On Grief and the Grocery Store

It has been 6 days since I had to put Coltrane down, and, so far, I've been alternating between the two stages of grief:

1. Pain
2. More Pain

The pain has been hitting me hard (kind of like a punch in the stomach) at the most random and sometimes inopportune times. Other times, people I'm talking to seem to be expecting me to lose it, but then I just don't.  And I don't know why.

For example, this past weekend, Chris and I played a duo show at a fall festival to raise money for a local no-kill animal shelter. I was dreading this, as I figured I'd lose it as soon as I saw the cute animals. But, for some reason, I was ok. We saw cute doggies, I pet a pony on the nose, and still, I was alright. A fellow musician and friend was saying how sorry she was about Coltrane, and somehow I could talk about what happened without crying (though I think she expected me to start, which is pretty reasonable). So yeah, I was fine. That is, until we left. I cried in the car on the way home. Don't know why.

The most unexpected thing that set me off was going to the grocery store on Sunday evening. Chris and I split up to cover more ground... I was to go to the produce section to get zucchini and garlic and bananas. As soon as I walked into that part of the store, there was that familiar punch in the stomach as I realized that I would no longer be buying large amounts of lettuce and fresh herbs for my bunny boy to happily munch on. Now there's no reason for me to have all the SKU #'s for all the types of lettuce and cilantro and parsley memorized. Now I don't need to stop at the grocery store three times a week.

I did my best to keep it together as we continued to shop... and I think I probably came off as extraordinarily grumpy, but as soon as we walked outside I totally lost it and ugly-cried all the way home.

I keep realizing that I no longer have to do these small little things like go to the grocery store all the time, go straight home after work no matter what, keep cords and plugs out of reach always, clean litter boxes, arrange for pet sitters any time I'm out of town, put someone else's needs before my own, etc. Most people would say that those things make a person's life more difficult, but I whole-heartedly disagree. Those things meant getting to have a happy bunny to come home to every single day. Those things meant a loving, trusting bond established between bunny and bunny mommy. Those things meant I was fulfilling my responsibilities and doing a damn good job at fulfilling them. Those things meant that I could give a great life to Coltrane, who depended on me for every single thing.

But what I never realized before until now is that all those little things aren't just part of a routine, they are also very ingrained in my sense of self. Chris and I adopted Coltrane shortly after we graduated and moved out into the "real" world. My whole independent adult life took shape with Coltrane there. It was always: Who am I? I am woman who has a pet rabbit (aka I am a crazy bunny lady). I am woman who takes care of things that need taken care of. I am a woman who puts others' needs first. I am woman who loves. I am a woman who would mostly rather stay home and sit on the floor with a rabbit than go out and party. I am a woman who will be DD mostly so that I don't drink too much to drive home to my bunny. I am a woman who is patient. I am a woman who gains so much from the act of taking care of a pet. I am a woman who is never truly home alone.

And now? I am a woman who cries. I am a woman who is lost. I am a woman who literally doesn't know how to live without her bunny companion.

Remembering Coltrane

I had to put Coltrane down yesterday, much sooner than I thought. He was getting so little air that he started slumping over, so we had to let him go. I'm more devastated than I can adequately explain in words, but I thought the above video was a great way to remember him as the happy little bun he was.

Holiday Blues

Last year, I wrote a ton of blog posts during the holiday season, and I just realized that I've barely written 1/5 of the number of posts this year during the holidays. My excuse is that I was unemployed last year and therefore had a good deal of time available for writing. This year, I'm all kinds of employed! And busy!

And for whatever reason, this year, I'm enjoying the holiday season a lot more than I have in the past. I'm not exactly sure why. Most years, I feel horribly depressed around Christmas. This year, I'm pretty much just looking forward to it. It's quite nice really.

I'm not sure if it's because we went to Chris's family's on Christmas last year (and are therefore going to my family's Christmas this year) or maybe because I've been working really hard and can't wait for a break... or maybe it has something to do with the fact that Chris and I are in a good place. I dunno, it mainly just seems to be the fact that I'm really excited to spend a little time with my family. It seems like I haven't gotten to spend as much time with them as usual lately.

Anyways, to those of you who are suffering from the Holiday Blues, I totally get it, and I hope you are able to find at least a moment or two of positivity over the weekend. Try to relax, breathe, drink a cocktail (or 6), and remember that your family means well. Enjoy the craziness, knowing it won't last forever.

Love the fact that your family is so huge and complicated that you have to run around like a chicken with its head cut off in order to see everyone at the holidays. And, if your family is small or nonexistent, love your solitude and your moments of peace. No matter what, try to find some small moment where you're content.

Happy Holidays!

When it Rains It Pours

Well, I have no clue what the weather has been like where you live dear readers, but it has been rainy and grey for about three weeks straight here (today I can finally see blue sky though! Thanks goodness! I was about to lose what's left of my sanity).

As if that's not depressing enough, for whatever reason, The Palace has started crumbling around us. The trouble started about a week ago: We could hear a drip-drip-drip sound in our attic. We knew that wasn't a good thing. Then, a day or two later, we noticed a crack in our ceiling right where we were hearing the drip-drip-drip sound. Then, we contacted the landlord. That day, a guy came out and got on the roof and apparently patched some things up.

Well, it kept right on raining, and the roof kept right on leaking, despite the work the man did, until water started dripping from the crack in the ceiling (the fixer-guy said he wasn't going to patch the ceiling until he knew that the roof was no longer leaking and when he landlord gave him the green light). So, we had to put a big ole container on the floor under it to catch the water since it was raining IN our house.

The soaked ceiling and the leak

You can see the drip-drip-drip

Mr. Bucket (Balls do not pop out of his mouth)

Oy, and then it started raining harder. And then it kept leaking. And the landlords said nothing could be done while it was still raining, because it would be pretty dangerous to put someone on the roof in the rain. So, things just got worse:

Chris said he barely touched the ceilng and it disintegrated at his touch (hole on the right)

So, now it smells like a wet dog in our house (I guess it's wet insulation or something), and it's humid and gross and bad.

Mr. Fixer  Man told Chris that he thinks our entire roof needs replaced, but, of course, since we rent, that's not up to us. We'll see what the landlords decide to do I guess. It's pretty disconcerting to know that our roof lacks integrity though. I mean, what are we going to do when it snows this winter? Snow is heavy.

SO, we've been dealing with all of this stuff, and then all this other stuff went wrong:

-A shot glass fell down the drain, and I didn't know it, and I turned on the garbage disposal. The shot glass shattered, so now there are tiny pieces of glass still stuck in our kitchen sink drain. Then, it stopped working altogether. Fantastic.

-I think I've mentioned that I locked myself out in the rain the other day when Chris was out of town.

-Chris cut himself multiple times while sailing on Tuesday:

Ew!

-The lightbulb in our foyer burnt out.

-The lightbulb at the top of the stairs burnt out.

-Our screen door hasn't been able to shut in awhile, Mr. Fixer Guy fixed it, and now it's already messed up again.

And all of this was going on during an extremely busy week at work and an extremely busy week for the band (we have two gigs this weekend and had to learn several new songs).

So, I've barely been able to hold it together. I mean, it's already difficult enough for me to deal with it getting cold. I hate cold.

I hope you all have had better luck than we have lately!

SAD

Recently, Her Royal Dooceness posted about how hard season changes are for people who are or have been clinically depressed (pretty much no matter how "mild" the case was). The post is here if you'd like to read it. She said her therapist told her that more suicides happen in September and May than any other months. I don't find this to be surprising at all, as I always feel really down when my favorite summer weather starts to retreat and when those short, chilly, grey, rainy, days replace those scrumptiously-wonderful, long, hot, bright days.

Every single seasonal change causes me to look inward (Though, the change from summer to fall is always the hardest one for me). It's like all the change that is swirling around me and is beyond my control reminds me of my own mortality, and my own true lack of control (and control freaks like me have problems dealing with the idea of not having a hold on something). I don't know if this has anything to do with ever having been depressed, but, you'd think I'd get used to the seasons changing every year (you know, because it happens 4 times every damn year!)... and I just can't seem to. I was strolling down the pedestrian mall in town when I took a short break from work (well, when I say I strolled, I really mean I bee-lined for the coffee shop), and I just got this overwhelming sense of sadness- this sense that everything I hold dear will, in varying amounts of time, be taken from me or me from it.

The change in seasons always always always compels me to make some changes in my life- sometimes big, meaningful changes, sometimes small, superficial ones. I almost always want to get my hair cut, buy new clothes, start a new hobby, and recommit myself to health and exercise. Hell, last fall was perhaps the craziest I went after the days starting getting shorter: I quit my job without the prospect of another one, and in the current market (I'm getting so sick of this "current market" shit... but hey, I ended up in a much better place because of that seemingly rash, crazy, season change-fueled decision). I also decided to try to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), and, while serving out my two weeks' notice and then some, I wrote half a damn (awful) book.

I'm also always SO ready to move somewhere new (whether that means a new house or a new town, I'm not exactly sure) in the fall. Perhaps that drive comes from going off to school in the fall and moving into a new dorm, though I'm not really sure. Perhaps I'm like a goose- I want to move south for the winter (flying would be ok with me), as I certainly have no compulsion to move north... I'd probably never survive in Alaska or one of the Nordic countries (not just because of the cold, also because of the lack of light!), where the sun literally goes away for months at a time.

And maybe all of this is just brought on by the dreaded Quarter-Life Crisis (although, do crises last more than a year?) or something. And can I just say that the Quarter-Life Crisis sucks? We Quarter-Lifers have no money with which to buy sports cars or mansions or breast implants or whatever those Mid-Lifers are buying these days (I mean, really they should be frantically saving for retirement, am I right?) However, I have a feeling that it is more than likely something at least related to Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Seasonal Affective Disorder is, appropriately, known as SAD. Wikipedia says that "Symptoms of SAD may consist of difficulty waking up in the morning, morning sickness, tendency to oversleep and over eat, especially a craving for carbohydrates, which leads to weight gain. Other symptoms include a lack of energy, difficulty concentrating on completing tasks, and withdrawal from friends, family, and social activities. All of this leads to the depression, pessimistic feelings of hopelessness, and lack of pleasure which characterize a person suffering from this disorder." They forgot to include compulsion to cut one's hair, change one's wardrobe, and dive right in to writing the next Great American Novel.

Anyways, if you're currently suffering from this autumnal, ass-kicking SADness, I'm right there with you. Let's get through this together: By drinking coffee, ranting regularly, eating carbs, sleeping in, and writing a book. Ok, fine, jeez, we'll make this the Sesame Street version: By exercising, eating healthy foods, discussing our feelings in a calm, collected way, and by researching and outlining for our book before we start writing (that's the ticket!).

Here's to warm, sunny, summer days filled with FUN instead of SAD!

Shades of Grey

I'm feeling pretty lost right now, and I know that's vague, but I kind of just wanted to write it down somewhere. And I don't know how to fix it.

I wrote the above yesterday and never published it.

Since then, I have gone to another Tuesday-night girls' night, and I laughed harder than I think I've laughed in a really long time. I cried at least four times from laughing so hard. A couple other girls who I haven't seen in a long time came to hang out, and I just had so much fun with everyone. And that's the kind of thing I really enjoy: Drinking a really good glass of red wine while telling stories and laughing and making fun of how extremely clueless boys are. Sigh.

One of my friends said something like "boys are so complicated." And I was like, "no, we're complicated. Boys are just idiots." And that's my thought for the week. Ladies, there's nothing you can do make yourself less complicated; it's just the way we are. And, even though it's easy to do (read: "...boys are just idiots"), it's not all that fair to blame boys for not getting us. They're simple. Things tend to be pretty black-and-white with them, and they have an On-Off switch. We girls, we're a million shades of grey all at the same time, and we have a dial with no labels that constantly needs tuned.

Thanks for yesterday, ladies.

Cookie Monster

Today so thoroughly kicked my ass, that, after crying (ok, fine, shrieking and screaming) into the phone for as long as Chris could handle, I proceded to eat almost an entire bag of Milano cookies (the double chocolate kind, naturally). Now, the saddest part, I think, was that we didn't even have Milanos in the house; I walked into the night wearing my pajama pants, moccasins, and puffy face and drove to the grocery store expressly to purchase said self-medication. My face resembled that of a bee-sting victim's, so I left my glasses on (I only wear my glasses to drive) thinking it might mask my puff-i-tude. But, after I got back to the car with my over-the-counter sandwich-cookie meds, I glanced in the mirror only to find that the glasses sort of magnified the puffiness. Great day, really.

Anyways, I feel better getting that out. Now to face the judgement of several of my very in-shape, disciplined friends.

And now to pass out with exhaustion.

Actually, just a quick note: The Ryan's Recommendations section has been updated.

Goodnight folks. I'm out. I need this day to be over.

1 in Whosit-Now?

Today I came across an article on CNN.com that published the results from the CDC's recent nationwide poll about clinical depression. The results were that "Nearly 1 in 10 US adults [are] depressed." Here's a link to the article if you're interested: http://pagingdrgupta.blogs.cnn.com/2010/10/01/cdc-nearly-1-in-10-u-s-adults-depressed/?hpt=T2. The article wasn't particularly surprising to me, but still got me thinking about a couple things. What I really want to know is how many of those people are actually being treated for depression.

Next thing I thought about was how the Student Health Center at my college gave me a survey with like 8 questions to "diagnose" my depression. Surely it was similar to the poll the people in the CDC study participated in. What happened with me was this: I went to the Counseling Center after having a really hard time for too long (ok, understatement of the century), met with a counselor one time, cried uncontrollably, got sent over to Student Health, met with a doctor one time, cried uncontrollably, took a survey, got a prescription for antidepressants that day. But really, people. I can't believe 8 questions is all it takes for a doctor to whip out the Rx pad. The problem is, I only find this very surprsing because hindsight is 20-20. I had no clue then just how incredibly powerful antidepressants are. And the doc didn't tell me either. And you know what? I don't think doctors even really understand them fully yet.

Not to like, freak you guys out or anything. It actually turned out ok for me: I was on meds for two years and got myself into a much healthier place. But, I can't help but wonder if I would have been able to do that without drugs. I guess I'll never know. And I had no clue how powerful the drugs really were until I stopped taking them. I tapered down my dosage 5mg at a time for over 6 months, and still, the week after I finally totally stopped was pretty much hell. I had cold sweats, nausea, anxiety, rapid heart rate, the works. And one hellish day saw me throw up 3 times while in total agony from the worst headache I've ever had (apparently this is something called "SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome," which many doctors don't even acknowledge as a real thing. Yeah, ok, tell that to Chris's van and the toilet in the Japanese restaurant north of town). So, my point, is, meds should be prescribed with care. I feel like I probably should have gone to counseling multiple times before being sent to the doctor, and then I should have tried a few things before resorting to meds.

Now that I'm off the meds, I use exercise as my main depression-deterrent. I've heard more than once that at least half-an-hour of exercise per day can keep mild depression totally at bay. If you read the article I posted above, you know that depression is most common in The South (which they mentioned might correlate to the fact that so many people there are overweight, suffer from diabetes, etc). To me, that's like "duh." Gotta get moving to get endorphins flowing. Endorphins= happy! Now, that's not to say that everyone who doesn't exercise will become depressed. But, those people (like me) who have certain tendencies present, really should to help keep themselves mentally (and physically, again, "duh"), healthy. But, I also have to admit, the meds also kept me from being totally insane, which allowed me to train myself to employ different kinds of thought patterns (and I have no clue if exercise alone could have done this for me).

I'd also like to say that I'm not trying to stand on any kind of soapbox here. I'm also not trying to say that meds are evil and should never be considered. What I am saying is that maybe doctors need to put greater thought and care into the problem of clinical depression. Maybe they should tell their patients about how intense antidepressants are (and about how the first one they prescribe is not necessarily a fit). Maybe more research should be conducted so that we can truly understand what depression is and what SSRIs are, and why some people react differently to them than others.

And also, why are SO MANY people depressed???

Not enough vacation. That must be it.

It's Been 10 Months Since My Last Depression...

Please accept my sincere apologies for not posting this weekend. With the exception of Sunday, my weekend was rough. It's not really because I was DD at a party on Friday, or even because our canoe became infested with ants on Saturday (ew ew ew Ew EW!). Mainly it was rough because I was experiencing many of the symptoms I have experienced in the past: Those of clinical depression.

Now, I have been debating as to whether or not I should bring up this part of my life in this blog, but it is a huge part of who I am, and I cannot simply ignore it. Part of the reason I hesitate is that Heather Armstrong, the writer of Dooce.com and one of my writing heroes, became known for writing about her own postpartum depression. I'm certainly not trying to be a "copy cat (plus, I'd much rather be a copy-dog or a copy-bunny!)." However, this is something I dealt with for years (and something I think about every. single. day. of. my. life. Literally, every day). Also, I didn't want to bring anyone down by writing about something that isn't fun or funny. But this is important to me, and this weekend was scary because I felt like I was going through something really hard again.

I was diagnosed with clinical depression at the beginning of my senior year of college. I had been suffering for probably two years prior to that. It came on gradually; I did not wake up one day and just feel bad. I was too stubborn and afraid to get help. I just thought the misery I felt had to do with a flaw in myself that I had to try to fix all alone. I didn't want to admit defeat by asking for help. I felt helpless, useless, sad, worthless, guilty, lonely, miserable, and completely hopeless. I was the girl at the party crying in the corner. I was the girl who took every little thing "the wrong way." My sense of humor became incredibly narrow, and I was incapable at laughing at myself.

The thing that finally got me to a counselor was Chris telling me "I want you to go see someone." I was shocked and initially hurt at the time, but I was single-handedly making his life miserable along with my own. So, I went to counseling and was, by senior year diagnosed with depression and put on meds.

The title of this post refers to the fact that I've officially been off of meds (after more than two years on them) for about 10 months. A lot of hard work went into getting myself into a better place, and the meds helped me calm down enough to alter my behavior and get used to new, healthier habits.

Though I feel so much better, I still panic any time I feel bad. I realize it is normal to have good moods and bad moods, but every time I'm down I can't help but think that maybe I'm spiraling into the depths of depression once more. And I freak out.

Chris and I watched a documentary the other day called Depression: Out of the Shadows, which explored the facts and research surrounding clinical depression. All kinds of different people from all different walks of life are stricken with the same thing I was stricken with, though at varying degrees. I think about those other people in a general way all the time. How they are having the same kind of hard time I had. How they are the one at the party feeling alone, freakish, and panic-stricken. How they too feel the guilt I felt. The guilt at not being completely happy when I already had it so much better than so many people on this planet. The guilt from feeling like I disappointed everyone who ever cared about me.

Well, though this post wasn't particularly clever or funny, it was at least a little cathartic. I need to get past this "speedbump" I've been dealing with (Thanks, Chris. He called it a "speedbump" to help me visualize the idea that this is a short setback and not a scary, end-all descent), and I plan to kick it in the butt.

RYAN'S RECOMMENDATIONS:

Listening: Josh Ritter's album Hello Starling. It is so good. Particularly of note are the songs "Kathleen" and "Snow is Gone."

Reading: Chesapeake by James Michener

Watching: Bones, Season 1. Chris and I love this! We have an unspoken rule that we have to watch it together.

Working Out: 30-Day Shred. Exercising is the best natural antidepressant. Part of why I think I have been having a hard time lately is that I haven't been exercising as regularly. Moving, new living situations, and a busy life have made it harder lately. But I plan on fixing that to keep myself mentally and physically healthy.