4/5-4/6: Do I have issues with fatigue during my period? Why, yes I do--and that is why it's taken me 3 days to get back to a "daily" blog. Yeah, yeah--so much pressure.
Looking back (actually, thinking back) I see how folks could read my blog and think that I believe depression can be cured by pulling myself up by my own bootstraps, etc. I do NOT, for the record, believe that. In fact, things have been perfectly fine before and the lack of logic or justification for the sadness I felt was part of the indication that things were not right.
What I'm actually trying to do is establish a new baseline; I used to be a very active person. I loved to bike, to hike, went to martial arts 3-5 times weekly, went to the gym about that many times--I'd try anything outdoors, like rafting or canoeing or whatever.
In the last several years, though, my activity level has dwindled alarmingly. It's not that I'm unable to do these things, (well, maybe the things that take money), but I have lost my original baseline in all the hubbub. So I want to try to take back that baseline. The incident that had most to do with it I'll explain here.
I had stopped going to martial arts in 2004 for personal and financial reasons. I gained weight, lost a job and went through a bad patch personally. I got a good job in 2005, started working out again, went to class again--everything seemed good. Then in spring of 2007, things went very wonky.
I came home from aikido and became very upset with my kids, Morgan and Heather, (Alexander lived with his dad), for not cleaning the kitchen. At the time we lived in a tiny apartment and it was easy for the place to appear cluttered; my reaction to typical kid inaction was, in a non-threatening word, disproportionate. I was ridiculously angry; I even threatened to hit my kids.
I didn't want to hit my kids; there was a part of me watching my behavior, as if I was standing outside of myself and unable to stop me--almost as if I were someone else. I have been told by psychological professionals that this is called "disassociation" and is close to what is called a "fugue state" (or was--what are we, on DSM V now??) In other words, I did NOT have control over my behavior at the time. Doesn't excuse it, but it may help explain what happened next.
My kids left; their father came and picked them up because they felt they were in danger. Before they left I begged them not to go. I called them & begged them to come back. I began crying uncontrollably, thinking I had lost my children forever. So I went to the kitchen to find something sharp to kill myself with.
I had nothing; not even my knives were sharp enough to damage me. I started sawing away at my wrists with razors--anything I could find. I finally, finally drew blood but the trickle wasn't significant--it clotted immediately. At last I decided to call 911--not to save myself, at least not at first--but because I needed something more lethal and figured they might have something. I wasn't really thinking clearly--didn't think about suicide by cop or any of that. Just thought--I need help.
The operator stayed with me until the police burst in with paramedics who bandaged my wrists tightly then left. The police put zip cuffs on me and took me, crying and humiliated, to the squad car and from there to a hospital.
I cried quite literally all night long. At first there was no room available for me so they put me in the hall of the Emergency ward. The nice policeman sat with me until he knew someone would be watching me constantly and then, and only then, did he leave--so if I have a soft spot for lawmen, it's not just 'cause I've trained with them. They have actually saved my life.
They took blood. On a sudden hunch, I asked them to please check my hormone levels. In the morning a counselor came in and talked to me. I'd finally cried myself out around dawn, though I didn't really sleep. I called in sick to work. I called my kids who had been calling me and were worried sick themselves. The counselor told me I could stay if I felt like I was going to harm myself or others. Strangely, I did not; whatever it was had passed completely. So I signed a behavior contract promising that if I ever felt like that again, I would call the mental health crisis line. Then I called a good friend who picked me up at the hospital and drove me home.
That day I started my period. My hunch about the hormones? I'd been feeling steadily more depressed with the past few months' PMS episodes, and had done the math in the hospital--I figured I was due, and I was right. Soon as I got the thing, though, my mind calmed down, so I thought it had to be hormone related.
I went to the doctor that day; the blood was normal, they didn't test for hormones because it wasn't standard, and the only thing slightly out of whack was low potassium. They put me on my first anti-depressant and sent me home.
It took me two months, but after having another PMS episode with an anxiety attack (apparently, wellbutrin contributes to higher anxiety levels. Who knew? Oh, yeah--the damned doctor!!) I finally got into a menopause specialist, Dr Randi Ledbetter. I say her name because you want to remember people who believe you when you feel like no one else does.
She told me I probably had a low-grade depression all my life, (which made sense in retrospect), but had been able to control it with diet, exercise, and herbal medicine (like St. John's Wort). I had entered a stage called Perimenopause, during which it was not at all uncommon for depression symptoms to emerge or become exponentially worse. I was not alone, she said.
I asked her if, because the only thing altered in my blood was the potassium level and because Yaz raised potassium--should I take it? She thought it was a good idea, and for awhile I was on it. She told me she wanted me to never have a period again, and I really liked that idea. For awhile there was no cyclical depressed behavior, just normal everyday stuff--not great, but not so bad I ever wanted to harm myself again.
Unfortunately, I have since lost that very good job (laid off--it was related to the housing industry) and my insurance. Even with the state discount prescription drug program, birth control is high because it's considered optional. (Now some of you folks my understand my stance on publicly funded birth control--it isn't just for folks looking to score). I can no longer afford it, but fortunately my antidepressant is inexpensive and I still take it. Not wellbutrin; I began taking celexa a year or two later and eventually stopped the wellbutrin when I heard it raises blood pressure (why invite trouble?)
I have not, since that night, attempted suicide ever again. I have called that hotline number, because there has been at least one time when I felt that I wanted to kill myself. Well, actually--I didn't want to harm myself; I didn't feel violent. I just wanted to stop being. Just--cease to exist, forevermore. Needless to say, they adjusted my meds ;o)
For those of you who have not felt this, please understand this is not a LOGICAL feeling. When bad things happen to you, you feel sadness, but that's a perfectly normal response to bad fortune. When you have a good job, great kids and have just come home from an activity you love--and you still have problems--that's when it's a disease, not a temporary state of mind.
For all of you out there who have depression, whose stories are similar to mine (at least in some elements), please--keep your local hotline numbers handy. Take your meds and NEVER go off of them without a doctor's supervision. And above all else, even when you feel so badly about yourself that you also want to stop existing--keep existing. Your contribution to the world is not yet known and isn't measurable or quantifiable. You mean something, even when you think you don't. Call a friend, call the hotline--but get help. And if you can't tell yourself that you're worth something and believe it when all is dark and you're alone--believe ME. You are worth saving. And contact me through this blog. It may take me a bit to get back to you, but I'll put my money where my mouth is.
OK--life is very heavy all of a sudden. Did you know that ice cream has some of the same ingredients as antidepressants? It's true-it is the tastiest antidepressant I know. I prescribe a daily regimen, if possible. Tell the ice cream parlor guy that it's a medical requirement. But don't be surprised if insurance won't cover it.
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