My birthday wasn't that great. Sure, I made it sound awesome, but the truth was, it was kind of miserable. And it was my fault.
I hate that I have to keep taking medication for my depression. It's so insane (ha) to think that I will be fine without it --because every time I stop or skip or forget, I fall apart.
Yes, the kids were kind of bratty, acting out (subconsciously) as a punishment of sorts for us leaving them all week (maybe? I don't know. Sounds legit to me!), and yes, #5 decided to poop all over the bathroom, and yes, I was still feeling tired from having gotten in at 1:30AM that morning, and yes, re-entry into family life is always a tad bumpy --but those were excuses. My behavior, bad attitude, lashing out, unfound anger, all of it... it was... just wrong. And sad. And made all of us miserable. I was seriously psychotic. Out of control.
And then I remembered: I had forgotten to take my meds.
I took them that night, and yesterday was a stark contrast. I was calm, I was more focused, I was kind.
I hate that I have such little control unless I rely on medical intervention. Isn't that stupid, though? Why should I hate it? I'm the first person to admit that you can't simply pray away mental illness. I mean, shouldn't I be grateful there's at least a solution? My hubby's grandmother didn't have this as she raised her small kids --she had to just deal. No medicine for her until later. I really need to be grateful that at least I have the option of being "normal" and "happy."
Still, I think I need to go back to a psychiatrist and look at my dosage and maybe change meds. This one isn't working anymore unless I give myself more (don't worry, I'm not overdosing, well, maybe technically I am --but just a little, like 75mg instead of 50mg) and I just found out that one of the side effects is weight gain. How did I not know this!? I mean, boy howdy, have I gained weight on this! So, I'm hoping to see someone soon. Like tomorrow. Or next week.
Another problem is that I still have dizziness and vertigo. It's been like this since getting off the cruise ship and it's not going away. I'm hoping it does soon, because apparently if it doesn't, I might have something called Mal de Debarquement Syndrome. Yay??
So, I realized I called this post "I Hate Meds," but the truth is probably more, "I Hate That I Need Meds." Or "I Hate That I Have Depression and Thereby Need Help and Intervention and Medication." Or "I Hate That This Is My Lot For Now," or "I Wish I Could Just Get Better and Stop Having To Relearn It All Even Though That Is Usually What It Means To Be Fallen."
And speaking of mental illness, if you haven't had a chance, yet, you really should go over to Real Intent and read our series called Peculiar Minds. There are several fascinating essays about all kinds of mental illness, from Aspergers to Personality Disorder, Depression to Schizophrenia, OCD to Anxiety. Honestly, it's amazing! Go have a look. (Oh, and FYI, all the links to the different essays are at the bottom of the intro essay I just linked to.)
Depression. Sigh and blerg and I just gotta keep keepin' on.