I HATE THROWING UP.
Is there anything less dignified than sticking your face in a toilet bowl for the purpose of heaving up perfectly good food? Don't answer that... I just remembered what happens at the hospital. In any case, it's disgusting.
Somebody needs to tell this fetus that the morning sickness is supposed to be getting BETTER, not worse. Up until this week, I wasn't actually throwing up. Yesterday I tossed everything I ate in the morning; just now, same thing.
On the positive side of things, my toilet has never been cleaner. Darned if I'm sticking my face in a bowl that smells like... well... toilet cleaner is preferable, if not pleasant.
And for the record, puke being a lovely shade of pink and tasting like watermelon does not make the experience any more pleasant.
* * * * * * *
Other than that, I'm... well, not fine, but I'm surviving. I saw my "brain doctor" yesterday (people get so uncomfortable if I say psychiatrist, shrink, etc... I'm not crazy, just sick). My assessment put me at Severe Depression, which is unfortunate- I was doing so well. The good news is that my meds aren't hurting the baby; good thing, since we're past the most dangerous part now, anyway. Probably. We're still not sure how old he/she is.
Hot flashes- check. Exhaustion- check. I'll live. It all just makes it hard to be excited, you know? At least I've got AJ- he gave my tummy a goodnight kiss last night. It was sweet. :)
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Friday, February 5, 2010
Work- the Good Stuff
Originally posted July 16/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
I know that I spend an excessive amount of time (and space) bitching about work- the overworked, underpaid, Stinkwater parts. Sometimes, though, I go in for a shift and I'm reminded of why I'm still there. It's not the job- it's the people.
Friday was a bad day. Friday was a spent the day crying, thought AJ was going to have to take me to the emergency room*, feeling guilty for crying in front of Simon day. Most days right now I'm ok, but once in a while my hormones do something that makes it feel like I've never been treated for depression- I'm back in the whirlpool again. Simon was so good about it- I was trying not to cry in front of him (I never want him to wonder if it's his fault), but he's not stupid. He knew what was up. So he took care of me; he tried to feed me his lunch, and he kept running over to give me more hugs and kisses than I usually get in a week. They say toddlers don't understand that other people have feelings, but I'm not so sure about that.
In any case, I went to work that night. I had calmed down; I was exhausted, I looked like shit, but I was there. The first person I saw was was the Spookster- he was on the phone in the back. "I gotta call you back," he said, and hung up. I was back to being a little weepy by then, so he came into the break room to see what was up. Everyone there knows I'm pregnant, so they're quite understanding. I got a big, comforting hugm and cried all over him- I think I cried as much because he cared that much as because I was crying anyway. Like I said- crying at everything. And then C. came in.
"EEEEEEEEEK!"
C. likes to squeal, especially every time she looks at my belly, which doesn't even look pregnant yet. She gives good hugs, too. "I so wish I was pregnant," she said. I laughed. There I was, crying for no reason, no make-up on my pale, blotchy face, wanting to barf every 5 seconds, in desperate need of about 12 hours' sleep... and people want to be pregnant. Oh, it's magical, alright. Yeah, it's worth it in the end, and I know most people don't get it as bad as I do (I think my mom did, in fact, have magical pregnancies), but it's still funny to hear people say that.
Down on the floor, T. (the most overworked and underpaid of the lot of us) asked how I was doing, let me do my thing at the fitting rooms and wouldn't let me do any heavy lifting.
The point is, the people I work with are great. The ones who stick around for a while are the ones who take care of each other. We're all in it together, up to our armpits in mess, working our asses off (most of us) for $7.50 an hour... or less. But we have fun. I don't hang out with anyone from work in my non-working hours, but I consider many of them my friends. I don't want to get sappy or anything... they're just great people to have around when you need comfort... or a laugh... or timbits (thanks, Spookerooni).
That's why I'm still there.
*This is what you're supposed to do. Even if your emergency is of the mental health variety, go to the emergency room. They have people who will help you (and not look at you like you're crazy).
I know that I spend an excessive amount of time (and space) bitching about work- the overworked, underpaid, Stinkwater parts. Sometimes, though, I go in for a shift and I'm reminded of why I'm still there. It's not the job- it's the people.
Friday was a bad day. Friday was a spent the day crying, thought AJ was going to have to take me to the emergency room*, feeling guilty for crying in front of Simon day. Most days right now I'm ok, but once in a while my hormones do something that makes it feel like I've never been treated for depression- I'm back in the whirlpool again. Simon was so good about it- I was trying not to cry in front of him (I never want him to wonder if it's his fault), but he's not stupid. He knew what was up. So he took care of me; he tried to feed me his lunch, and he kept running over to give me more hugs and kisses than I usually get in a week. They say toddlers don't understand that other people have feelings, but I'm not so sure about that.
In any case, I went to work that night. I had calmed down; I was exhausted, I looked like shit, but I was there. The first person I saw was was the Spookster- he was on the phone in the back. "I gotta call you back," he said, and hung up. I was back to being a little weepy by then, so he came into the break room to see what was up. Everyone there knows I'm pregnant, so they're quite understanding. I got a big, comforting hugm and cried all over him- I think I cried as much because he cared that much as because I was crying anyway. Like I said- crying at everything. And then C. came in.
"EEEEEEEEEK!"
C. likes to squeal, especially every time she looks at my belly, which doesn't even look pregnant yet. She gives good hugs, too. "I so wish I was pregnant," she said. I laughed. There I was, crying for no reason, no make-up on my pale, blotchy face, wanting to barf every 5 seconds, in desperate need of about 12 hours' sleep... and people want to be pregnant. Oh, it's magical, alright. Yeah, it's worth it in the end, and I know most people don't get it as bad as I do (I think my mom did, in fact, have magical pregnancies), but it's still funny to hear people say that.
Down on the floor, T. (the most overworked and underpaid of the lot of us) asked how I was doing, let me do my thing at the fitting rooms and wouldn't let me do any heavy lifting.
The point is, the people I work with are great. The ones who stick around for a while are the ones who take care of each other. We're all in it together, up to our armpits in mess, working our asses off (most of us) for $7.50 an hour... or less. But we have fun. I don't hang out with anyone from work in my non-working hours, but I consider many of them my friends. I don't want to get sappy or anything... they're just great people to have around when you need comfort... or a laugh... or timbits (thanks, Spookerooni).
That's why I'm still there.
*This is what you're supposed to do. Even if your emergency is of the mental health variety, go to the emergency room. They have people who will help you (and not look at you like you're crazy).
This Is Where I Live
Originally posted July 7/2007 in "Allison Wonderland"
Depression is kind of like the Transformers, though WAY less cool- it's more than meets the eye.
If you take an assessment quiz for Depression, you get the questions almost everyone would expect to find, asking about feelings of hopelessness and despair, thoughts about harming yourself (or worse)- pretty much emo stuff, but without the music and the drama. And if you're answering "yes" to any of those questions, you're in a bad way. The deepest levels of Depression suck you down into an inky black whirlpool where you don't know what's up or down, and you can't see your hand in front of your face. Nothing makes sense, and nothing good seems true anymore.
If you're lucky, you get help, and they find a treatment (or combination of treatments) that works for you. Maybe what you're going through is situational, brought on by a traumatic event; if you're really "lucky" (ha ha), you'll be fine after cognitive therapy and a course of antidepressants to help your brain get through the worst of it. If you're like me, it's in your genes. You don't see it coming- you're probably too tired to see it coming, thanks to either insomnia or too much of what they call "non-restorative sleep"... and you're not going to get over it. You learn to fight as hard as you can when it's getting bad, and you get over feeling weak for needing medication to deal with what so many people refuse to accept as a real disease. But it gets a bit better.
At first it feels so good to get out of that gaping, sucking whirlpool- anything is better than that. But then you realize that you're now floating on a dead, grey sea. Alone on your raft, no land in sight; no birds, no whales, no interesting crap floating by in the water.
Some days are ok, some are actually good, but there are always relapses. Sometimes a medication just craps out on you, leaving you free-falling back to square one. Sometimes you encounter one of those traumatic events that would break anyone. And sometimes you're just too tired to fight. Even if you don't end up crying for days or having a panic attack, you always have the other stuff to deal with- the "more than meets the eye" crap.
The complete emotional flatness that comes when the medications won't let you cry.
The lack of interest in absolutely everything that used to bring you joy- reading, movies, fishing, walks in the park... you'd rather be in bed.
The guilt that you try to talk yourself out of; your brain says it's not your fault, but something else tells you that you're not doing enough, that your family and friends are disappointed in you...
The not wanting to be. Oh, you're not going to hurt yourself or anyone else... but sometimes you just want to give up. You don't want to be who you are, but you don't want to be anyone else, either.
Yeah, those days suck. It's not wallowing in misery, it's not spiritual weakness or lack of faith, it's not a cry for attention. Actually, on days like that, I'd rather be left alone. It's just that old sickness coming back, just reminding you that no matter how much positive thinking you do, how you practice turning around your "cognitive fallacies", how well you think your medications are balancing the chemicals and receptors in your brain... it's there, it's yours. Just like a person with diabetes can watch her diet, take her insulin, test her blood sugar, and still have bad days, so do we. We hope this is as bad as it gets, but can't help but remember those who lost the fight. It can be a deadly disease.
Why am I writing this today? Because it's been a week of ups and downs- mostly downs. I haven't been crying, but I haven't been happy. I blame hormones for a lot of it this time around, and stressful events, good and bad. I'll get through it, just like I always do, and I'll try to be thankful that it's not worse. A bad day isn't always tears and yelling; a bad day is often just not wanting to do, or go, or be.
I just wanted to put this out there. You all know someone who's struggling with Depression, the "common cold of mental illness"- though significantly more dangerous than a case of the sniffles. Please be gentle if they're having a bad day... or week... or year. Even if we can't always say so, your friendship means so much.
Depression is kind of like the Transformers, though WAY less cool- it's more than meets the eye.
If you take an assessment quiz for Depression, you get the questions almost everyone would expect to find, asking about feelings of hopelessness and despair, thoughts about harming yourself (or worse)- pretty much emo stuff, but without the music and the drama. And if you're answering "yes" to any of those questions, you're in a bad way. The deepest levels of Depression suck you down into an inky black whirlpool where you don't know what's up or down, and you can't see your hand in front of your face. Nothing makes sense, and nothing good seems true anymore.
If you're lucky, you get help, and they find a treatment (or combination of treatments) that works for you. Maybe what you're going through is situational, brought on by a traumatic event; if you're really "lucky" (ha ha), you'll be fine after cognitive therapy and a course of antidepressants to help your brain get through the worst of it. If you're like me, it's in your genes. You don't see it coming- you're probably too tired to see it coming, thanks to either insomnia or too much of what they call "non-restorative sleep"... and you're not going to get over it. You learn to fight as hard as you can when it's getting bad, and you get over feeling weak for needing medication to deal with what so many people refuse to accept as a real disease. But it gets a bit better.
At first it feels so good to get out of that gaping, sucking whirlpool- anything is better than that. But then you realize that you're now floating on a dead, grey sea. Alone on your raft, no land in sight; no birds, no whales, no interesting crap floating by in the water.
Some days are ok, some are actually good, but there are always relapses. Sometimes a medication just craps out on you, leaving you free-falling back to square one. Sometimes you encounter one of those traumatic events that would break anyone. And sometimes you're just too tired to fight. Even if you don't end up crying for days or having a panic attack, you always have the other stuff to deal with- the "more than meets the eye" crap.
The complete emotional flatness that comes when the medications won't let you cry.
The lack of interest in absolutely everything that used to bring you joy- reading, movies, fishing, walks in the park... you'd rather be in bed.
The guilt that you try to talk yourself out of; your brain says it's not your fault, but something else tells you that you're not doing enough, that your family and friends are disappointed in you...
The not wanting to be. Oh, you're not going to hurt yourself or anyone else... but sometimes you just want to give up. You don't want to be who you are, but you don't want to be anyone else, either.
Yeah, those days suck. It's not wallowing in misery, it's not spiritual weakness or lack of faith, it's not a cry for attention. Actually, on days like that, I'd rather be left alone. It's just that old sickness coming back, just reminding you that no matter how much positive thinking you do, how you practice turning around your "cognitive fallacies", how well you think your medications are balancing the chemicals and receptors in your brain... it's there, it's yours. Just like a person with diabetes can watch her diet, take her insulin, test her blood sugar, and still have bad days, so do we. We hope this is as bad as it gets, but can't help but remember those who lost the fight. It can be a deadly disease.
Why am I writing this today? Because it's been a week of ups and downs- mostly downs. I haven't been crying, but I haven't been happy. I blame hormones for a lot of it this time around, and stressful events, good and bad. I'll get through it, just like I always do, and I'll try to be thankful that it's not worse. A bad day isn't always tears and yelling; a bad day is often just not wanting to do, or go, or be.
I just wanted to put this out there. You all know someone who's struggling with Depression, the "common cold of mental illness"- though significantly more dangerous than a case of the sniffles. Please be gentle if they're having a bad day... or week... or year. Even if we can't always say so, your friendship means so much.
Shy
Originally posted May 16/2007 on "Allison Wonderland"
Simon and I just got home from Moms & Tots group (otherwise known as "Tater Tots") at the church. I actually suggested the group, and Mrs. Pastor's-Wife got things started. Lots of moms (and tots) show up every Wednesday morning so the kids can play and the moms can chat, and everyone has muffins and stuff. It's good... so why do I feel so uncomfortable with the other moms?
It's a bit like being in high-school again. Stuff's going on all around me, but it's hard for me to join in on the conversations. I try, but I always seem to start talking at the same time as someone else, and they win out. A lot of them already knew each other from church (or high school, grade school, fetus-hood, or whatever) before the group started, so I suppose it's easier for them to have conversations. But I just feel different from the other moms. A lot of them dress really nicely: nice casual pants, shoes with heels, stylish shirts... I wear jeans, maybe cords, long-sleeved t-shirts. They probably dress like they would for work; I dress like I do for work, too, but VV has a different dress code from most offices. Not only that- I'm pretty sure I'm the youngest mom there. I'm the youngest... and I look like I'm 16 (18 on a good hair day).
I try so hard to overcome my natural shyness, mostly because I want to set a good example for Simon. He's happy enough to play on his own, but I wanted to start this group so he'd be exposed to other kids since he doesn't have daycare to get that experience. So far he's doing the typical toddler thing, watching the other kids (and looking like he wonders how these crazy clothed monkeys got into his church), but playing on his own.Some time soon, though, he'll want to make friends, and I want him to see that it's OK to be outgoing, to talk to new people. It's supposed to be good for me, too- Dr. A says I need to get out and socialize, as isolation isn't good for anyone, especially for someone with Depression.
So why do I often leave feeling more depressed than I did when I went in?
It's a bit like being in high-school again. Stuff's going on all around me, but it's hard for me to join in on the conversations. I try, but I always seem to start talking at the same time as someone else, and they win out. A lot of them already knew each other from church (or high school, grade school, fetus-hood, or whatever) before the group started, so I suppose it's easier for them to have conversations. But I just feel different from the other moms. A lot of them dress really nicely: nice casual pants, shoes with heels, stylish shirts... I wear jeans, maybe cords, long-sleeved t-shirts. They probably dress like they would for work; I dress like I do for work, too, but VV has a different dress code from most offices. Not only that- I'm pretty sure I'm the youngest mom there. I'm the youngest... and I look like I'm 16 (18 on a good hair day).
I try so hard to overcome my natural shyness, mostly because I want to set a good example for Simon. He's happy enough to play on his own, but I wanted to start this group so he'd be exposed to other kids since he doesn't have daycare to get that experience. So far he's doing the typical toddler thing, watching the other kids (and looking like he wonders how these crazy clothed monkeys got into his church), but playing on his own.Some time soon, though, he'll want to make friends, and I want him to see that it's OK to be outgoing, to talk to new people. It's supposed to be good for me, too- Dr. A says I need to get out and socialize, as isolation isn't good for anyone, especially for someone with Depression.
So why do I often leave feeling more depressed than I did when I went in?
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