Daddy's girl

Sometimes it takes a visit home to really drive home the full extent of my daddy issues. I'd been doing well in a more theoretical respect with my efforts not to seek his approval or let his emotional distance get to me, but put me in immediate contact with him, and all bets are off.

It's just so frustrating. I got stupid and tried to bond with him by helping him out with an unpleasant chore, and instead I got the unequivocal message that I don't know anything about anything. I'm just a girl and a writer and I can't possibly help with anything math- or engineering-related that might require a man brain.

Then Mom tried to stand up for me, which I wish she wouldn't do. I mean, I appreciate it, and I know she does it because she loves me and hurts when I hurt, but it never makes anything better and it only gets him mad at her, too, and then he's withdrawn and pouts and everybody's unhappy.

The saddest thing is, this is exactly the way his mother always treated him: disregarding him, demeaning him, making him feel stupid and worthless. And he recognizes this. He just can't help passing it down to his kids.

It just tears me up. I want so badly to have a close, friendly relationship with him, but I have to walk on eggshells all the time. The most innocuous comment will set him off, and then he acts like I'm responsible for his hateful behavior. "I wouldn't have snapped at you if you hadn't been so glib." Glib? I wasn't being glib; I was being perfectly sincere. I know better than to be glib or dry or, God forbid, ironic when Dad's around. It's like smoking at a gas station.

Jumping ship

Okay, I do realize that you're never, ever, ever meant to ditch a medication without first discussing it with your doctor, and I totally understand why, but I just could not keep taking the Lexapro. Two weeks in, and the side effects were debilitating. I couldn't function, so I ditched it. And I'm so glad I did. I'm not nearly so tired anymore, I'm not groggy at work, I've regained both the energy and the inclination to exercise. I'm still not sure why Dr. R. put me on it in the first place, but I'm going to have to break it to him that it didn't work out.

Things are also going better with New Guy. I'm starting to realize that the behaviors that have made me so uncomfortable in the past are simply the behaviors of a guy who sincerely likes me. They're unfamiliar because he's a mature adult who isn't afraid to make his feelings clearly known. And now that I realize that, it's kind of nice. It's nice not to have to wonder how he feels about me. Dating a grownup--what a concept.

And what a pity that, between Hot Mess and so many exes and even my own dad, a mature adult who actually likes me and actually tells me so is such a novelty. I never even realized that I deserved such good treatment until I was already getting it and it was already freaking me out. I guess I'm just going to have to get used to being treated right by a man in my life.

We got the beat

Okay, the side effects have gotten a little bit better. I'm not dizzy or woozy or nauseated anymore, but I'm just plain beat most of the time. I actually got seven hours of sleep last night, albeit on the couch, and I'm just beat like a rug.

What's more, I'm completely unmotivated. Getting up in the morning, going to work, going back to work after lunch, all of it takes effort--almost more effort that I've got in me. That could be the Lexapro, or it could just be that I'm getting really tired of my job. I'm tired of never really knowing who I'm working for or who's in charge or what's expected of me, and I'm tired of getting my work shat upon by clients--and a certain boss--who don't know enough to know.

On the plus side, things seem to be looking up with Dr. R. Now that he's had  couple of sessions to get to know me and better understand my situation, I think he's ready to actually sit down and start therapizing me. And, more importantly, he seems wiling to work with what has already been successful for past therapists instead of trying to reinvent the wheel. Which is not to say that I'm not open to new techniques. If I thought electroshock would get my head straight, I'd wire up myself.

The other thing that's going better is New Guy. It's not perfect, but it's moving in a good direction, for a couple of reasons. One is that I've finally decided to put Hot Mess behind me. Not entirely, because I still do value his friendship. But there came a point when I said to myself, "I'm sitting here pining over an unemployed, unmotivated, emotionally distant guy two time zones away. Why is that?" And I gave myself permission to let it go.

I also talked to Big Brother, which always helps. I mentioned that New Guy keeps pushing forward, and I don't feel ready, so I pull back, and he just pushes forward. And Big Brother said, "Well, stop doing that." And I said, "Well, okay." And once I gave myself permission to like him, I... found that I like him.

It's still not perfect. He's still moving a lot faster than I feel comfortable moving, and he seems to be putting a lot more trust in me than I honestly feel I deserve. And I'm more comfortable with those things when I've been drinking than when I haven't, which is never a good sign (and which I'm not supposed to be doing anyway). But it's baby steps, it's all baby steps, and at least I'm not afraid of where I'm going anymore.

Sufing safari

Side effects fucking suck.

I'm so sick of surfing side effects. I think that's why I was so resistant to Dr. R.'s plan to put me on an antidepressant. Of course I'm wary of polypharmacology; I just don't want to put more chemicals in my body than I have to. But I'm so tired of surfing side effects.

My trip with my family wasn't ruined by the side effects, but it was affected. I was sleepy, easily tired, occasionally woozy and shaky. I'm also cranky and unmotivated of late, although that's just as likely to be work-related as anything else.

I know I'm whining here, but I think it's so unfair that I can't live life like everyone else, more-or-less chemical free. Every time I down a big handful of pills in the morning, it reminds me that I'm 17 milligrams and the grace of God away from the full-on crazazy.

At what point do I get to feel normal?

Okay, apparently not feelin' so good

Dr. R wants me on antidepressants, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. He's given me samples of Lexapro (an SSRI and my dad's "favorite," Dad says), and I'm going to give it the old college try, but I don't know how I feel about polypharmacology.

I know how I feel after the first pill: dizzy. Woozy. Sleepy. Certainly not sharp and aware like you really need to be in a job like mine. I felt like this when I first started the Abilify, too, and it went away, so I'm not worried about being this way forever, but this is just not a convenient time in my personal life or my career to be test-driving new drugs and working through side effects. A little stability would be nice.

I won't pretend I'm not wary of what is now a drug cocktail. I try to keep the number of foreign chemicals that I introduce into my body to a minimum--I hardly take Advil for a headache--and now I'm up to three daily pills, if you count my birth control. Add in my calcium and the glucosamine I'm taking for my hip and I'm a walking pharmacopia.

If it works, though, I'm for it. And Dr. R. seems to think it'll help. I thought the Abilify was supposed to help with the depression, but apparently not. Dr. R. seemed concerned that I cry a lot--a lot--all the time, and while I'm a bit concerned about that myself, I don't know that I'm concerned enough to want to pop a pill.

I guess I just didn't know that I was depressed. I thought I was tired and sad and frustrated and stressed out, which is different, right? It's situational; you change the circumstances and it goes away. And I think that's the rub, for me: I'm entirely willing to do and take whatever is necessary to correct my malfunctioning brain chemistry, but I'm not going to take a pill to make the world go away. I like the world. It just pisses me off sometimes, is all.

But maybe this will be okay. It's an SSRI, and all that does is let the seratonin bounce around in my head a little bit longer, right? That can't be a bad thing. And I gave Dr. R. my speech about not wanting to be numb or flat, and he seemed to understand and maybe even care.

And Dad's okay with it. And Dad is, for all of his faults, a wicked awesome doctor, so if he's okay with it, I'm okay with it. Crazazy Cocktail it is. To my health.

Feelin' good

I had a realization today, and I thought I'd commit it to paper since everything else in here is so godawful depressing (and there's a reason for that--when I get down, I get all introspective and whiny, and I feel guilty enough imposing that on a blog. When I'm up, I'm too busy sharing it with the world to sit down and write).

No more Jimmie Legs.

My periods of what has since been identified as hypomania were marked by the most horrible, skin-crawly urges to move you can believe. I would go out running only because sitting still was agony. It was the illegitimate love child of an itch and a tingle and the feeling you get when you put your tongue on a battery, multiplied by ten, and I haven't felt it in at least a month. So I'm thanking the gods and the drugs and whatever else.

No more Jimmie Legs. The urge to smoke has gone way down. The urge for sex is gone, and I've had my opportunities, too. I was irritable this weekend, but I'm fairly sure that's just due to my impending period. The insomnia's gone. The urge to eat is controllable, making the urge to purge a nonissue.

So there's joy in my life. I feel I need and deserve it. I may be down, but I know it's sadness, not depression. It's situational. It's logical for me to feel sad right now (as logical as feelings ever are). And as bizarre as it sounds, it makes me feel happy to feel sad.

It's something I discussed briefly with Dr. R. at our last session. He mentioned me being depressed about the Hot Mess thing, and I was able to correct him: not depressed, sad. Having been there, I know the difference. And when Dr. F. and I were discussing medication, I told him that I still wanted to experience my emotions, because they're what make a life out of an existence. I'd been numb, and I didn't want to do it again.

No numbness. No depression or hypomania. Happiness, contentedness, and sadness. My life's not perfect, and it's not likely to stay this way for long, but for just one day, things seem to be more or less working out on the mental health front. And when you've got the crazazy, that's pretty damn noteworthy.

A moment to whine

I'm sleep-deprived, I'm premenstrual, and I don't want a pen pal.

I just generally don't want things to be the way they are. Isn't that just the worst whiny bitching boiled down to its elemental form? "Stop the world, I want to get off!"

I don't want to be sick, I want to be sane. I don't want insomnia, I want to sleep. I don't want Hot Mess there, I want him here, and I don't want to be his pen pal, I want to be his girlfriend. I don't want "love ya," I want "love you."

And I don't want New Guy. I'm so sorry to say it, especially since he seems so into it. Actually, maybe that's why I'm not interested. What kind of 41-year-old man would be physically attracted to and intellectually stimulated by me? Must be something wrong with him, right?

I guess that's something to discuss with the new doc, Dr. R. (and best of luck in your new practice, Dr. H.). It kind of ties in with my abandonment complex, I guess; if nobody else finds me worthy of hanging around, I must be worthless. And if I'm worthless, what's this guy's problem?

The more I think about it, the more I should, I realize, hate Hot Mess for the number that he's done on my psyche and my self-esteem. He's made it quite clear that he doesn't give two shits, and I've internalized it to believe that I'm not worth two shits.

And even recognizing this, I still can't imagine being able to let him go. Now that's sick.