crowdog66

Awake again (after 17 hours asleep) and not sure how I'm feeling.

The exhaustion might be a stealthy form of depression. I'm one of those people who experiences hypersomnia rather than insomnia, and when I tried to take my emotional temperature just now I came up with the equivalent of the Magic 8-Ball's "Reply hazy, try again".

The emotional disconnect could also be a flare up of my borderline personality disorder. If it is, then another dish has been added to the smorgasbord of dysfunction the last several weeks have served up. Oh, joy.

I'll see how I feel -- if I feel anything -- after I've had some coffee and woken up a bit. All I really want to do is crawl right back into bed. That, however, is not an option.

Well, I'm not doing anything outside the house today. Depression is lying in the marrow of my bones like leaded sand. I'm having a hard time thinking straight. Even my eyes ache.

I suppose I'll tackle the MM beast again. Dammit, I'm so far behind on my deadline. These last several weeks have definitely not been my finest.

To make this post worthwhile, here's a link to the cat litter cake I was talking about a couple of days ago:

http://www.boingboing.net/2008/03/31/cat-litter-cake-is-b.html

And a guide on how to make one, with pictures:

http://picasaweb.google.com/jokestress/CatLitterCake

I'm afraid folks will have to supply their own witty commentary. My wit well is dry.

I was just transferring the cooked baron of beef roast to a serving plate when depression hit me in a slow wave. It felt as if something inside me had suddenly lain down and died.

Sometimes it hits that fast. And I'm not sure how long it will last, which is the real bitch of the matter.

Ah, well. *digs in and battens down the hatches* I'll just have to take it hour to hour and minute to minute if necessary, getting through the small steps of the day. That I'm able to think in those terms tells me that I'm still in the upper reaches of depression, not truly into the numbing, incapacitating depths.

More coffee is on. And the roast turned out pretty well. Here's hoping that tomorrow I won't be deeper in, since I have the second Wen-Do class to attend.

Back to work.

I had forgotten what Seroquel does to me. Within twenty minutes after taking it I felt like I had a fever, mentally speaking: I felt one step removed from my own body and the entire world seemed to be slowly pulsing. When I got up from the computer I actually stumbled and could barely walk. I was so messed up that George had to get me a glass of water for the bedside table because the task of getting the glass, filling it, and taking it back to bed was beyond my capability.

My head hit the pillow and I was gone.

Eight hours later, George tried to wake me up. It took him several tries to even get me out of bed, and then I fell almost fell asleep again sitting up on the couch drinking coffee. I managed to take my morning dose of Ritalin and after about forty minutes that and the coffee woke me up somewhat, but it was a pretty miserable forty minutes, let me tell you. The world was still pulsing and I could barely move.

It's pulsing less now. I've managed to get a couple of pages of HB done. But I can tell that the drug is still in my system and the urge to go back to bed is very hard to resist. At least I don't feel like killing myself anymore, which has got to be a plus.

It looks like I'll be doing the bank run tomorrow...

Oh, and today -- my period started, at the 25 day mark. Suprisingly few emotional or physical precursors this time.

( Full Moon ritual and confessions to friends )

( Lunch, herbs, ants, and frogs )

( Psychiatrists, pottery, peas and fish )

Whatever Powers may be, thank you. To all my friends who have posted here with support and affection and words of comfort, *hugs* and so many things that even I, who am so very verbose, can't put into words. I'm enjoying this feeling of health, and placing no expectation upon it. I'm just going to enjoy it while it lasts.

George and I did not go out to Selkirk for Canada Day: I was feeling too distraught to take being with so many people, and George didn't feel right leaving me alone when I was in that condition. So -- no trip out of town, no barbecue, etc., though we did find one of his nieces to swing by our place and take the cole slaw we'd bought. So at least they weren't short on salad.

I spent the day on the couch watching videos, including Oh! My Goddess (given to me by eastpath before she left for the coast), some exercise videos lent to me by chimera452, and Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which our local TV service had on pay-per-view. This managed to keep me sufficiently distracted that I didn't hurt myself, though in order to sleep I had to take a tranquillizer. chimera452's husband stopped by in the afternoon, bringing with him a fine green bicycle that's just my size; we had him in to tea for a bit, though by the time he left I was feeling very stressed and drained. I'm just sorry we couldn't give him better hospitality, but I simply wasn't up to it.

Today was a harder row to hoe. More watching videos; a lot of staring at the walls watching the shadows gather as evening closed in; a few conversations with George to try and ease the pain, though right now nothing seems to be working. Tomorrow I'll phone my psych doc and ask him if I should discontinue the increased dosage of Cytomel, which seems to coincide with the depression/anxiety becoming a lot closer to unbearable.

Oh, and in the last couple of days we've had a virtual plague of flies, both fruitflies and houseflies. We can't figure out where they're getting in and can find nothing in the house that could be the source of the little bastards. They're immensely annoying and no matter how many we kill, there always seem to be more. Gah. There's a sizable gap under our door to the front hallway, and the garbage bin outside the building is teeming with flies, so perhaps they're coming into the building and entering our suite that way. In any case, it makes me feel just that much crappier having them around.

I managed to exercise for 20 minutes yesterday and hope to do at least that much tonight before I go to bed. Gods... this is dreadful, feeling like all I'm doing is waiting to die. The depression is like a constant fever that makes everything seem warped and surreal. Perhaps adjusting my medication will improve matters.

the realm of my pain is
a place apart from
the rest of the world where
lush-leaved branches sway in warm winds
and women in bright
summer dresses walk the avenues
confident as Cleopatra

the body, microcosm
and macrocosm
places barriers around invaders
foreign to the system
nothing can touch me here
where I crouch, starving and raw
in spirit, naked
and alone

I want to give all the money in my purse
to a beggar on the street corner
knowing that soon I will not need it
anymore

Got a call at 2 pm today (just before I was about to head out to my DBT session) from a complete stranger who'd found my name via the net as Winnipeg's "PR Witch" and wanted me to minister at a Pagan friend's funeral this coming Saturday. Being a complete masochist, I accepted the challenge.

This will be the first funeral I've ever officiated as a Priestess. *sweatdrop* Fortunately I've got a pretty good grip on exactly what I'm going to do and have run it by the family, who approves of my plans. I'll be meeting with them on Friday afternoon to go over the final script for the service -- along with Robin, who has kindly agreed to be my assistant for the event. Her job will consist of lighting candles on the altar at the appropriate times, carrying some of my stuff, and generally acting as moral support for me in a room full of very sorrowful strangers. THANK YOU, Robin, for agreeing to help out at such short notice!

Hopefully Holly will be able to loan me her lovely grey robe with two free-flowing front panels, which would be perfect for this occasion. Otherwise I'll have to go emergency robe/dress hunting on Friday afternoon, thus running myself to an even bigger frazzle.

Which brings us to... Hardy Boys. As previously mentioned, Daniel turned in the last 6 pages just in time to run me right up against the Full Moon ritual last night (which went extremely well, given that we only had four people total in attendance). And now Jim wants the entire book -- including 25 or so pages of corrections because Daniel couldn't be arsed to draw the figures properly in the first place -- finished this week. I'm going to see how much work I can get done tonight and tomorrow during the day, and figure out from there whether Jim is going to get a "sorry, no can do" letter or not.

Yesterday afternoon's appointment with Dr. Enn (and an attending resident) at the Health Sciences Centre was nerve-wracking, a two hour dig into every aspect of my depression and my personality. At the end of it they put me back in the waiting room, somewhat shaken, while they conferred, then called me back about 15 minutes later to share their diagnosis: Borderline Personality Disorder, chronic atypical depression, and yep, treatment-resistant as all get-out. Dr. Enn is going to recommend rejigging my medication load in a few different ways to try to get it under control; he says there IS hope, since he's seen people who've suffered for decades find that magic combinatio and stabilize in the long term, which I was beginning to despair of ever finding. Electroshock therapy is a possibility, but it's a fair ways down the list of options right now.

Bah. Off to paint Hardy Boys and consider exactly what words I'll be using in Saturday's service. I love having a brain that can multitask visual and verbal problems simultaneously.

My little wave of feeling good crested and crashed after oscillating for a while.

Daniel is pulling the "let's make nonsense shapes to make it look like I'm actually working" trick again -- including a stack of boxes floating in mid-air against the wall of a house behind two characters. And I have to make it look good. Oh, fuck me sideways. >.<

I am tired, sore, and know that if I go to bed I'll just toss and turn because of the Ritalin and Cytomel's effect of ramping my metabolism. Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

I'm trying to focus on the positive, but right now that is very very hard.

( cut for distress )

ETA: Fuck. >.<

The phone was in the living room, and set on low ring. Therefore, I did not hear it when George called from downtown to see if I was okay. After trying several times and not getting an answer, he rushed back home. He's missed the only bus that would have gotten him out to Selkirk to be with his family for Thanksgiving.

I feel like complete and utter shit right now.