.  And I’m supposed to start wearing the patch on Sunday.

Yikes.

The thing is, I’ve completely disrupted my medication schedule for the past two weeks and I haven’t felt much different…?  I thought I would be suicidal/barricaded in my room/ripping my sad, limp, depressed hair out by now, but I’m not.  I’m kind of okay.  Which makes me think that maybe I should try life without any kind of medication for a while.  Which makes me think, “Kim, isn’t that what crazy people do?” (i.e., go off their meds).  And the answer to that is YES, that is what crazy people do.

And just to push the “crazy” envelope,  I’m thinking maybe I could try to manage my depression/anxiety with diet and (GASP) exercise and some good old-fashioned therapy.

Isn’t it kind of weird that trying to manage depression without scary, brain-altering, “we aren’t even sure how this shit works” type chemicals seems more “crazy” than just taking the scary, brain-altering, “we aren’t even sure how this shit works” type chemicals?

It’s all so complicated.  I don’t know what to do.   I just want to feel better.  I’m so tired of being a spectator in my own life.

xoxo

kim