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Sometimes, i forget to take my medication. Feel free to scroll down. I don't feel like cut-tagging right now.
Sometimes, i misplace it.
It's a function of anti-depressive medication, that it's a self-reinforcing cycle either way. If you are taking the medication regularly, it creates a level of functioning at which you can have a regular schedule. If you don't take it regularly or miss a day or two, the regular functioning quickly spirals downward.
I've been meaning to look for my medicine for two days, and it was always on the list somewhere, but for two days I was too busy to actually do it. I hadn't seen it; I actually thought it was missing, like maybe I'd left it in the car at the shop.
This morning, I felt so bad, finding the medication became a priority. I got home (stayed at Adam and Jo's last night) and walked upstairs and turned my pocketbook inside out. Literally, just picked it up by the bottom and upended it, and there were the meds. Right there, not hard to find at all.
And so I'm not taking them right this minute because if I'm going to have gone through feeling like this, I'm going to write down what I've learned about it ... in case not feeling like dreck makes me forget.
I have come to the conclusion that I have a major filtering problem somewhere. It's another one of those situations where the problem itself makes it hard to figure out. When I'm anxious, it seems to come from nothing, and it attaches to everything: I'm upset because I don't have a boyfriend, because Mark is being a weirdo, because my car is broken, because I feel guilty about my mom helping me, because someone I used to like won't speak to me, because I don't have cigarettes, because my room isn't clean, because I'm smoking too much, because there's nothing to eat, because I hate my job, because I am a failure, because I'm too fat, because I never exercise, because I hate my ex-boyfriend, because I'm not sure my friends like me, because I never got into grad school, because I never wrote a book, because I quit my job at the newspaper, because I'm a poor actor, because I'm not kind enough, because I get hurt too easily, because the milk is sour, because nobody likes me.
I spend constant frustrated wheel-spinning energy on trying to figure out how to fix what's wrong. What's wrong? Everything! And it's all my fault! Everything must be right for things to be ok, and everything is my responsibility.
This is not just about my emotions. That same flood of perception happens in many areas. When I stop smoking cigarettes, smells assail me constantly. The smells that assail me when I am smoking cigarettes are enough. The other day, i walked into an office building. They'd just been doing some kind of remodeling, and the smell of paint and wood finish was instantly noticeable. I took the elevator to the second floor. The smell was just as strong there as the first floor. I said to the guy behind the desk, "Someone at your office has tuna fish for lunch." It had obviously (to me) joined the other scents when I got off the elevator.
I can't stand bright lights, inconsistent food textures, or irregular touch sensations. Rain drives me up a creek. I think that it's ridiculous to pay for concert tickets when the best place to listen to the concert is on the outside of the back stadium wall.
It's made my brain an intricate thing, full of trivia and connecting things into patterns constantly. The input is apparently only limited by my attention and the associations I can hook into with any given piece of data.
It makes finishing things, even a thought, highly improbable.
* * * * *
"Time and attention." Mark said he was tired of me demanding his time and attention. When I said, ok, I'll back off then, he replied that he only meant he was tired of me demanding his time and attention to nag and complain. That he was tired of my aggravating his feelings of hopelessness about the world. I don't know if I believe him, since waiting politely never seems to get his attention, while yelling does.
On the other hand, I think of all the other people that I don't contact, or limit contact with, because I don't want to weigh them down. I think about how, as much as I love Janel, I'm aware of her life, and there's a point at which I just self-censor: that would be the point at which even I'm convinced I'm just whining and feeling sorry for myself. Like now. Like now. Like now.
I don't know who to talk to or what to talk to them about. Becky says that, in spite of my perception that my life is messed up and chaotic, it's not really worse than anyone else's. I'm just constantly surprised at other people's reactions. I'm not sure how those two thoughts got connected. Drat. I hate it when that happens.
Janel actually summed up some Becky advice the other day: submit to what's topping you, and don't try to save the tar babies. They sound weird, but weird enough that I remember what she meant. That I don't "go with the flow" or "bend in the wind" enough. That if I move with the prevailing pressures that are not there to harm me, and if I remember that other people get stuck in the same thing and they aren't my problem, I'll get along better. This gets me back to my car and my mother... but maybe I'll do that part later.
* * * * *
Last night at Jo and Adam's, we watched "Changing Lanes," with Ben Affleck and Samuel Jackson. It's an interesting film because Ben Affleck represents the conflict between good and evil, while Samuel Jackson represents the conflict between chaos and order.
But Ben Affleck's character does far more to redeem himself from his dilemma. Which is not to say that Samuel Jackson isn't trying to be alright, but it doesn't give me the kind of answers that Affleck's character seemed to get. (Looking at reviews that say pretty good things, but frequently pan the "too pat" ending, I'd say I probably agree.)
Jackson plays this recovering alcoholic, and it's obvious that he's got a death grip on the "recovering" part. His entire establishing scenes are about his ritualistic need to do things correctly, to pull himself away from the chaos of alcoholism. Everything in his life seems tagged and compartmentalized.
So when Affleck hits him on the freeway and refuses to do things Jackson's way, the crack is easy to see. Jackson blames Affleck for his loss of control and goes on a rampage, without the benefit of a single drink. William Hurt, who plays Jackson's AA partner, gives it to him straight: "Alcohol is no longer your drug of choice. For some people it's coke, for some people it's booze, for you, it's chaos."
Affleck finds his line between good and evil, whether you agree with it or not. Jackson, on the other hand, seems to find no way to bend in the wind. Without his rigid control, he's a raging bull. He plays the character well, even makes it believable that the character sees this flaw as his world that he built comes apart again... but it doesn't really give me any idea how he -- or I -- could become a stable person.
* * * * *
There does seem to be one redeeming factor to today: I do not seem to have the Richard Marx song stuck in my head anymore. Man, talk about depressing.
Sometimes, i misplace it.
It's a function of anti-depressive medication, that it's a self-reinforcing cycle either way. If you are taking the medication regularly, it creates a level of functioning at which you can have a regular schedule. If you don't take it regularly or miss a day or two, the regular functioning quickly spirals downward.
I've been meaning to look for my medicine for two days, and it was always on the list somewhere, but for two days I was too busy to actually do it. I hadn't seen it; I actually thought it was missing, like maybe I'd left it in the car at the shop.
This morning, I felt so bad, finding the medication became a priority. I got home (stayed at Adam and Jo's last night) and walked upstairs and turned my pocketbook inside out. Literally, just picked it up by the bottom and upended it, and there were the meds. Right there, not hard to find at all.
And so I'm not taking them right this minute because if I'm going to have gone through feeling like this, I'm going to write down what I've learned about it ... in case not feeling like dreck makes me forget.
I have come to the conclusion that I have a major filtering problem somewhere. It's another one of those situations where the problem itself makes it hard to figure out. When I'm anxious, it seems to come from nothing, and it attaches to everything: I'm upset because I don't have a boyfriend, because Mark is being a weirdo, because my car is broken, because I feel guilty about my mom helping me, because someone I used to like won't speak to me, because I don't have cigarettes, because my room isn't clean, because I'm smoking too much, because there's nothing to eat, because I hate my job, because I am a failure, because I'm too fat, because I never exercise, because I hate my ex-boyfriend, because I'm not sure my friends like me, because I never got into grad school, because I never wrote a book, because I quit my job at the newspaper, because I'm a poor actor, because I'm not kind enough, because I get hurt too easily, because the milk is sour, because nobody likes me.
I spend constant frustrated wheel-spinning energy on trying to figure out how to fix what's wrong. What's wrong? Everything! And it's all my fault! Everything must be right for things to be ok, and everything is my responsibility.
This is not just about my emotions. That same flood of perception happens in many areas. When I stop smoking cigarettes, smells assail me constantly. The smells that assail me when I am smoking cigarettes are enough. The other day, i walked into an office building. They'd just been doing some kind of remodeling, and the smell of paint and wood finish was instantly noticeable. I took the elevator to the second floor. The smell was just as strong there as the first floor. I said to the guy behind the desk, "Someone at your office has tuna fish for lunch." It had obviously (to me) joined the other scents when I got off the elevator.
I can't stand bright lights, inconsistent food textures, or irregular touch sensations. Rain drives me up a creek. I think that it's ridiculous to pay for concert tickets when the best place to listen to the concert is on the outside of the back stadium wall.
It's made my brain an intricate thing, full of trivia and connecting things into patterns constantly. The input is apparently only limited by my attention and the associations I can hook into with any given piece of data.
It makes finishing things, even a thought, highly improbable.
"Time and attention." Mark said he was tired of me demanding his time and attention. When I said, ok, I'll back off then, he replied that he only meant he was tired of me demanding his time and attention to nag and complain. That he was tired of my aggravating his feelings of hopelessness about the world. I don't know if I believe him, since waiting politely never seems to get his attention, while yelling does.
On the other hand, I think of all the other people that I don't contact, or limit contact with, because I don't want to weigh them down. I think about how, as much as I love Janel, I'm aware of her life, and there's a point at which I just self-censor: that would be the point at which even I'm convinced I'm just whining and feeling sorry for myself. Like now. Like now. Like now.
I don't know who to talk to or what to talk to them about. Becky says that, in spite of my perception that my life is messed up and chaotic, it's not really worse than anyone else's. I'm just constantly surprised at other people's reactions. I'm not sure how those two thoughts got connected. Drat. I hate it when that happens.
Janel actually summed up some Becky advice the other day: submit to what's topping you, and don't try to save the tar babies. They sound weird, but weird enough that I remember what she meant. That I don't "go with the flow" or "bend in the wind" enough. That if I move with the prevailing pressures that are not there to harm me, and if I remember that other people get stuck in the same thing and they aren't my problem, I'll get along better. This gets me back to my car and my mother... but maybe I'll do that part later.
Last night at Jo and Adam's, we watched "Changing Lanes," with Ben Affleck and Samuel Jackson. It's an interesting film because Ben Affleck represents the conflict between good and evil, while Samuel Jackson represents the conflict between chaos and order.
But Ben Affleck's character does far more to redeem himself from his dilemma. Which is not to say that Samuel Jackson isn't trying to be alright, but it doesn't give me the kind of answers that Affleck's character seemed to get. (Looking at reviews that say pretty good things, but frequently pan the "too pat" ending, I'd say I probably agree.)
Jackson plays this recovering alcoholic, and it's obvious that he's got a death grip on the "recovering" part. His entire establishing scenes are about his ritualistic need to do things correctly, to pull himself away from the chaos of alcoholism. Everything in his life seems tagged and compartmentalized.
So when Affleck hits him on the freeway and refuses to do things Jackson's way, the crack is easy to see. Jackson blames Affleck for his loss of control and goes on a rampage, without the benefit of a single drink. William Hurt, who plays Jackson's AA partner, gives it to him straight: "Alcohol is no longer your drug of choice. For some people it's coke, for some people it's booze, for you, it's chaos."
Affleck finds his line between good and evil, whether you agree with it or not. Jackson, on the other hand, seems to find no way to bend in the wind. Without his rigid control, he's a raging bull. He plays the character well, even makes it believable that the character sees this flaw as his world that he built comes apart again... but it doesn't really give me any idea how he -- or I -- could become a stable person.
There does seem to be one redeeming factor to today: I do not seem to have the Richard Marx song stuck in my head anymore. Man, talk about depressing.
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-18 01:52 pm (UTC)And paranoid schizophrenics have even worse trouble with their meds. Once they miss a dose, the Drugs are another tool of the Them that stalks and persecutes them, and they are unable to take the meds which will dampen or destroy the dellusions and hallucinations.
Of course last I checked, you're not as bad off as all that. Which I guess puts me in agreement with B and J's comments: There's nothing wrong with your life, except that you stress out over the idea that there's something wrong with your life. Kinda like FDR's quote on 'fear'.
See you tonight, perhaps!
(no subject)
Date: 2003-10-19 11:38 am (UTC)Everyone has chaos in their life. We all admit to that fact... some people are able to leave it at the door when attending work or another function, some people carry it with them like an albatross around their neck. Some people don't react or seem to care at all: those are the people that really scare me.
We love you, Kat... all three of us... and we'll always be there for you. I'm not one to give advice, but sometimes, you've got to let it all go and prioritze... and you need to prioritize on yourself, leaving everyone else waiting for you to decide what's right for YOU. And if you need to yell at anyone, Adam's nearly deaf anyway, so it doesn't bother him.