Here's to serotonin

I don't like taking medication. I don't even like taking Advil. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's part of the sick pride I get out of "not needing." When it's cold out, I don't need to turn on the heater, damn it; I'll just wear 3 sweaters and wool socks. When the soles of my shoes start to fall off, I don't need new shoes, damn it; I just need some duct tape. When I have a headache, I don't need a pill, damn it; I just need you to stay out of my f-ing way. I suppose I took this whole stubborn charade a bit too far when I thought I didn't need food. Food schmood. Pish posh. These pretzels are more than enough for lunch, thanks. Oh, former version of self, how wrong you were.

But there's a present version of myself that still thinks it's weak to need. I still think I should be able to will myself out of pain -- physical or mental. When I'm sick, I'm not mopey and lethargic; I'm extremely pissed off. I have no patience for things that remind me of my vulnerabilities. I think I should be all-powerful, superior, strong.

With this mentality, it's not surprising that I've been skeptical of psychiatry. It's easy for me to support others who take medications for mental issues. After all, diabetics take insulin, cancer patients use chemo. Depression is a disease, blah blah blah, it should be treated as such, blah blah blah. I understand all of this, logically, yet it's been very hard for me to apply this logic to myself. I still judge myself. I still feel like I'm not trying hard enough.

Yet, I've run the gamut when it comes to non-medication remedies for depression. I've read self-help books, which really only depressed me more because the theories for feeling better sounded so simple, and yet I couldn't get them to work for me. This led to the familiar "Kim is a failure" refrain. I've done yoga. I've breathed deeply. I've pet animals. I've pet Larry. I've gone for walks. I've got my diet in a healthy place. I'm the picture of perfect health, physically, according to my doctor. I've been in therapy for a decade. Therapy has helped me, that's for sure. But, what seems to happen is that I feel great the day of the session, and I feel good the day after, then it's a steady decline until the next week. Achieving any long-standing stability with my mood has been difficult.

I had my appointment with the psychiatrist today. Let's call him Dr. M because, well, that's the first initial of his actual last name (I'm not that creative, contrary to popular belief). He's great, very thorough. I was surprised when he said he felt my depression was very severe. Really? I consider this just sort of normal. Severe? I've always thought of severe depression as lethargy -- lying in bed, having crying fits. I don't lie in bed with crying fits. I stand up when I have crying fits. Duh. Seriously though, he says there are many people with "anxious depression." The anxiety keeps them functioning, in a way. I think I've had mild depression (dysthymia) since I was a teenager. I have vivid memories of myself in high school, making deals with myself to be in a good mood more often. I was always perplexed when I felt unable to do this, when I had spells of very low moods. I told Dr. M about last month, when I had a very real plummet. It was the first time in a long, long time when I doubted my ability to function, when I had trouble leaving the house, when I felt like I should be in one of those commercials with the wind-up toy and the sad-looking lady. He said lots of people with dysthymia have drops. They call this "double depression" (double your pleasure, double your fun...). I come out of these drops, but I still hang out in the mild depression state, where it's hard work for me to enjoy anything, I don't sleep well, I get very thrown off by minor things, my appetite vanishes, I feel like life is pointless and I write lots of short stories in which someone dies.

Long story short, he gave me a prescription for Lexapro. I thought that if I was going to go this route, I would get a non-SSRI. I must feel the need to be special in some way. Apparently, Dr. M does not think I am so special. An SSRI it is. I was on Celexa when I was in treatment way back when. I like to think it didn't do anything, but objectively, while I was on it, I was the happiest I'd been in my whole life. It's hard to tell if it was the daily therapy, the structured meals, the Celexa, or Malibu scenery, but the Celexa didn't hurt. I went off of it in grad school since I felt better (a rookie mistake), and I do remember "the moods" returning, slowly but surely. Lexapro is the distilled, improved Celexa, so we'll give it a go (and by "we'll" I mean "I'll"; I don't have multiple personality disorder, I just like using the royal "we").

Tonight, I lift my glass to serotonin, cautiously hopeful. I'll let you know how it goes...in 4-6 weeks.

I would like to have a question of the day, but I feel it's invasive to ask about medication sometimes. If you have any medication thoughts to share, I'd love to hear them.

***
Today's gratitude:

1. Larry cracked a great wisdom egg today (this is the phrase I use when he says something that triggers an epiphany for me). Our boss suggested we all eat lunch in the office together on Wednesday and Larry said, "No, thanks. Kim and I are doing lunch together that day." I said, "Oh my god, aren't you afraid he'll be mad?" (Of course, he wasn't mad, but I hate declining things, even if they don't sound fun to me). Larry said it's better to be upfront. I'm always wishy-washy because I feel bad saying "no." His wisdom egg: If you're wishy-washy, it just encourages people to try to persuade you further. They assume you're just indecisive, not that you're trying to be nice.

2. My sister and her husband got the cutest Boxer puppy. They did it on a whim yesterday. Very spontaneous. Again, I'm not sure we're related, except we look awfully similar.

3. I just remembered the Winter Olympics start this Friday. I love watching the Olympics.

4. My 3-month "probation" is up at work this week, meaning I'm eligible for benefits.

5. It's snack time.