A new model

I've been thinking a lot about why I've been so resistant to the idea of taking medication for an illness I know is real and debilitating. Something you hear a lot in mental health conversations when this topic comes up is the comparison between antidepressants and insulin. "If you were diabetic, would you feel guilty for taking your insulin? No, because you would recognize that you need it to live and be healthy. Depression is like that too – it's a physical disease that can be treated with medication and lifestyle choices. Blah blah blah."

Now that I'm also diabetic, I can tell you this is true. I don't use insulin but I do take other medication, and I've never felt guilty about it. There is at least one glaring difference between diabetes and depression, though, and that is the fact that with diabetes, I have a glucometer and other tests that can tell me exactly what my blood sugar is, and has been, and therefore there's no guessing whether the illness is "real" or a figment of my imagination. With depression there's no test, no meter, nothing but my own feelings and experience. It might be an illness, or it might be the result of my evil ways, lack of character, disconnection from god ... Even though I don't really believe that, my religious indoctrination was heavy and deep, and still rears its head pretty regularly in vulnerable moments.

Anyway, I've had kind of an awakening this week in my thinking about depression. I've decided to stop feeling guilty about it and start treating it the same as any other illness. When my blood sugar numbers start going wacky, I know what to do and I do it. And if it doesn't work, I know other things to try, and other people to ask. I don't feel the need to apologize to anyone if I have a week or so of bad numbers; I accept it as something my body is doing that needs to be attended to, and I do the best I can to take care of myself while I ride it out.

Maybe taking care of myself in depression really can be just as simple as that. I know what I need to do, mostly, and even though those things are a lot harder to do than the things I do for my diabetes, they're not impossible. The most disabling part of depression isn't really the physical stuff anyway, though that's pretty hard too; the hardest part is the emotional element of it – feeling guilty for being sick, so guilty I sometimes can't even allow myself to believe that's what's really happening. Which means no treatment, which means needless suffering. No thank you.

I have a friend who has MS, who is sometimes more functional from day to day, and sometimes less. Another friend has Lyme disease – same thing. When there's a flare-up, they deal with it. When things settle back down, they give thanks.

I'm going to try doing the same with depression.

... and a loop-de-loop for good measure

WHAT a day. After my last desperate post I went back to bed and slept until it was time to visit my hospice patient. The best thing about the visit was actually just about the best thing about the whole day – as I was getting ready to leave, she made a great effort to speak and was able to pronounce the words, "I enjoyed our visit." It's the first thing she's ever said that I've been able to understand, and it meant a lot to me. I would love to be able to write about her here because she's a truly fascinating and inspiring person, but that is not allowed. We're not supposed to talk about our patients at all with anyone who's not on the care team. I will say, though, that I'm enjoying our visits too, and getting some good perspective on what's important to me.

After the visit I went to an Al-Anon meeting, just to try and reground myself. Then home, where I found Mr. A in a mood I could not attend to without disturbing us both even more. So I left again to go to yoga, followed by a steam and soak in the spa, followed by calmed nerves and a feeling of relative well-being, at least compared to how I've been feeling most of the last several weeks.

Then I got home again and found an email from my ex-husband. He's in town and has some video of me from when we were first together; he wants me to call him so he can get it to me.

Truthfully I'm too exhausted right now to decide what I want to do. My first thought is that I most definitely don't want to see him. Second thought is that I would like to see that video though, and really, what could be so bad about seeing him for a few minutes? We were only together a few years, from the day we met to the day I left – less than half as long as I've been with Mr. A already. I've definitely moved on. So what's the big deal?

Mainly, I just don't want to have to talk about myself to anyone right now, especially someone who's seen me like this before. Also, if he's doing great, I don't want to see it. It isn't that I wish him any trouble or sadness, but I just ... don't want to see him doing great, when I'm doing so not-great.

Another part of me still wants to see him as a potential ally, someone who knew me well at one time, knew my family, cared about me to some degree, and might understand how I'm suffering now and might even be able to offer some comfort. How insane is that? I guess those thoughts just show how isolated I've felt from the community I grew up in, and how that loss still hurts, even after all this time. Anyone with even the most tenuous connection to Mormonism starts feeling like a lifeline, even when my own history with that person shows they're not to be trusted.

I dunno. I don't have to decide right now. In fact, right now I'm about to enjoy the moment I've been looking forward to all day – falling asleep again. Tomorrow has to be a better day.

Bumps in the road

I swear I never set out to make this my online catalog of complaints ... But. I do need to record that I'm sort of taking a nosedive right now. So much so that my therapist is insisting I get back on meds, at least for awhile. Which I am going to do starting this week.

Depression sucks. I still have such a hard time accepting it as an illness that is not my fault; symptoms like hopelessness, feelings of worthlessness and guilt, anxiety, complete and total physical and mental exhaustion all feel like things I should be able to "get over" with positive thinking, exercise and a healthy diet. The fact that I can't only makes me feel like more of a loser.

So I hope the medication helps.

Other than this one big black spot on my heart, things are going OK. The house and garden are looking good, the dogs are awesome, I'm exercising every day and getting out with friends and eating mostly pretty well. Bea went in for her spay surgery this morning, which I've been having very mixed feelings about. Not that I want her to have puppies, because I definitely don't. It's just that she's my little girl, and this is major surgery, and I've never had a girl dog before and I really hate the thought of anyone cutting into her poor sweet little puppy belly for any reason. I dropped her off this morning and cried all the way home.

I also stopped by my old house, which happens to be just across the street and down a bit from my vet's office. The property has been on the market for at least seven or eight years and it finally sold, so right now it's sitting empty and as luck would have it the doors were open so I let myself in and spent a half hour or so walking through and remembering how much I loved the place when I lived there. I was lonely there a lot of the time, but it was such a sweet little house, all French doors and windows and a little stone fireplace, with flowers and vines and roses everywhere and beautiful trees all around. It's been sadly neglected, and painted some pretty god-awful colors, but the plum tree I planted ten years ago is doing great and so is the lemon verbena, and the fencing I built when Tater was born is holding up well too. I don't know who bought it but I'm guessing the whole place will probably be bulldozed before too long, since nobody who could afford to buy it would ever consent to live in it, and it's too far gone now to offer as a rental. So that was kind of sad too, though I'm glad I got a chance to see it one last time, empty, instead of full of ugly crap "antiques" for sale like the last time I stopped by. It will always stay in my memory as one of my favorite houses I've ever had.

It feels weird to be here with just Tater and me. Bea is staying at the vet clinic overnight. It's a foggy, cold morning; the fog never did really burn off yesterday and maybe it won't today either. I really should get out and go for a long walk, try to metabolize some of these stress chemicals ... or maybe I'll just go back to bed for awhile and walk later.