After MIdnight

Here I am sitting up behind the computer at 12:12 a.m. What am I doing? Well, I'm waiting for my medication to kick in, for one. I'm not only a member of the Prozac Nation, but now I'm also on and anti-psychotic medication. I forget what it's even called.

But it is supposed to make me drowsy. And I am not yet very drowsy, I must say. I just paid the bills and filed away some receipts and such and I need to go to sleep now. However, my mind is still racing around and trying to figure out what is what.

One thought that entered my head while I was lying in bed is how quickly time passes. My mother just recently announced that she is going to retire after her next birthday! Seems like only yesterday that I was sitting behind my TV in my bedroom, pretending to do my homework, while my mother was in the next room. That was like twenty-eight years ago. And now she's retiring! It makes me feel old.

I am happy for her though. It will give her time to come spend with me and her grandkids. She'll have to drive 11 hours to get here, but she is certainly welcome. This motivates us to get the downstairs bathroom finally installed for her. She has her own room downstairs, but it is no-frills at the moment.

So, about this medication I'm taking...

I've been on it for a couple days now. It is supposed to suppress my "intrusive thoughts" that I keep having. I'm thinking that it is working the way it should so far, but it will take some time to see if those thoughts actually go away. They are violent thoughts and they scare the hell out of me. I don't intend to think these thoughts, they just jump into my head and there they are staring at me in the face. My whole face... it's accosted by violent images at the most inopportune times. They are not visions, per se, more flashing daytime nightmares (daymares?). The thoughts have calmed down a bit, but haven't as yet completely disappeared. I'm not sure they will. I hope so. It's getting very troubling.

I was told by my therapist that if the intrusive thoughts didn't go away and instead got worse that I would have to be hospitalized. Yep! For the first time since I was diagnosed with depression in 2003, the possibility of lodging at the loony bin has surfaced--like a sea serpent with a bleeding migraine headache.

Another reason I feel old... a nineteen-year-old in my book store told her friend that she "feels old."

Where's my cane?

What the hell

I'm starting over. This used to be a podcast about depression. It used to be a blog about depression. I am still depressed. I still need to write about it even though my podcast has podfaded and my blog has been abandoned.

One of the things that my therapist said I should do when I'm alone and thinking disturbing thoughts is to sit down and write about them. So, that's what I'm going to do.

I've cleared out all of the old shows and posts and I'll be evolving this page when I get the chance. I make the excuse that I don't have any time to write anything, so don't be surprised if I make that excuse again! I love to make excuses for my failures. Funny, since failure is something I'm afraid of, apparently--according to my therapist.

I'm pissed off or sad most of the time and right now I'm in a happy medium between the two. Some people keep a mood journal. I suppose that might be what this is supposed to be.

I don't have much time since I have to go pick up my little boy from Parent's Morning Out. See, there I go making excuses again!

I used to be a good writer. I used to write every day. I've even been published several times. Since my depression was diagnosed, I've not written anything worth reading. Are you still reading now?

Fuck. I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of being anxious. I'm fed up with being sad and confused and not able to make decisions. I'm not thinking clearly and haven't been thinking clearly in years. I walk around in a fog and bump into my troubles with my forehead.



I did do something positive for the depression community yesterday: You can hear me on freetalklive.com on 7-7-09 talking about how depression is a real disease and not a figment of our imaginations. I think Ian toned down his rhetoric after having me on, if I do say so myself.


Gotta split.

I promise myself to spit out more written gore on a regular basis.