Hello darkness, my old friend
Jul. 23rd, 2010 05:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
changeyourstars8((because what fun is an entry about depression if you can't use a dramatic Simon and Garfunkel lyric for the title?))
So for those of you who don't know-- which is most everybody, because I went into Hermit Mode about it again-- I'm back on the Cymbalta. I was having an episode every day, and though I tried all of the coping strategies I'd been using while I was pregnant (driving somewhere, going on a walk, listening to music) nothing helped.
I wasn't going to tell anybody that it was back. I struggled to keep from letting Chris know for the first couple of weeks after Ian was born-- in the weeks leading up to his birth, my hormones were apparently wonky enough that it kept the depression at bay, and I thought I was 'cured' and told him so. He was really happy for me, and I didn't want to spoil that. So I chalked up any crying as just being tired with a new baby. Then the suicidal ideation came back while he was at work, so I ended up calling mom at 5:30 a.m. She asked if Chris knew what was going on, I told her no, and she gave me the verbal equivalent of a smack on the back of the head.
A lot of wanting to keep it hidden was the denial. If I could just deal with it myself, get a handle on things with no help from anyone else or any medication, then maybe what I have isn't actually depression, isn't really that bad and I don't have to be terrified that I've passed this unlucky number in the genetic lottery on to my kids.
And also, Chris is nervous about that kind of medication. Due to my experience with Lexapro, he worries about side effects, especially if the Cymbalta stops working in its current dosage and I have to increase what I take or switch meds altogether. Of course, my constantly-depressed state interpreted that worry as "I don't want you to resort to meds, and if you do I'm going to think you're weak and lose respect for you". Yay twisted mindsets. I finally talked to him about that in the middle of an episode, and he said, "Even if that was what I think-- you're hurting. Fuck what I think. Take the medicine." I started back on it that night.
So he knew, and mom knew, but I kept putting off telling anyone else. But something naamah_darling said the other day reminded me of why I started talking about this in the first place.
"That's why even though it sometimes sucks, I write about this shit as honestly as I can. The being bipolar, the body image issues, everything. Because the thing that helped me the most was knowing I was not alone. Conveniently, that's the part that I am good at giving back to other people. Nobody should have to feel alone with this crap."
I was helped so much by looking around online and seeing that other people were dealing with this, too. So here's some of what it's done, the good and the bad.
I nearly stopped writing for a while. I did stop sending material to publishers and agents, because what my Normal Brain would've interpreted as, "This project isn't right for these people; try again with someone else", my Depressed Brain took as "This book sucks and you suck and the people you sent it to are all laughing at you because again, you suck". The sole good side was that I discovered I actually like self-publishing through Lulu. I don't deal well with airplanes or interacting with a lot of strangers, and while I love reading accounts on my friends-list from people who're published and doing book tours and stuff, I know that isn't something I'm looking for. I like my little corner; it's the introvert in me. ;-)
I've put Chris through a heck of a lot that I wish I hadn't. On the good side of that, I'm getting better at actually talking things out instead of just pretending nothing's wrong. Used to be that if I couldn't make a joke out of it, I wouldn't mention it at all. That's slowly changing.
I lost a lot of the first few months of my daughter's life, because I couldn't even think straight. There is no good side to that.
I've only had a couple of mild episodes since I went back on the Cymbalta; no suicidal impulses. I'm hoping that lasts.
So for those of you who don't know-- which is most everybody, because I went into Hermit Mode about it again-- I'm back on the Cymbalta. I was having an episode every day, and though I tried all of the coping strategies I'd been using while I was pregnant (driving somewhere, going on a walk, listening to music) nothing helped.
I wasn't going to tell anybody that it was back. I struggled to keep from letting Chris know for the first couple of weeks after Ian was born-- in the weeks leading up to his birth, my hormones were apparently wonky enough that it kept the depression at bay, and I thought I was 'cured' and told him so. He was really happy for me, and I didn't want to spoil that. So I chalked up any crying as just being tired with a new baby. Then the suicidal ideation came back while he was at work, so I ended up calling mom at 5:30 a.m. She asked if Chris knew what was going on, I told her no, and she gave me the verbal equivalent of a smack on the back of the head.
A lot of wanting to keep it hidden was the denial. If I could just deal with it myself, get a handle on things with no help from anyone else or any medication, then maybe what I have isn't actually depression, isn't really that bad and I don't have to be terrified that I've passed this unlucky number in the genetic lottery on to my kids.
And also, Chris is nervous about that kind of medication. Due to my experience with Lexapro, he worries about side effects, especially if the Cymbalta stops working in its current dosage and I have to increase what I take or switch meds altogether. Of course, my constantly-depressed state interpreted that worry as "I don't want you to resort to meds, and if you do I'm going to think you're weak and lose respect for you". Yay twisted mindsets. I finally talked to him about that in the middle of an episode, and he said, "Even if that was what I think-- you're hurting. Fuck what I think. Take the medicine." I started back on it that night.
So he knew, and mom knew, but I kept putting off telling anyone else. But something naamah_darling said the other day reminded me of why I started talking about this in the first place.
"That's why even though it sometimes sucks, I write about this shit as honestly as I can. The being bipolar, the body image issues, everything. Because the thing that helped me the most was knowing I was not alone. Conveniently, that's the part that I am good at giving back to other people. Nobody should have to feel alone with this crap."
I was helped so much by looking around online and seeing that other people were dealing with this, too. So here's some of what it's done, the good and the bad.
I nearly stopped writing for a while. I did stop sending material to publishers and agents, because what my Normal Brain would've interpreted as, "This project isn't right for these people; try again with someone else", my Depressed Brain took as "This book sucks and you suck and the people you sent it to are all laughing at you because again, you suck". The sole good side was that I discovered I actually like self-publishing through Lulu. I don't deal well with airplanes or interacting with a lot of strangers, and while I love reading accounts on my friends-list from people who're published and doing book tours and stuff, I know that isn't something I'm looking for. I like my little corner; it's the introvert in me. ;-)
I've put Chris through a heck of a lot that I wish I hadn't. On the good side of that, I'm getting better at actually talking things out instead of just pretending nothing's wrong. Used to be that if I couldn't make a joke out of it, I wouldn't mention it at all. That's slowly changing.
I lost a lot of the first few months of my daughter's life, because I couldn't even think straight. There is no good side to that.
I've only had a couple of mild episodes since I went back on the Cymbalta; no suicidal impulses. I'm hoping that lasts.
