21 Jul 2017 - Resumption
Hello, readers. It's been over a month since my last proper post.
The most important event that has transpired is my transition from taking Lexapro to a new antidepressant, Wellbutrin (buproprion). I took Lexapro for a total of 133 days, and have been on buproprion for 27. So far, I've seen much more improvement on this drug than I did with escitalopram, and am experiencing fewer side effects. However, and this is critical, buproprion is a far less forgiving drug than Lexapro as far as the repercussions of missing doses. Missing just a single dose of buproprion results in a rapid and intense resurgence of all of the worst aspects of my depression - the feeling of worthlessness, the belief that no one cares about me, the sensation of profound separation, the desire to die. It was an experience that scared me such that the mere thought of not taking it, or not having access to my medicine, makes me anxious and fearful in a way that nothing else ever has.
Overall, though, my depression is controlled far better on the Wellbutrin. There are precious, fleeting times now where what I think and feel are wholly me, and while there are still lows, as there likely will be for the rest of my life, they aren't as deep or as intractable.
In addition, I've started going to therapy again, with a new person. I've really clicked with my counselor, Stephanie, and even though I've only had two sessions with her as I write this, I'm hopeful that it will be more helpful than my prior counseling ever was.
So far, the biggest thing that I've gotten out of my time with Stephanie is the realization that not only is my belief that no one truly cares about me near the root of the suite of symptoms and behaviors that constitute my depression, but it's a defense mechanism, a way (if incredibly maladaptive) to protect myself from harm. It's a shield to keep people at arm's length, where my disappointment with my relationships won't hurt as much. It explains why the feeling comes on the strongest when things are going pretty well - the trigger for it is stable, supportive relationships, the kind that can cause the most damage should they sour.
It's nice to be able to find some explanation.
On the topic of relationships, my friendship with Favorite Person feels as strained as ever, at least for me it does. I don't know how she views it, but the feeling that I'm drifting away is omnipresent. There are brief times when my depression's not coloring my entire perspective, and in those times, I feel like things are going to be okay. Then the moment passes and the fear that I'm overutilizing a finite store of her patience returns. I don't know how to address it or what to do about it - I've expressed my thoughts to her a few times now, and while she's said that she's not going anywhere, it's done little to ease my fear. I still wait for the day to come when I say something that I can't apologize away. The day she decides that she's finally had enough.
It's what I would do if I had a friend like me. It's what I would have done a long time ago.
I've worked on strengthening my friendship with Curly, partly to replace the void left by the absence of feeling comfortable confiding any and everything in Favorite Person, partly to fulfill a painful, desperate need for socialization. Curly knows about the crap that goes on in my head, about my fears and pains and visceral worries; she listened patiently as it all came tumbling out over tea late one evening. As always, there was a fear that I'd be judged for what I can't control, even though I know that that's not at all how she operates. She just listened, and asked questions, and listened more.
Curly's been making a point to check in with me, to ask how I'm doing, and I truly appreciate the gesture. No matter how deep a low I may be in, being asked how I'm doing is the one thing that makes me feel like someone cares. More than making sure I'm eating and drinking, more than shared physical space, more than hugs and arm squeezes and reassuring touches. Ask me how I'm doing. Ask. Please ask.
I still want Favorite Person to go back to checking in with me with some frequency, even if I say the same thing each and every time. I still feel like asking for that is asking for too much.
As an aside, Curly brought her dog down for the summer, a sweet and well-behaved mutt named River. I'm fond of him, and his old man groans, and his love of walks. His presence in the house is grounding, a tether to reality; I just wish that he were the kind of dog that liked sleeping in bed with you.
Something I've noticed of late is an incredibly strong, pining desire to be in a relationship, specifically with a girl. My unmet need to give and to love and to please and to be affectionate features more prominently now, floating just below the surface of my mind, ever present. I've attempted to channel that need into doting on River and Romeo (the ginger Hemingway cat), and I've tried to tamp down the accompanying need for contact some with occasional hugs from and hair-brushing sessions with Favorite Person, but it's nowhere near enough. Even though it's as hot as Satan's armpit and just as humid here, the desire to be entwined in another woman's arms runs deep. It's pathetic, but I spend my nights curled up around a big stuffed bear just because I need something to hold while I sleep.
I've asked both Favorite Person and Curly to set me up if either of them meet someone that they think might be a good match for me. I don't think that either will (meet someone, that is), but I'm still hoping. Desperately hoping.
Speaking of, I'm a little amused by how my attraction has gradually shifted from just guys to mostly guys to mostly girls to more or less just girls. Men are trash, and I trust other women more than I trust any man. Besides, sleeping with a woman can't get me pregnant - not that that would be much of an issue anyways since fertility issues run in my family on both sides - and the risk of STI transmission is low, and those are kind of important given the way women's healthcare is going in this country.
I don't know if I'm going to go back to writing each and every day, as doing so eventually became a distressing task, forcing myself to relive and relay whatever had gone on in my head all day. That's something that I want to avoid whenever possible, especially as I gradually work towards recovery. My goal for now is to post three times weekly; if I feel like writing more or less frequently than that, I will.
Until then. I missed writing to you guys, all three or four of youse that read this blog.
And I want you
We can bring it on the floor
You've never danced like this before
We don't talk about it
Dancin' on, do the boogie all night long
Stoned in paradise, shouldn't talk about it
21 Jul 2017
The most important event that has transpired is my transition from taking Lexapro to a new antidepressant, Wellbutrin (buproprion). I took Lexapro for a total of 133 days, and have been on buproprion for 27. So far, I've seen much more improvement on this drug than I did with escitalopram, and am experiencing fewer side effects. However, and this is critical, buproprion is a far less forgiving drug than Lexapro as far as the repercussions of missing doses. Missing just a single dose of buproprion results in a rapid and intense resurgence of all of the worst aspects of my depression - the feeling of worthlessness, the belief that no one cares about me, the sensation of profound separation, the desire to die. It was an experience that scared me such that the mere thought of not taking it, or not having access to my medicine, makes me anxious and fearful in a way that nothing else ever has.
Overall, though, my depression is controlled far better on the Wellbutrin. There are precious, fleeting times now where what I think and feel are wholly me, and while there are still lows, as there likely will be for the rest of my life, they aren't as deep or as intractable.
In addition, I've started going to therapy again, with a new person. I've really clicked with my counselor, Stephanie, and even though I've only had two sessions with her as I write this, I'm hopeful that it will be more helpful than my prior counseling ever was.
So far, the biggest thing that I've gotten out of my time with Stephanie is the realization that not only is my belief that no one truly cares about me near the root of the suite of symptoms and behaviors that constitute my depression, but it's a defense mechanism, a way (if incredibly maladaptive) to protect myself from harm. It's a shield to keep people at arm's length, where my disappointment with my relationships won't hurt as much. It explains why the feeling comes on the strongest when things are going pretty well - the trigger for it is stable, supportive relationships, the kind that can cause the most damage should they sour.
It's nice to be able to find some explanation.
On the topic of relationships, my friendship with Favorite Person feels as strained as ever, at least for me it does. I don't know how she views it, but the feeling that I'm drifting away is omnipresent. There are brief times when my depression's not coloring my entire perspective, and in those times, I feel like things are going to be okay. Then the moment passes and the fear that I'm overutilizing a finite store of her patience returns. I don't know how to address it or what to do about it - I've expressed my thoughts to her a few times now, and while she's said that she's not going anywhere, it's done little to ease my fear. I still wait for the day to come when I say something that I can't apologize away. The day she decides that she's finally had enough.
It's what I would do if I had a friend like me. It's what I would have done a long time ago.
I've worked on strengthening my friendship with Curly, partly to replace the void left by the absence of feeling comfortable confiding any and everything in Favorite Person, partly to fulfill a painful, desperate need for socialization. Curly knows about the crap that goes on in my head, about my fears and pains and visceral worries; she listened patiently as it all came tumbling out over tea late one evening. As always, there was a fear that I'd be judged for what I can't control, even though I know that that's not at all how she operates. She just listened, and asked questions, and listened more.
Curly's been making a point to check in with me, to ask how I'm doing, and I truly appreciate the gesture. No matter how deep a low I may be in, being asked how I'm doing is the one thing that makes me feel like someone cares. More than making sure I'm eating and drinking, more than shared physical space, more than hugs and arm squeezes and reassuring touches. Ask me how I'm doing. Ask. Please ask.
I still want Favorite Person to go back to checking in with me with some frequency, even if I say the same thing each and every time. I still feel like asking for that is asking for too much.
As an aside, Curly brought her dog down for the summer, a sweet and well-behaved mutt named River. I'm fond of him, and his old man groans, and his love of walks. His presence in the house is grounding, a tether to reality; I just wish that he were the kind of dog that liked sleeping in bed with you.
Something I've noticed of late is an incredibly strong, pining desire to be in a relationship, specifically with a girl. My unmet need to give and to love and to please and to be affectionate features more prominently now, floating just below the surface of my mind, ever present. I've attempted to channel that need into doting on River and Romeo (the ginger Hemingway cat), and I've tried to tamp down the accompanying need for contact some with occasional hugs from and hair-brushing sessions with Favorite Person, but it's nowhere near enough. Even though it's as hot as Satan's armpit and just as humid here, the desire to be entwined in another woman's arms runs deep. It's pathetic, but I spend my nights curled up around a big stuffed bear just because I need something to hold while I sleep.
I've asked both Favorite Person and Curly to set me up if either of them meet someone that they think might be a good match for me. I don't think that either will (meet someone, that is), but I'm still hoping. Desperately hoping.
Speaking of, I'm a little amused by how my attraction has gradually shifted from just guys to mostly guys to mostly girls to more or less just girls. Men are trash, and I trust other women more than I trust any man. Besides, sleeping with a woman can't get me pregnant - not that that would be much of an issue anyways since fertility issues run in my family on both sides - and the risk of STI transmission is low, and those are kind of important given the way women's healthcare is going in this country.
I don't know if I'm going to go back to writing each and every day, as doing so eventually became a distressing task, forcing myself to relive and relay whatever had gone on in my head all day. That's something that I want to avoid whenever possible, especially as I gradually work towards recovery. My goal for now is to post three times weekly; if I feel like writing more or less frequently than that, I will.
Until then. I missed writing to you guys, all three or four of youse that read this blog.
And I want you
We can bring it on the floor
You've never danced like this before
We don't talk about it
Dancin' on, do the boogie all night long
Stoned in paradise, shouldn't talk about it
21 Jul 2017
Comments
Post a Comment