waiting for the weekend

I’m really looking forward to the weekend.  Well, Saturday in particular, as it’s SO’s birthday.

I was shopping for part of his present the other day, when I looked around and saw this watch.  It had a round face of pale gold, with a black leather band.  The more I looked at it, the more I just really, really liked it.  I asked the lady behind the counter how much it was.  When I heard the amount, instead of laughing hysterically – I bought it.

I’m not normally an impulse shopper, but there were a few reasons why I bought that watch.  Firstly, SO needs a watch.  (I have actually bought him one previously, but it’s not as nice as this one, as evidenced by the gold wearing off it.  Grrrrrr.)  Secondly, I was going to buy something else for his birthday, just not necessarily a watch (or anything of the same value as the cost of the watch).  But you know what?  It is a really nice watch.

Thirdly, he’s had a pretty tough couple of years dealing not only with my mental illness, but also the purchase and renovation of three investment properties.  He’s worked his backside off on all his holidays, on weekends and after work, to turn the three units from sow’s ears into silk purses in order to maximise the return on our investment (literally).

And finally, he’s the love of my life, and I hope he loves the watch as much as I do.  He deserves it.

depression: illness vs. disability

illness, n. A disease or period of sickness

disability, n. 1 a physical or mental condition that limits a person’s movements, senses, or activities. 2 a disadvantage or handicap.

(sourced from askoxford.com)

I started thinking about what depression really is the other day, when I was at the shops.  Pretty much everyone’s heard that old gag, that disabled people get the best parking spots.  (I apologise if I offend.)  Anyhow, I started thinking about disability and depression.  What makes depression an illness and not a disability?  Can it become a disability?  And if so, how do I get an ACROD sticker??  (Yes, I know I’m going to burn in hell.)

I suppose the main difference (which is not actually contained in the above definitions) is that an illness is considered to be temporary, whereas a disability is permanent.  So while some people suffer all their lives from depression, the majority either recover fully or have significant periods of remission.  People who have had their legs amputated, however, aren’t known for suddenly growing them back.  Therefore not only do you have to be permanently ill for it to be considered a disability as such, but there must be no precedent set of general recovery from your illness (or disability, I guess).

However, I have to say that, along with pnuemonia (which I had for four months when I was fourteen), depression is the most disabling conditon I’ve ever suffered from.  Whether or not it’s permanent in my case, I have no way of telling.  But it’s certainly something which has acted as a defining period of my life, in much the same was as moving out of home, getting my first professional job, and meeting SO were defining events.  It’s also something which has shed personal understanding on my whole life, both backward before the depression hit, and forward in terms of how I view future life choices.  For example, I’ve never been overly maternal.  Now, I fear that my depression will make parenting that much harder, both for me, SO, and the child/children.  The thought of being that mum who can’t get out of bed to hear her kid’s reading homework is one that leaves me cold with dread.  (I’m certainly not knocking those mums – I think they’re amazing just to get through the day – but the fear of having that struggle terrifies me.)  I can’t cope with life for myself when I’m not well – how on earth would I be a mum as well?

Anyhow, I think this post is a lot of rambling crap, but it’s been on my mind lately, together with my prognosis.  I’d love to know what the future holds…. or maybe not.

normal life

For the first time in a looooong time, it feels like this is what we’ve returned to.  Normal life, when we have a relatively clean house, and my brain is behaving itself.  We got home last night and actually cleaned the house like we always used to – I cleaned the bathrooms (excluding the showers), toilets, and dusted, while SO vacuumed the whole house.  It was so nice to sit down at 8:30pm and look around and realise that the house was properly clean for the first time in about four months, since our reno madness commenced.

I feel like I’ve been running around all day today.  I got up and was out of the house before 9am (this is quite the feat for me on a weekend).  I did some food shopping, then went out and bought a few bits and pieces for SO’s birthday.  Then I dropped in and saw Mum and the dogs for a while.  I helped her look at overseas hotels for her trip in February next year, and I also patched some cracks in her walls.  She could do that herself, but I’m happy to do it, and she appreciates me helping her.

By the time I got home, SO was heading out to our final reno to do some work.  He’d actually cleaned my shower in the morning.  I’d forgotten what the grout colour was, it had been so long.  I did some laundry, but I seem to have hit a wall – I can’t see dinner getting cooked at home tonight.  Oh well, I guess there’s no point in pushing myself.

Tomorrow is an extra rehearsal for choir.  I really need to do some work, particularly on the faster pieces.  The slower stuff I can manage to read the music line and the text okay, but on the faster stuff it all falls apart.  I did manage to pick up a skin coloured camisole today at Big W, which was a bonus.  Our new sponsor is Liz Davenport and as part of the sponsorship, the females in the choir have been given these shirts to wear to certain performances.  They’re a lot more sheer than they look.

The other choir-related thing I need to do is organise some black gear for ordinary performances.  I know that we need either a black floor-length skirt or black slacks, and a black top.  I normally wear slacks but I’m very tempted to make a long bias-cut skirt.  I think it would look really nice with ballet flats (you’re supposed to wear flat shoes when singing, so that you can breathe properly).  Ballet flats with slacks would just look a bit odd.  I’ve found a pattern and ordered it – thank God for the internet! – so now I just need to find suitable material to make it from.

depression: treatment and prognosis

I originally became depressed as a result of a number of events that occurred, including (but not limited to) my father’s death, rapid promotion, working at a new organisation, and writing my car off.  All these things happened within a year.  At 29, I’d not experienced depression previously, so my case would have probably been a fairly straightforward one, if it had been dealt with differently.

My doctor, a lovely man, prescribed Effexor for me.  I went from 75mg to 350mg over a period of about a year.  It would work almost immediately (stopped the panicky feelings) but left me unmotivated and feeling cut off from the rest of the world.  I ended up suicidal, and was referred to a psychiatrist.  Apparently, while Effexor treated my anxiety, it didn’t do a lot for my depression.  Whoops.

So, onto Lexapro I went.  I’ve had better results on it, but I’ve still had one minor and one major breakdown on it, with the dose increased both times.  I’ve got to the highest dosage now – any more relapses and I’m onto something else.

I sometimes wonder, if I’d been put on Lexapro to start with, whether I would be in a very different place now.  Would I be recovered and off drugs by now, if I’d been on an effective drug from the start?  Would my long-term prognosis be better?  My understanding is that treatment should start as soon as possible for the best results.  Given I was on a drug which didn’t control my depression for over a year, what does that mean for my future?

These are all unanswerable questions.  But the fact that I will never know doesn’t stop me from wondering, especially at 4 in the morning.

flubble

Yes, it’s a made-up word.  However, it’s a sound I hear every time I walk, when a) my thighs rub against each other, and b) my upper arms move.  It’s the sinister sound of fat in motion.

I’m not hideously fat.  I’m nearly 5′9″, and I’m 82.5 kgs.  However, this does make me overweight.  For the first time, I’m actually a size 16 Australian.  People are starting to refer to me as ‘big boned’.  At least, to my face.  Speaking of which, the proportions of my face, which previously were attractive, have been swamped by extraneous fat that couldn’t find a spot on my backside, thighs, stomach, or breasts.  (My breasts are always happy for more company, but alas, they are the last to benefit from my weight gain.)  As a result, my formerly attractive face is now a permanently bloated caricature of its former self.

As a result of this, and feeling pretty good on my current level of Lexapro, I’ve decided to get back into my favourite little exercise routine – the mini-tramp (also known as a rebounder).  I did 24 minutes yesterday, and 25 minutes today.  I’m hoping it’ll not only help me drop the weight, but also clear up my (adolescently spotty) skin, help me sleep better, and make me feel better generally. 

The current plan is to get on for a minimum of 20+ minutes every day apart from Tuesdays, which is when I have choir rehearsal, or on days when we’re performing.  I hope it’s something that I’ll stick to, and that will work for me.  I can’t imagine being a size 16 before I have kids.  Afterwards, hey, it’s acceptable – you’ve created life!  You gave birth!!  But before, it’s just demoralising (at least, for me).

update: singing

Well, it appears that I’ll need those singing lessons after all.  Despite being terrified, and my hands (and voice) shaking during my audition, I’ve been accepted.  I was also asked to sit in on that night’s rehearsal, as the choral director considered I was strong enough musically to pick up the scores as we went through.  And I did, pretty much – a couple of the faster numbers took me a bit longer, but I did pretty well (if I do say so myself.  Have I mentioned I’m modest, too?).

SO was over the moon, he was so proud of me.  It’s nice to have those you love be proud of you.  Because I grew up being involved in music from an early age, it just kind of blended into the general family stuff (my mother to my dad:  “okay, we need to get son to hockey practice at 9am on Saturday morning, and petrona has a music lesson at 10am, so what will we do about transport?”, etc.).  My mother used to come along when I was in competitions (as I needed transport to get to them) and would sit and listen, and congratulate me when I won, but it was kind of, for want of a better term, muted.  So to have a big fuss made of me (and a genuine one too) is a nice change!

He even gave me flowers:

It’s so nice to be loved.

I was a bit scared to tell my psychologist, as she’s always banging on about how even my hobbies push me in the sense that they’re ‘achievement’-oriented, but she was actually delighted.  She feels that it will give me some empty-headspace time, because I’ll be concentrating so hard, and that will block out the constant internal conversations I have with myself about what’s been done, what needs to be done, and how to get it done.  This is indeed constant, and music does give me a reprieve from it, so I agree with her that it’s a good, healthy thing for me to be involved in.

Anyhow, I was told I need to sing every day (to get some practice), and I need to sing for the choral director again in September.  Not sure why, but hey, orders are orders.  So I guess those singing lessons are now a priority.

singing

For some reason, I have an audition for our state choir this Tuesday.  As in, tomorrow.

My aunt has been on at me for a while to audition.  Her rationale is, as I’ve played the flute for so long (and to a decent level), that I must be able to sing.  I wouldn’t necessarily agree; but I’ve had singing lessons in the past, and I loved being in the school choir, so hell, I may as well give it a go.

I had a little practice at my aunt’s house last night, where she gave me several useful pointers.  I thought I’d better get them down before my addle-pated brain forgot them.

• Open your mouth properly – think ‘hot potatoes’ – this enables the soft palate to rise and produce a clear sound on the high notes (I’m a soprano);
• Use your diaphragm – get your minds out of the gutter, people!! It’s the muscle located below your lungs which helps control your breathing.
• Project!! I tend to have a little voice unless I deliberately sing to the back of the room.
• Use Cyberbass to learn your part in a choral work.  This is a fantastic resource which is free.
• Remember the dynamic markings.

I’m sure there were more, but yeah, my recall isn’t the best.

My aunt also gave me the name of a singing coach who she goes to.  The coach lives reasonably close to me so I’ll have to make sure to get in touch and arrange some lessons.  That is, if I get into the choir.  If I don’t, well, it’s less of a priority.

So the audition is at 6pm tomorrow night.  I’ll be singing an excerpt from Brahms’ German Requiem, and a little ditty Caro mio ben.  Wish me luck!

day three: side effects

Yep, Day Three of 40mgs Lexapro.  I’ve noticed a number of things:

• Weird sleeping patterns.  Like, sleeping until 3am, then staying awake until 7am.  Then needing a significant nap in the afternoon (like, four hours’ worth).  My sleep has been broken for the last couple of years, but this is ridiculous.  And I’m still sleeping about 14 hours a day.
• A general feeling of amiable disinterest in life, together with…
• ….the continuing inability to actually get stuff done.  I’m hoping that this is a result of being tired.
• A bit of a twitchy feeling.  Not a tic or anything, just every so often I feel like I’ve twitched, even when I haven’t actually moved.  Not sure if this is a mental thing or a mental/physical thing.
• Poor concentration.
• Poor recall.
• Diahorrhea (sorry!).
• A general feeling of being fuzzy and slightly ‘off’.
• Poor motivation.
• A funny feeling in my stomach, kind of like apprehension.  If I concentrate and deliberately relax, it goes, but it comes back as soon as I think of other things.

However, I have noticed good things as well.  I’m not crying.  My gross motor skills have improved out of sight (when badly depressed, I bump into everything possible).  I’m able to see the funny side of things.  At this stage, I’m hoping the not so good stuff moderates, and I continue to keep feeling more normal (ie. non-depressed).

In other news, we signed up our new tenants tonight.  They move in tomorrow.  Coincidentally, after they left, we thought to try the new (second hand) washing machine.  Guess what isn’t working?  Oh well, we’ll sort something out.

more drugs, more drugs

Day One of the new 40mg dose of Lexapro.  Well, I felt pretty wonky this morning – I felt tired yet wide awake, and just ‘off’ in a way that I can’t really describe.  Tonight, feeling a bit anxious, but otherwise okay.  Stay tuned for more riveting revelations…

On another subject, we had a viewing tonight.  It went well, and if all goes to plan, I’ll be getting in touch with our preferred tenants tomorrow to organise the lease-signing.  That will be a great relief.  Only one unpaid mortgage left!! (for the neverending reno project which our friend is helping us with.)

relapse

I spent an hour today with my psychiatrist.  We discussed the recent turn of events (which has been primarily downwards), symptoms (incredible clumsiness, feeling of detachment, crying lots, etc etc) and dosages of Lexapro.  As of tonight, I’m jumping from 25mg/day to 40mg/day.  He did warn me that the dose needed to stabilise me is not going to be the dose for long-term recovery.  In other words, 40mg may only stabilise me for the short term.  If I have another ‘fall in the hole’ experience in three or six months’ time, I’ll be taken off Lexapro and put onto something else.

Well, doesn’t that sound like fun, kiddies?

At this point, I’m hopeful but nervous.  Having been through this before, I don’t want to be okay, then fall apart, just when it looks like I’ll be fine.  Especially as it will mean a whole new drug, with new side effects that I’m not expecting.  That said, any other drug can’t possibly destroy my sex drive quite the way the Lexapro has, but that’s a story for another day, when I’m not crying over everything.

I have to say, major depressive disorder has knobs on it.  And not in a good way.  This is something I discussed at length with my psychologist tonight.  We also talked about why my mother doesn’t understand depression, despite experiencing it herself; my expections of myself; and why it’s not necessarily a good thing to be an overachiever.  It was useful, if exhausting.

Still, even if I’m crazy, at least I have a husband who loves me anyhow.  Thank God.