I don't know how many people in the world suffer from depression at any given point in time . . . I don't think anyone really knows. Sure, scientists can throw statistical calculations out there and come up with an estimated number of people who are depressed, but when it really comes down to it, it is still a guess. I am one of those statistics and learning to live with depression is a life-long quest that at times provides me with humorous outcomes and other times dark ones.
For years I suffered from "migraines" that made any little noise make my head feel like it would explode and even small amounts of light would burn through my eyes and pierce my brain like an ice pick. I put the word migraines in quotes because that was what my doctor diagnosed me with when I told him about the issues I was having with being angry and unhappy, how I would yell at my husband and children for stupid reasons, cry because I was overwhelmed, and get headaches that made me vomit. He also diagnosed me as being under stress - at the time I had two very demanding jobs, two young children, a husband, and lots of bills to pay (like most of the population). I think it was easier for my doctor to focus on the words "overwhelmed" and "headaches" and tie all of my issues to stress induced "migraines". I did suffer from migraines and I did have stress, however, the other symptoms were kind of ignored and I didn't pursue further treatment because I now had a diagnosis. I had decided in my own mind that the stress and migraines were the cause of all my other symptoms just like my doctor thought. It was easy enough to think this way because my symptoms were not constant. They would come and go, usually coincided with my migraines.
During the "bad" days, I hated my husband and resented my children. I felt like I did everything and they all just wanted me around to be their maid. I wanted to quit my job and move far away because I just knew life would be better somewhere else. Besides, nobody appreciated anything I did and nobody would miss me anyway. I became over sensitive about the most menial issues and would scream like a banshee at my family over stupid things like "walking too loud". Seriously? Who walks too loud? I cried at television commercials, I became more compulsive than normal, and I ate . . . boy, did I eat! I could sit down and consume thousands of calories in one sitting - I would justify it by telling myself that nobody cared if I got fat and died. I ate because at the time the tastes and textures running across my tongue provided a euphoric feeling that made me forget about every other issue that plagued me. I had thoughts of killing myself and came up with multiple plans that could be carried out at any time - I thank God that my base religious upbringing had me believing suicide was sin that resulted in a direct path to Hell. That alone is the only reason I am here to writing this today.
Then, the "bad" days would just disappear like someone turned off a switch and life was good again . . . for a while.
Eventually I became convinced I was truly crazy and that I was turning into (gasp) my mother. It really wasn't too far fetched to believe I was going crazy - I have quite an extensive family history of mental illness and the crazy train had finally stopped at my house. At the time I didn't know that I suffered from a specific form of depression and one day God, fate, or something stepped in and changed my life path.
My doctor is a very busy General Practitioner and often patients need to call and schedule a couple months in advance to get an appointment. I tried to schedule my yearly physical in advance but at the time the receptionist stated my doctor's new schedule wasn't available yet. I was asked to call back in a few weeks to schedule my appointment. "Sure, I could do that". So, four weeks later I called back to schedule my physical and was told that there were no openings until two months later than what I needed. What? "I was calling two months before I actually needed to be seen and had to wait over four months?" Whatever! I was upset (I think I was having a migraine) and after doing some Internet research I decided to schedule an appointment with a Gynecologist at another branch of the clinic. I also thought that getting another opinion about a couple "female" things would be good.
The day of my appointment came and Dr. Anderson came in to the exam room and introduced herself. Since I was a new patient and it was my first appointment with her she wanted to get a full history before the physical assessment. I don't recall what question caused the dam to break while we were discussing my history, but all of a sudden the little Dutch boy pulled his finger out of the hole in the dam - words and emotions just started gushing out of me. I sat there with tears streaming down my face, baring my soul to this doctor who sat calmly listening to me and asking the occasional question to draw more information out of me. I told her about the years of mental anguish, how I thought I was going crazy, and how sometimes I hated my life and other times I loved it. I talked about how crappy I sometimes treated others but at the time I didn't care or couldn't seem to stop myself. I explained how the guilt and shame associated with all of this made me have thoughts of wanting to die so I wouldn't have to deal with anything anymore. Then, after some time and many questions later she said these magic words - "You are not crazy, based on the information you provided, you have a disorder called pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), and we have medicine that can help you". She finished the physical to make sure there was nothing else going on and then we talked more about PMDD and medication used to treat it. I left the office that day with something that had been missing in my life for a long time - HOPE!
As it turns out, the medication used to treat PMDD is taken based on a woman's menstrual cycle and the medication is taken for two weeks on and two weeks off (give or take some tweaking). The treatment meant I had to track my monthly cycle, but calendars and phone apps helped with that process. I started taking the medication right away and it worked within days. I felt like a miracle had happened in my life. I was happy again, I didn't hate everyone, I loved my husband and children, I enjoyed my job, and life was good again. My husband told me one day, "I feel like I have my wife back again". He may have felt like he had his wife back, but I felt like I had my life back. I am so grateful that circumstances beyond my control led me down a path that allowed me to be back in control . . . of my life.
If you or anyone you know can relate to my story, I encourage you to talk with your doctor. PMDD is a very real illness and often gets missed for a variety of reasons. If you want to know more about PMDD, the Mayo Clinic has information on its website: https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/premenstrual-syndrome/expert-answers/pmdd/faq-20058315
Sunday, December 23, 2018
Friday, December 21, 2018
Tell Me What I Want - what I really, really, want!
I guess one option would be to find alternatives using a process that is similar to what is recommended in negotiation or conflict resolution. I could go for the "everyone gives a little and all are willing to accept the negotiations without feeling like they were screwed" (my own little verbal spin on the outcome). However, I am kind of a selfish person, I willingly admit this, and in my own head I want things to be my way all the time. Even when I compromise and agree to give a little, I really don't want to and I am just being a momentary pacifist who later continues to think and stew about the fact that even though I agreed, I still didn't get what I wanted in the first place. I guess I am just going to put into words some of the things I feel I gave up over the years, willingly, but still am stewing about. Maybe after putting some of my thoughts on paper I will realize how petty they are and I will be able to move on.
I never, and I mean NEVER, wanted to live in the country or on a farm. I live in the country on a farm like piece of property. At the time I readily agreed to the purchase of a property that would one day become our home base and I never brought up my likes or dislikes. Why? Because, at the time the property became available, I was led to believe that I would be getting a job promotion and believed I would need a place to live that was closer to work. The aforementioned property presented itself at the right time for the right price and my husband was in love with the land, location, and we both loved the price. My husband grew up in the country on a pseudo farm and had endured the prior six years of our marriage living in varius rural small towns. He hated living in town and wasn't used to the lack of privacy that comes from having neighbors. We talked about buying and develop the property, moving in a trailer house to live in for a short time, and eventually building a new house. The property we purchased had a combined sixteen acres of farmland, woods, and what would later become grass covered yard. We followed through with most of the plan but instead of building a house, we purchased an older home from my hometown and moved it to our property. It was another compromise because the price was right. Sounds like a dream right? I wasn't my dream and I don't know if it was my husband's either but, I agreed and here I am, twenty-nine years later, living in the country on a pseudo farm, in a house that was built in 1937, as had various upgrades over the years, and continues to be a work in process that will most likely will never be completed. I have to say that I agreed to each decision at the time because they were choices that best fit our immediate needs.
What did really I lose by this particular agreement? Nothing monetary or tangible, but I lost the dream of living in a town where I could walk to the store, have a variety neighbors that I could choose to become friends with and create a social group of people with interests similar to my own. I would have been able to ride my bike to work if I wanted, I could quick run to the store without having to drive. I would have a small, quaint yard that didn't require hours and hours of upkeep. I loved living in town growing up, albeit the town I lived in was tiny, but I was able to be part of a community and I think that is the single thing that has bothered me as a result of living in the country. I lost my dream of what I thought my permanent home would be like. What I find amazing is that it still comes back to nag at my mind from time to time - and I let it! But, this is my home, I made conscious decisions that led to the purchase of it, and I will pull up my big girl panties and suck it up . . . At least I have a home!
As for the need to belong to a neighborhood group, I did fill some of my social needs by becoming active in different groups within the community. I joined a local volunteer ambulance service and became part of a group of caring, funny, and intense individuals and created lifelong friendships with several of them. I became a member of our neighboring church, attended Sunday worship, taught Sunday School, and joined a Bible study group and Ladies Aid. I belonged to an archery league and met different group of people - I became aquainted with the various members but didn't really form lasting friendships in this endeavor. I had a job at a local manufacturing facility and had plenty of interaction on a daily basis and even became close friends over the years with several of the people I worked with. Then, as an adult I fulfilled a lifelong dream and went back to college - this resulted in a job change and a whole new group of people to interact with. However, it slowly caused the death of my physical social interactions.
So, what happened to me when my physical social world deteriorated? Welcome social media world!! I could interact with family, friends, and people I didn't even know and all I had to do was log into my phone, computer, or tablet any time, day or night. Bam! I had knowledge of everyone's life, their opinions, and many other things I didn't even want knowledge of. I could share tidbits of my life without having to leave my house. I became consumed by social media and instant messaging to the point that over the years I quit physically socializing with others. This habit didn't just happen over night and it was a total shock the day I realized I had become a hermit.
I had quit going to the library to check out books - why bother when I could just purchase them online or download them to my reader. I quit going to church on a regular basis because it didn't fit into my work schedule or I was just to tired or lazy to get up and get ready in the mornings (I worked mostly evening/night shifts at the time and I was attending college while working). In 2016, after developing health problems, I officially retired from the volunteer service and chose not to stay active in other capacities, further adding to the isolation from "real" people. Although college was a great choice, it had a very bad impact on my ability and drive to interact with others until I completed my degree. I was working and attending college either full time or part time between 2007 and 2016 and during those nine years I slowly, unknowingly, isolated myself while life went on without me. I only attended functions that were required and I seldom planned social engagement with friends. I lost touch with people who weren't part of my online social media world and over time I barely knew what was happening within my own family. I had no clue of the amount of time and effort that would be required for me to go back to school and work while doing so. I have never regretted my decision to go back to college and change careers, but I do regret that over the years I let my physical social world deteriorated to the point of being almost non-existent. Some of the lost relationships were never able to be fully recovered and that makes my heart ache. Now, it is time to focus on rebuilding my physical social life.
I dreamed of having that white picket fence that had the flowers spread out in front of it, the vine filled archway over my sidewalk, and a yard that was cute and quaint where I could invite friends over to just relax and visit. When you live in town you have to be conscious of what your yard looks like - to me this translates to "you can't turn your property into a junk yard". You keep your yard neat and tidy and weekly you put your garbage out at the curb to be collected and taken away. We had garbage service out in the country but eventually we got rid of it. You don't need to pay someone good money to come and pick up your garbage when you live in the country. After all, the thirty dollars saved can buy a lot of other junk and garbage can be composted, burned in the burn barrel, or recycled. But, what about the other stuff that falls outside those parameters? Well, here is some advice - don't worry about that stuff, you never have to get rid of it, you can just stick it into whatever nook or cranny you have available and hang onto it for eternity. If you end up with too much of the stuff, just build another shed or start storing items in the old vehicles sitting on the back part of the acreage - you know, that vast area that nobody else can see from the road without a drone but is the perfect spot for dumping every vehicle you have ever owned. It doesn't even matter if the vehicles don't run, you don't want to get rid of valuable items like that because they become automatic storage sheds that are free of cost and can keep your junk contained and dry all year long. Yes, this is a sore point that occasionally causes strife in my marriage . . . I think I will just focus on the fence and flowers in the years too come.
I freely admit that I like to collect some things, but not to the point of hoarding and I don't get panic attacks at the thought of getting rid of something. I am sometimes the opposite - I get panicky at the thought of NOT getting rid of crap and fear that it will always be haunting and cluttering our home and property. I would love to get a construction dumpster and fill it with whatever I could physically remove from my house. I dream of putting a sign up in my driveway that says "come into my house, browse, and make and offer on whatever item catches your attention" (certain personal items excluded of course). I fantasize about having two strong men at my beck and call to just move stuff out of my house. "Bruno, haul out that old chair . . . " or "Ted, take these twenty totes in the attic to Goodwill" . . . "Get it all done before my husband gets home from work and there will be a bonus bag of cookies waiting for you"! However, I don't think my husband has this same fantasy and if he did it would consist of two little old men bringing him trailer loads of free items.
Most of the items I have, I use. If I no longer use an item and it serves no purpose for me, I have no problem giving, selling, or throwing it away. There are a couple of exceptions and I hang onto these items because of sentimental reasons. However, I can list the items on one hand and if it wouldn't piss my mother off to know I got rid of two of them, they would be gone today. That's the other part of having stuff - it gets given to us with the expectation that it will be cherished and displayed so any time the giver shows up at your house, there it is in all its glory! What is up with that? What is the statute of limitations on how long a person has to keep a gift? I used to have items packed away that I would pull out and put on display whenever I knew the original giver was going to stop by. Thank goodness none of them ever just dropped in out of the blue because I don't know what I would have said had they noticed their item was missing from my decor. "Bruno, Ted, fill up some garbage bags for the dumpster divers . . . ".
You would think by listening to me ramble that I live in a remote forest area and a trip to town requires precise planning (it really doesn't). You probably envision that my yard is acres and acres of wild grass that needs to be taken down with a sickle mower and that it's filled with abandoned vehicles and littered with outbuildings used only for storage. You probably envision opening any door on my property and being buried alive by items falling out. Well, it isn't really quite that bad from an outside perspective (so I'm told). The visual that may pop up in your mind should include organization rather than chaos. The outbuildings are strategically placed and are visually appealing. The vehicles are hidden in the back acreage and are lined up nicely where the grass meets the edge of the woods. The trailers and boats are parked out of the way along the edge of the woods toward the back of the property and most of the "stuff" is hidden from site. So, to the naked eye there doesn't appear to be much chaos - but for heaven's sake, do not open any door on this property if you do not want to be inundated with a plethora of "STUFF". It won't fall and bury you like an avalanche, but your eyes may start to bleed. Unless you are a collector yourself and then I might just have to invite you back the next time hubby goes on a hunting trip. If that happens, please don't forget to bring Bruno and Ted with you . . . a girl needs to have at least one fantasy!