Superfluous Baloney

I have a migraine. I sit here at my desk with my head pounding, my stomach churning and this mornings breakfast sitting at the back of my throat waiting to make a hasty exit the same way it went it. Yet I sit here at work allow the misery to worsen from the fluorescent lighting and constant noise. The slightest movement makes me dizzy and increases the nausea. My stomach is bloated like a starving child's in a third world country. Each word I speak feels as though it takes as much effort as a flight of stairs. Agitation over the pain and dizziness makes me cross thus my statements come out quite curt. Every once in awhile I close my eyes, put my head in my hands and sigh deeply. As soon as the familiar darkness encompasses me the dizziness kicks in and I feel my breakfast elevating a little more than I am comfortable with. Thankfully, should it decide to show itself again I am a very quiet barfer. Lovely thought, no? The problem with migraines like these is it doesn't even matter if you attempt to lie very, very still with no light and no sound you still don't feel better. The nausea still comes in waves and the dizziness still twirls your brain matter around like a never ending merry-go-round. Adding in the mere thought of horses going up and down and you are sure to find me in the fetal position on the cool bathroom tile willing myself not to lose whatever is left in my innards. The worst yet is the self pity that comes with such illnesses. You suffer silently in your own little world of never ending motion sicknesses. I feel as though the only thing that would make me feel better is a significant other letting me lie my feet across them on the couch while they pat my hand and tell me how much they would like for me to feel better and continuously ask me if they can get me anything. Yes, I throw quite the pity party when I am ill and it's a damn shame no one ever shows up to join in on the festivities. I am exiting now. I've decided I can't bare to be in the upright position much longer, thus I am going home. If you care to join me I will be on the couch in my flannel pjs, warm fuzzy blanket over the top, sandwiched in between two dogs with a cat plopped on top. Actually, now that I think of it, there probably isn't any room left for company anyway.

Today I was thinking about where I was at this time last year. What events had taken place, what things was I looking forward to, who I was involved with. I'm typically horrible about remembering such details. I can remember them when they surround other people, but never myself. However, I remember this point in time last year very well. I had just ended a difficult relationship 6 weeks prior and was feeling quite vulnerable and exposed. It was around this time that I jumped into "something" with someone else without thinking. There was a million different details that made thousands of red flags, alarm bells, etc. go off in my mind regarding this person and their circumstances. I knew better quite frankly, but I did it anyway because I posses an amazing ability to rationalize any damn thing to myself and to others. Sadly, they buy it and I buy it even more. So being the amazing persuader that I am, I jumped in head first into a very messy situation and was left heartbroken just three short months later.

A few weeks prior to the relationship completely dissolving there were some clear indicators that it was going south at a rapid pace. But I clung on convincing myself if I just didn't run this once it would pay off. However, as the days passed I became increasingly aware that it was going to end and it was going to end badly. When this realization hit me I fell into one of the deepest depressions I have yet to experience. I am not ignorant enough to believe it was the relationship that pushed me down into the dark, sadistic bowels of such a sickness. It was me that shoved myself in and would not allow a chance to come up for air. I had, yet again, placed myself in a predicament that was ridiculous and completely wrong for me. Not just once, but twice and in a row. The delicate balance of my Pysche was tipped drastically in an unfavorable direction as a result.

Being the stubborn little person that I am I did not reach out for help. I did not want to admit that I was weak and was not capable of climbing back out on my own. I didn't dare mention to anyone that I have the "illness." They would look at my differently, as if I was broken. As if I was crazy. Or worse, they wouldn't believe me. They might file me away with all the other whiney, unhappy people in the world and I would be discarded.

So I decided I had suffered through such spells before on my own and surely I could make it through another. Unfortunately, I underestimated the strength and determination of this particular episode and thus I was left writhing in it for a good six months or more. Work made up the extent of my social engagements and I only left the house on the weekends to go to the gym or hit the grocery store when my cupboards were so bare I literally only had a can of tomato sauce and a bag of two year old rice. I had no desire to see or converse or interact or even breathe near anyone else. I wasn't necessarily lonely, I just decided it was completely unacceptable for anyone to see me in such a state so I stayed home. For literally six months straight.

About four months in I finally got brave enough to go to the doctor and ask for my medication to be changed. Why did it take four months for me to make the effort? Because when you are depressed you don't necessarily want to get better. Depression wraps around you until it begins to feel like another layer of skin and unfortunately you don't realize it's actually choking you. In a sick, sadistic way, it is comforting. You know how to "do" depression, but getting well is unknown and frightening. What if you try and you just can't get better? What if you get better and then it happens again? (Which is inevitable by the way. It will happen again of course just hopefully for not as long.) When you are depressed logic doesn't work. You are trapped in your own universe where reason and reality don't exist. And if you are not reaching out to anyone to assist you in bringing reason back into your life you stay stuck. Thus, I went to the doctor in an effort to start the process of making the painful climb back out.

Within two weeks of being prescribed a new medicine that seemed to be somewhat working (it takes 30 days for an anti-depressant to absorb into your system completely) I suffered a seizure and they promptly took me off the meds. Thus, the depression continued and, like many others who suffer with such an illness, my thoughts during that time reached almost an embarrassingly deep level with much finality.

The lack of meds in my system only worsened the situation so I stayed submerged for another good two months until I finally made a decision. I literally woke up one day and decided I didn't want to feel this shit anymore. I wanted to be a normal, personable individual again. So I made an appointment with a new doctor. Thank God she happened to be someone who really knows her stuff. Unbeknowst to me at the time, she had actually written a few books on the subject. She was very up to date on current meds and how well they worked depending on the person and their symptoms. (For example, I suffer from anxiety as well as depression so I either need a med that treats both or a combo of two drugs.)

I then made a very risky decision. I asked her to put me on the med that (allegedly) caused the seizure. Of course, I didn't tell her about the little episode that had occurred a few months prior or she would have never taken the chance. Yes, there are other meds that are out there I could have tried. But the problem is with these types of meds is that they effect everyone differently. Some can make you lethargic and sleepy. (Ever seen anyone with that glazed zombie thing goin' on? Yeah, that could be from anti-depressants.) Others can have no impact and still some might make you into a complete anxiety ridden freak. So I was sneaky and did not disclose my prior experience. She prescribed the med along with another for the anxiety and one month later I started to feel normal again. Suddenly I didn't mind being around other living beings that were of my own species (the pooches were my bffs through that fun little episode). I actually WANTED to get out of the house on the weekends and be in public! I even took showers on Saturdays and Sundays! This was seriously notable improvement people. Although I will always be a homebody to some extent, I now don't mind actually making plans to socialize every once in awhile. (The puppies are not fans of that.)

I guess all of this is to say (with an excellent cliche mind you) "What a difference a year makes." I feel much more at ease these days and back to my normal blase` self. It just feels good to be sane again. I think after each one of these types of episodes you come out a little stronger than you were before, a little more resilient. It has taken me almost a full year to admit to anyone what I was experiencing during that time as I have never owned up to my illness before. I feel somewhat lightened from eliviating the load, but still slighlty timid and vulnerable over the thought of sharing this part of my life that I will always battle. It is difficult to say to someone, "I need medication to be normal" especially when you are a single gal traipsing through life as a solo unit. Not everyone is capable of understanding that it doesn't make someone a freak.

The other day I had someone accuse me of being "bi-polar." They were saying it to be mean and spiteful and they reached their goal. The negativity affiliated with such labels will always run rampant. I know several people who are in fact bi-polar. You would never know it if they did not tell you. Many of them put on a brave face for the world and hide their illness as I do because of comments like the one made to me. I'm sure that some ignorant will people will perpetuate the stigmatization of word, but I do believe as more people discover friends and family that suffer from various mental illnesses that negative connotation will eventually lessen at the very least.

I don't know what it is today, but I just kind of feel out of sync...irregular. (Yes, that made me giggle and yes, I have the mental capacity of a 5 year old boy for laughing.) I didn't get a ton of sleep, but it wasn't too crazy short or anything so I don't think that is it. I also assure you it has nothing to do with today's election. I was a good kid and voted two weeks ago. Alright, I'm not that good. It just so happened my gym was set up as an early voting pole place thingies, so it was insanely convenient. I walked out the door of the locker room (dripping with sweat mind you) and walk right up to the little old people that volunteer for that sort of thing. As they were still pondering my inability to utilize public showers, I sauntered over and clicked the little screen until each of my cotes was cast. I even made sure I got a sticker. This is a serious improvement for me. Typically I can't ever locate the polling place and inevitably give up convincing myself my little ole vote doesn't count for anything anyway. I tend to have very moderate political beliefs and standards so I don't get really riled up over elections.

I think it may be the time change that is actually making me all out of whack. I have never understood the true value behind "falling back" each autumn and "springing ahead" each spring. Some people try to give it a positive spin by focusing on the fact that you gain a whole hour of sleep!!! Yes, but I also end up leaving work after the moon has risen and the stars are out. This makes me feel like I wasted my whole day away at work, rather than just the bulk of it. So now instead of it being dark when you wake up in the morning, it is now dark when you get home. How is that beneficial?

I guess the idea originated from Ben Franklin (you can always count on Ben for some wacky ideas...like that whole kite and lightening debacle), but didn't actually see any federal backing until 1918. But people hated it back then because they liked to get up earlier and go to bed earlier than we do now. Weirdos. So then they decided each local jurisdiction could decide if they wanted to practice it or not. As a result we now can change your clock three times as you drive through Arizona, (there is a Native American Indian Reservation in the middle of the state that said they will not utilize daylight savings time), the entire state of Indiana that said fooey, we aren't doing it, and various other areas they have decided to go against the flow. Thus, I never know what time it actually is anywhere because apparently time is not an established law of nature, but rather another area humans can choose to manipulate as they see fit. How spastic have we become that now we even feel the need to control time? Why can't we just agree to leave it alone and the sun can rise and set as it sees fit. As far as I'm concerned, as long as I know what time I get to leave work each day and what time the football game starts, I'm good.

So why do we have to jack with it? And don't give me that hooey that we are trying to limit our use of resources such as electricity. If that's the case, then let's just stay "sprung ahead." What's the big deal? The next candidate for president that adds the controversy known as "Daylight Savings Time" to there platform gets my vote! (As long as that candidate has no affiliations with Alaskan Hockey Moms.)

*For more historical info on the origination of Daylight Savings Time feel free to check out this pretty little website.