Happy Happy, Joy Joy!

Nov. 13 - Yesterday I was thankful for...

Disney!!

That may sound silly to you, but I am thankful for all things Disney. Growing up, I was always begging for the latest Disney video (I actually screamed when I got Beauty & The Beast from my Mam-maw for Christmas). I never missed a Disney movie in the theatre. In fact, I saw Aladdin in the theatre 3 times on its first go. I've seen Nightmare and Nemo twice each; once the first time around and once in 3D later in life. My room as a baby through age 3 or 4 was Winnie the Pooh themed. I've been to Disney World 5 times and already have WAY in advance plans for a 6th trip (our 5th anniversary in 2015) and a first trip to Disneyland with my bestie after that.

In college, I was known for my love of Disney. My roommate bought me Finding Nemo the very day it was released on video, and friends would bring me little toys from McD's or from cereal boxes if they were Disney related. I watch the Disney Channel (no, I don't care that I'm 28) and have an entire piano book full of Disney songs. I'm working on a Disney wall for our bedroom and looking around the living room, I can see at least two Perrys (from Phineas & Ferb), a Fantasia hippo, Mickey & Minnie ears, Disney Trivial Pursuit, and more.

Now, my love of Disney pales in comparison to my bestie. (Thankfully, this isn't a contest; I would lose.) But compared to most people I know, I'm a bit of a fanatic. Everything I've listed above makes me so genuinely happy! I know there are a lot of people who dislike Disney (or downright hate it), and there are people who think it's just for kids. They're entitled to believe that, but they are TOTALLY missing out on something that brings so much joy to so many people. I can always count on something Disney to lift my spirits, and for that, I'm thankful.

Nov. 14 - Today I am thankful for...

Antidepressants.

If you've read my blog before, you know I've struggled with anxiety, depression and some tendencies of OCD. It's not a super fun topic, but these things are very, very real and very, very serious. It's a little different for everyone, I suppose, but I would imagine most people would agree that living with a mental disorder can be hard and lonely.

Thankfully for me, my medications make life much nicer and more manageable. I'm personally on fluoxetine (Prozac) and bupropion (Wellbutrin), and these two little drugs have made a world of difference in my life. I will probably always need them, and that's OK. I'd rather my quality of life be better than be too proud to be "dependent" on pills.

Am I 100% with the pills? Of course not. I still have my days and my quirks (like not being able to make phone calls without feeling like I'm going to vomit the whole time), but when compared to life without the pills, things are a million times better. And for that, I'm thankful.

Riki's History Part 3: Ups & Downs

Well, like I said, the rest of high school was fairly uneventful.  Toward the end of my sophomore year I started dating a great guy (thanks to my old camp friends, we already have a nickname for him - Beefy).  We were together for a year and a half (until I inevitably messed things up), and he treated me like a princess.  

My mom's side of the family has a history of severe headaches and migraines, and sadly, I didn't escape this fate.  Sometime during my junior year, Mom took me to the doctor to see what they could prescribe for my headaches.  At one point the doctor asked, "Do you have any symptoms of depression?"  Without hesitation, Mom and I both answered yes.  Based on that and a few other questions, I was prescribed Celexa.  

To this day, one of the most meaningful gestures a significant other has made for me was shortly after this.  I had told Beefy about the appointment and the name of the medication, and told him I'd be starting it soon.  The next day when he picked me up for school, he handed me a bunch of paper.  He had gone online and researched Celexa to learn more about it and gave me the results.  He wasn't exactly someone who goes out of their way to read a lot, so it was pretty amazing to know he cared so much.  I'll never forget that.

Eventually, my dosage got bumped up.  And again.  And again.  It would help for awhile, and then slowly taper off.  Beefy stuck with me through a lot of ups and downs, as did a few really amazing friends.  The real problem came if I didn't get the pills refilled quickly enough (and, being a teenager, I was terrible at being on top of things).  The results weren't pretty.  At one point I went three days without my meds and found myself curled up under a desk in an empty classroom, crying and talking to my friend's mom on the phone because my own mom wasn't being any help (so I thought).  Part of it was anxiety about getting things back in line, and part of it was my system being fairly dependent on the Celexa to function.  

I was on Celexa for a few years.  Before I started college in fall of 2002, I went to see my first proper psychiatrist, who threw some wellbutrin in there as well.  Even with that added in, things didn't go so well.  

I don't want to bore anyone with all the details, so I'll just hit on a few things.  The first is that I became an insomniac.  I would be awake for 22 or 23 hours of the day, crashing just long enough to get wired up again.  I was always online, and as much as my roommate tried to involve me, I preferred the world wide web to the actual world around me.  I was dating First again, but he never came to visit and around October I broke things off for good.  (When I broke up with him, he said he had been trying to find a bus out to see me before getting the crap beaten out of him.  I do know that he was severely hurt for awhile, but in my eyes, it was still too little too late.)

Worst of all was the suicidal thoughts.  You know that disclaimer on commercials?  The one that says children and young adults are susceptible to worsening depression and thoughts of suicide?  Yeah, they're not kidding.  There were times I would find myself sitting on the floor in the showers, holding my razor and thinking about how easy it would be.  There were other times when I would lay in bed for hours, missing class, not eating, not sleeping, just crying or aching.  I started burning myself with my lighter (I had recently started smoking at that point).  Things were bad.

They reached a peak in late October when I decided it was just time to do it.  Bestie (who was at college about an hour away) had been wonderful to me, and I felt I owed it to her to say goodbye and to let my boyfriend (who went to her school) know what was going on.  I don't know if I was hoping she could talk me out of it or if I just wanted to talk to someone who loved me or what, but I pretty much scared the ever-loving life out of her.  She told her mom, and they were telling me they would call the police if I didn't stop talking like that.  So, on Bestie's advice, I took my knife to my downstairs neighbor and told him to hold onto it for awhile.

I was too late, though.  Her mom (I think) had already called the police, and soon they showed up at my dorm.  An officer peaked into our room (our door was usually open) and said, "Do you know where I can find Emily?"  Since we actually had an Emily on our floor, I pointed him down the hall.  I was trying to decide if I should make a run for it when two more officers came into my room, asking if I was Erika.  Within 10 minutes there were 4 officers (with 3 squad cars; don't you people carpool or work in partners?) and an assistant dean in my room, all asking me questions.  They almost took my scissors away (until I showed them just how dull they were), and then asked if they should take my pills away.

"My antidepressants?  Uh, I need those so I DON'T hurt myself..."  They weren't thrilled with my response, but they let me keep them anyway.  As the crowd was tapering down, my RA showed up.  He'd been at the library studying, and noticed the cop cars.  He was just curious until he realized they were parked in front of his dorm; then he was alarmed.  He was a great guy, and he made me laugh when he came in and we had this exchange:

RA: I saw all those cops and you know who I thought they were here for?

Me: [Insert other resident's name here.]

RA: Yep.  And for what?

Me: Drugs.

RA: Yep.  

When my roommate came back, she guessed the same things I had, and we joked about it, saying next time they'd be here for the other resident.  After reassuring him that the night's events were over, my RA told me to watch The Muppet Movie (I did) and that the next day he'd take me for ice cream (he did).  Best RA ever.  

The very next night a friend committed suicide.

All I could think was, "That could've been me."  My world was shaken and I finally realized that I didn't actually want to die.  A few weeks later, my roommate helped me tell my parents what was going on and that we thought I could use some time in the hospital.  Mom and Dad didn't agree, but they did agree that I should come home.  They took me to a new psychiatrist, who tried a few different meds with me and referred me to a therapist.

The combination of behavioral therapy and Fluoxetine (generic Prozac) were good to me, and in January 2003 I went back to school.  I kept going through fall of 2004, at which point, I started falling apart again.  This time, my major problems were migraines and falling asleep at the drop of a hat.  I honestly couldn't stay awake, and would find myself sleeping while sitting up with my laptop trying to do homework.  (Eventually, we found out I had sleep apnea, and that was a big part of the problem.)  I was missing classes left and right, and in late November, I decided that it was time to leave again.

But just before this happened, I met Shane.  And that, my dears, is for next time. 

No-So Secret

Everyone has secrets.  Also, everyone has things they think are secrets, but really aren't. 

Of the several I have, the one I feel the need to bring up at the moment is my mental disorders.  Yes, we all know I'm depressed.  I also have major anxiety, occasional panic attacks, and OCD-like tendencies.  Prozac, as I've said, helps greatly.  I no longer find myself curled into a ball on the floor just because I broke a vase.  I'm not afraid to go into low-key social situations (but still prefer to have someone I know by my side).  I don't need to set alarms for weird times (I had this thing about 0's and 5's... don't ask).  It's nice.

But I'm not without issues.  The most notable is the phone phobia.  I cannot call someone I don't know.  Cannot.  The few times in the past year that I've HAD to, I have almost thrown up repeatedly during the course of the calls and often cried before and/or after the call itself.  Suffice it to say, not good.  

But the one that really can be a pain is the complete and utter lack of self esteem or confidence in myself.  It makes some things really difficult and others impossible.  It'd be nice if I could just suck it up and stop caring.  Or if I could, in the words of a friend, "fake it until you make it."  But I just can't.  

I'd love to be confident enough to start my own photography business.  I mean, I'm not good enough to be taking shots for Nat Geo or anything, but I enjoy it and I'm decent at it.  But in reality, I'm not even sure some of my friends really like me, so I'm certainly not confident enough to approach strangers to sell myself (which is what business is all about, right?).  It's a sad reality, but reality nonetheless.

And before you go asking why I don't just go to therapy, trust me.  Been there.  Done that.  Still like this...

My Bad... I Guess?

It's just after 8 and already today has left a bad taste in my mouth.  Fantastic.

You see, I tend to take things very personally, and this morning I have already felt attacked, even though I'm sure it was meant to be anything but an attack.  Let me explain.

I am notoriously pessimistic.  I am Eeyore personified.  Well, at least, I used to be.  You see, I'm on a medication called Fluoxetine, aka generic Prozac.  I'm not ashamed of that.  I don't try to hide it.  In fact, I bring it up sometimes to joke about it or be thankful for it!  

I remember I used to hate that I needed medication to be "normal" and I even tried a few times to live without taking the meds (which, for the record, turned out to be a poor idea - who knew?).  Then my mom and I had (roughly) this conversation:

Mom: What do you dislike about it?
Me: I hate being dependent on something just to be normal.
Mom: I see...  Well, are you dependent on your glasses?

Me: Well, yeah, I guess.  But that's different!

Mom: How?  You need the glasses to see normally, right?  You wouldn't just stop wearing them because you didn't like it.

Me: Uh, no.  That'd be pretty dumb.

Mom: Right.  So why is depending on them to live any different than depending on medication?

Me: Um...  Huh...

In my mind, the meds had been more like crutches, easing me back to recovery.  But in reality, they're just as necessary as my glasses or my inhaler.  I depend on these things to live the best life I can, and there's nothing wrong with that.

Anywhoozles, I digress (or digest, for you Family Guy fans).  My point is I used to be the poster child for depression, pessimism, and anything else moody like that.  People who have known me for awhile remember this and, sometimes, still think of me that way.  Which means when I try to be optimistic, people often think I'm being sarcastic or just plain rude. 

And that...  Ooh, that rubs me the wrong way.  I take it very personally when people think I'm incapable of looking at the positive side of things or being in any way optimistic.  Really?  Do you all think I'm that horrible?  Thanks, that's really reassuring.  I feel awesome now.  Woo.

So, as you can see, things that aren't meant to be attacks can sometimes feel like attacks to me.  I get defensive and my pessimistic former self starts creeping back.  The sarcasm thickens, the mood darkens, and it takes everything I have not to lash out.  

Here's a thought - try giving people the benefit of the doubt. Oddly enough, sometimes they really do change; sometimes for the better!  If a friend or coworker or family member or neighbor does or says something out of character, and it's a GOOD change, go with it.  Don't question it.  Don't assume it's a fluke or that it's meant to mock.  Have a little optimism.  It goes a long way.