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Caving, I guess
Apr. 19th, 2020 08:02 amContent Warning: Mentions of past suicidal ideation. Also discussion about weight/body image issues. Medication.
Back when reality still functioned and didn't feel like wandering through a shut-down theme park, I had stopped taking my antidepressant. I am currently prescribed the generic of Effexor XR. I had spoken to my doctor about it back when I went to get some kind of blood pressure intervention last April. I was leaving on April 30th last year for Japan, and I had been advised that I needed to get my blood pressure down earlier in the year. I'd had an appointment earlier than the middle of April, but the office had to postpone it, not me, so I was like "So, I've completely quit salt, even light salt, like you told me, only using No Salt (even though I hate it on certain foods where I can notice the difference) and my blood pressure is still high and nuts, please help."
He put me on a low-dose, mild blood pressure medication, and the last couple of times it was checked it was in a normalish range. I haven't checked super lately, though.
Anyway, when I talked to him a year ago about maybe getting off my antidepressant because I hadn't had any major depressive episodes and I was feeling a little flattened out, he was nervous about taking me off of it completely when I was just about to have a major life change, even if it was only temporary. He told me to talk to him about it after my traveling was over.
I didn't really get the chance to, because since I don't have insurance when I'm in America, it was pretty difficult to find a reason to just... go... when I got back for good in December. And then I was working, and then this happened.
I was given the go-ahead to sort of see how I responded to taking it every other day or something by him at some point in the past if I felt like it?
So I did that for a bit, and then I just gradually stopped taking it. And for a while, I was fine.
But back in 2016 when I first got on an antidepressant again, I remember the specific day that my mother and I both decided that I had to make a doctor's appointment and do something about myself. I had been through a great sense of personal loss and exhaustion and humiliation that year, too (and even more before the year was over), but I thought I was just... punishing myself but handling it.
But that summer I lost like somewhere between 7 and 15 pounds. I know it was at least 7, but I think it eventually was 15 even when I wasn't doing it on purpose. It was the only time I had ever experienced depression that made me just stop eating for fun. I was denying myself most things and avoiding carbs even though I don't have it in myself to starve myself, plus I was doing some volunteer work because of my grad school program, so the excess weight just melted off. It's the only time in my adult life that I've had a basically flat tummy. And honestly, the weight loss in itself wasn't bad because it did come from both diet and exercise, but it was surreal, because I was doing my required volunteerism and school work and what not, but otherwise I ended up lying around in bed, vaguely contemplating suicide.
Then, I ~met a boy~ and for a little while, things were better. Then they were way worse.
At some point during the midst of this, I was looking for something in a hurry in the house without my shoes on. (I note this because, despite it being weird to many people, my dad is a huge proponent of wearing shoes when being active, even when in the house, and my mom kind of has to in order to be very mobile, so while I usually wander around in socks when not outside, I'm the odd one out.) And I stumped my toe on a chair leg. I cried out in pain, but then I proceeded to melt down into screaming wrath and life, the universe, and everything. I felt almost angry with God because it was like no matter what I did, it turned up failure and loss and pain, and my stubbing my toe was no different from being abruptly and forcibly separated from one of my most important relationships in a way that made me feel traded-in and so on.
And when I finally came down from the banshee screaming (it's honestly like an out of body experience; I've never been destructive, especially not to anyone else's stuff, but it's like trembling rage just washes through my body and I can't control the hysterical grief and gnashing of teeth when it gets like this), my mom was like, "Yeah, you need help."
But then I got on the antidepressant and I stopped being required to do as much physical work in my degree program and I was briefly eating in a social, celebratory way back when my whole grad school cohort got along and made it a point to socialize. But then we started falling apart into cliques, and I'm sure that my brief, based-on-lies relationship with one of them did something to contribute to how that became no longer a thing. But I kept eating, because it was one of the only comforts I could squeeze in. And I kept going to bed whenever I could, but this time it was on a full stomach instead of a barely-fed or empty stomach. So while I had lost 7-15 pounds, I quickly put it back on and proceeded to gain like 15 more over the next six months to a year. Which was really disheartening for me.
(For the record, I'm ten-ish pounds down from what I was when I went to Japan last year still. My lowest was about 12-15 down from it, but I've put some back on, and I'm trying to walk regularly and sorta keep approximate count of calories to see if there's anything I can do under the circumstances.)
Anyway, yesterday, I was about to go on my walk. My dad asked if I wanted to go alone or if I wanted company. I said I didn't mind either way, but then I proceeded to hang around the house waiting on him to be ready to go.
Then he announced that he was, and he asked if I was going with him or if I would prefer to still go by myself. I was looking at my computer, having been waiting, and I looked up and said "I'll go."
My voice was weak, and my dad has some hearing issues at times, so I guess he didn't hear me the first two times I said it. I was actually trying to avoid sounding glum about it. I was just complacent. But somehow this turned into a whole thing where he felt that I meant it in the sense of "Ugh if I have to," when I didn't at all. I told him he was reading too much into it and that I had waited on him or would've been gone already, but it still turned into this big fight.
My parents are usually reasonable, and they've never tried to make me "shut up and do what you're told" to the point that I was not allowed to assert myself at all. However, it's been a bit of a tight-rope as an adult, because sometimes I feel like they still treat me like a teenager. But then again, I also feel like that functionally my role in the household hasn't changed that much since I was a teenager, when I happen to be around, and that there's nothing I can do to earn or merit more respect on the basis of merit as it were.
And I know how I get when I have this uncontrolled depression issue. I know it is entirely possible that I'm coming off as hostile on autopilot, and I don't mean to at all! Most of my friends praise me for patience and understanding when I'm in my right mind. But apparently I'm not.
So yesterday, I had a kind of breaking point crying fit after this stupid argument that led to us both going on separate walks in a huff. Then I came back, did some chores, and packed up my stuff to come over to the parsonage. I needed space, but my dad got over his hurt feelings and annoyance a lot quicker than I did, so we were on some kind of peaceful level when I left. But I came over here, in part, to dig around and find my bottle of antidepressants. It's almost full if not, a 90 day supply. I'm gonna try every other day for a few days.
If the air conditioner and weather and family will allow, I might stay over here for about four or five days to see if anything is happening.
So far, my stomach has just been really upset, but at the moment I don't feel like breaking down into hysteria over minor annoyances.
Even if it's the placebo effect, I'll take it, but I do think that as soon as it seems reasonable that if I am going to have to take medication that I need to ask my doctor about another option, between the stomach upset and the fact that eventually this stuff tends to flatten me out, too.
I keep reminding myself that this whole pandemic situation is a collective trauma and frustration. I wrote on twitter yesterday that I completely understand where any of these idiots who are protesting stay-at-home orders and proclaiming the virus is a hoax while wearing masks in public are coming from? Like, I understand that feeling of "If my life doesn't somehow feel like it's moving forward again, I'm going to kill something or myself!"
But it's not a rational reaction to have, and it isn't fair to myself, my family, or the rest of the world to just start disregarding some of the only community responsibility Americans have been asked to have in ages.
I really hope that I can maybe go back to Japan in the fall. I just need to run all of this out of my system somehow (or fast walk since my knees have never agreed with running).
But in the meantime, here's hoping chemicals will help me control my mortal framework.
Back when reality still functioned and didn't feel like wandering through a shut-down theme park, I had stopped taking my antidepressant. I am currently prescribed the generic of Effexor XR. I had spoken to my doctor about it back when I went to get some kind of blood pressure intervention last April. I was leaving on April 30th last year for Japan, and I had been advised that I needed to get my blood pressure down earlier in the year. I'd had an appointment earlier than the middle of April, but the office had to postpone it, not me, so I was like "So, I've completely quit salt, even light salt, like you told me, only using No Salt (even though I hate it on certain foods where I can notice the difference) and my blood pressure is still high and nuts, please help."
He put me on a low-dose, mild blood pressure medication, and the last couple of times it was checked it was in a normalish range. I haven't checked super lately, though.
Anyway, when I talked to him a year ago about maybe getting off my antidepressant because I hadn't had any major depressive episodes and I was feeling a little flattened out, he was nervous about taking me off of it completely when I was just about to have a major life change, even if it was only temporary. He told me to talk to him about it after my traveling was over.
I didn't really get the chance to, because since I don't have insurance when I'm in America, it was pretty difficult to find a reason to just... go... when I got back for good in December. And then I was working, and then this happened.
I was given the go-ahead to sort of see how I responded to taking it every other day or something by him at some point in the past if I felt like it?
So I did that for a bit, and then I just gradually stopped taking it. And for a while, I was fine.
But back in 2016 when I first got on an antidepressant again, I remember the specific day that my mother and I both decided that I had to make a doctor's appointment and do something about myself. I had been through a great sense of personal loss and exhaustion and humiliation that year, too (and even more before the year was over), but I thought I was just... punishing myself but handling it.
But that summer I lost like somewhere between 7 and 15 pounds. I know it was at least 7, but I think it eventually was 15 even when I wasn't doing it on purpose. It was the only time I had ever experienced depression that made me just stop eating for fun. I was denying myself most things and avoiding carbs even though I don't have it in myself to starve myself, plus I was doing some volunteer work because of my grad school program, so the excess weight just melted off. It's the only time in my adult life that I've had a basically flat tummy. And honestly, the weight loss in itself wasn't bad because it did come from both diet and exercise, but it was surreal, because I was doing my required volunteerism and school work and what not, but otherwise I ended up lying around in bed, vaguely contemplating suicide.
Then, I ~met a boy~ and for a little while, things were better. Then they were way worse.
At some point during the midst of this, I was looking for something in a hurry in the house without my shoes on. (I note this because, despite it being weird to many people, my dad is a huge proponent of wearing shoes when being active, even when in the house, and my mom kind of has to in order to be very mobile, so while I usually wander around in socks when not outside, I'm the odd one out.) And I stumped my toe on a chair leg. I cried out in pain, but then I proceeded to melt down into screaming wrath and life, the universe, and everything. I felt almost angry with God because it was like no matter what I did, it turned up failure and loss and pain, and my stubbing my toe was no different from being abruptly and forcibly separated from one of my most important relationships in a way that made me feel traded-in and so on.
And when I finally came down from the banshee screaming (it's honestly like an out of body experience; I've never been destructive, especially not to anyone else's stuff, but it's like trembling rage just washes through my body and I can't control the hysterical grief and gnashing of teeth when it gets like this), my mom was like, "Yeah, you need help."
But then I got on the antidepressant and I stopped being required to do as much physical work in my degree program and I was briefly eating in a social, celebratory way back when my whole grad school cohort got along and made it a point to socialize. But then we started falling apart into cliques, and I'm sure that my brief, based-on-lies relationship with one of them did something to contribute to how that became no longer a thing. But I kept eating, because it was one of the only comforts I could squeeze in. And I kept going to bed whenever I could, but this time it was on a full stomach instead of a barely-fed or empty stomach. So while I had lost 7-15 pounds, I quickly put it back on and proceeded to gain like 15 more over the next six months to a year. Which was really disheartening for me.
(For the record, I'm ten-ish pounds down from what I was when I went to Japan last year still. My lowest was about 12-15 down from it, but I've put some back on, and I'm trying to walk regularly and sorta keep approximate count of calories to see if there's anything I can do under the circumstances.)
Anyway, yesterday, I was about to go on my walk. My dad asked if I wanted to go alone or if I wanted company. I said I didn't mind either way, but then I proceeded to hang around the house waiting on him to be ready to go.
Then he announced that he was, and he asked if I was going with him or if I would prefer to still go by myself. I was looking at my computer, having been waiting, and I looked up and said "I'll go."
My voice was weak, and my dad has some hearing issues at times, so I guess he didn't hear me the first two times I said it. I was actually trying to avoid sounding glum about it. I was just complacent. But somehow this turned into a whole thing where he felt that I meant it in the sense of "Ugh if I have to," when I didn't at all. I told him he was reading too much into it and that I had waited on him or would've been gone already, but it still turned into this big fight.
My parents are usually reasonable, and they've never tried to make me "shut up and do what you're told" to the point that I was not allowed to assert myself at all. However, it's been a bit of a tight-rope as an adult, because sometimes I feel like they still treat me like a teenager. But then again, I also feel like that functionally my role in the household hasn't changed that much since I was a teenager, when I happen to be around, and that there's nothing I can do to earn or merit more respect on the basis of merit as it were.
And I know how I get when I have this uncontrolled depression issue. I know it is entirely possible that I'm coming off as hostile on autopilot, and I don't mean to at all! Most of my friends praise me for patience and understanding when I'm in my right mind. But apparently I'm not.
So yesterday, I had a kind of breaking point crying fit after this stupid argument that led to us both going on separate walks in a huff. Then I came back, did some chores, and packed up my stuff to come over to the parsonage. I needed space, but my dad got over his hurt feelings and annoyance a lot quicker than I did, so we were on some kind of peaceful level when I left. But I came over here, in part, to dig around and find my bottle of antidepressants. It's almost full if not, a 90 day supply. I'm gonna try every other day for a few days.
If the air conditioner and weather and family will allow, I might stay over here for about four or five days to see if anything is happening.
So far, my stomach has just been really upset, but at the moment I don't feel like breaking down into hysteria over minor annoyances.
Even if it's the placebo effect, I'll take it, but I do think that as soon as it seems reasonable that if I am going to have to take medication that I need to ask my doctor about another option, between the stomach upset and the fact that eventually this stuff tends to flatten me out, too.
I keep reminding myself that this whole pandemic situation is a collective trauma and frustration. I wrote on twitter yesterday that I completely understand where any of these idiots who are protesting stay-at-home orders and proclaiming the virus is a hoax while wearing masks in public are coming from? Like, I understand that feeling of "If my life doesn't somehow feel like it's moving forward again, I'm going to kill something or myself!"
But it's not a rational reaction to have, and it isn't fair to myself, my family, or the rest of the world to just start disregarding some of the only community responsibility Americans have been asked to have in ages.
I really hope that I can maybe go back to Japan in the fall. I just need to run all of this out of my system somehow (or fast walk since my knees have never agreed with running).
But in the meantime, here's hoping chemicals will help me control my mortal framework.
