I hate coming home.

When I walk up to my apartment, I know he's not sitting in the window. When I open the door, he's not standing there welcoming me home. When I go to bed, he's not sleeping on the pillow next to me.

I'd like to say it's getting easier — in some regards, it is — but the sadness washes over me from time to time. Sometimes I'm surprised when and what triggers it.

It will take some time before it feels normal again.

I've found a tremendous amount of comfort in the kind and caring comments and emails you truly amazing people have sent me over the last couple of weeks. It's very humbling and I treasure every one of them.

Thank you all.

On to the business of this month's banner. This has been something that's been bouncing around in my head for quite some time but any time I've try to execute it, it's just been wrong. By creating these banners, I've learned that sometimes they have their own time table and trying to force them just doesn't work.

It is inspired by one of the many beautiful songs written by Jonatha Brooke. You can read the lyrics here. Here's the part that leaves me a weeping mess.

And I'll still look you in the eye
It's the longest goodbye
I'll feel the air, make the catch
But I won't swing back
My timing is clear
And I'll never fear
I'll swing 'til there's no net below
Yeah, I'll swing 'til there's no net below

Enjoy.

Again, I thank you all so very much.

Comments (4)
Permalink | File Under: Banners, Depression, Elliott

First things first. Kyle wants to see my 6th photo on the 6th page on my Flickr account. So here it is.

My beautiful friends, Kandice and Kristin, at the recent nationwide protest for gay rights.

Speaking of the continuing fight for gay rights, I encourage you all to send President-Elect Obama a postcard thanking him for his promises to the LGBTQ community and reminding him repeal DOMA.

Thanks for the meme, Kyle.

I'm not feeling very holiday-ish so no festive banner this year, but one more reflective of how I am feeling.

Yesterday, I was in a big funk. I felt numb. All I wanted to do was sleep.

That afternoon, I received a thoughtful and encouraging email from someone who reads my blog. It really made a difference and lifted my mood.

Thank you kind sir.

Comments (3)
Permalink | File Under: Banners, Blogging, Depression, Life

My blog doesn't feel like a very happy place lately because frankly, my life isn't a very happy place lately. I'm tired of blogging about not having a job and the panic associated with it just as I'm sure you are tired of reading about it.

I spent today applying for jobs, crying and furiously washing dishes; because when I'm upset, I clean. By next Tuesday, I expect this apartment to be spotless.

I hate the uncertainty. I hate what crappy news tomorrow may bring. I hate the fact I am anticipating more crappy news tomorrow, instead of looking forward to a new day but you know what? It is PAR FOR THE FUCKING COURSE lately.

I hate that all I want to do is sleep.

I hate hearing about other people going through the same thing I am. I hate not being able to help them.

I hate having to ask for help.

I hate this kind of negativity but honestly, I have nothing else on my mind.

I hate feeling this way.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Ranting, Unemployment

Initially I was going to title this post, "Drowning," but then I thought, "Oh THAT'S melodramatic, Mary. Dial it back a few clicks." Next thing you'll know, I'll start quoting Virginia Woolf and taking long, solitary walks down by the river.

You can stop rolling your eyes now. I have.

My head is full of thoughts lately. Bobbing up and down, colliding into each other. Bouncing on the surface. There's so much going on in there and yet it feels like so little.

So many things I don't want to think about.

Not yet.

And then a little treasure pops on my screen and reminds me it's not so bad after all.

And here's a little something something for you to say thanks for visiting my blog, even when I have very little to say.

Comments (5)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Drawings, Music

When I sit down to write lately, my writing is either full of anger or maudlin pathos. Mostly, because that's what I've been feeling for a while: pissed, worn out and melancholy.

I know one shouldn't stifle those feelings and trust me when I tell you, there ain't nothing stifled about me lately. People know I'm going through some shit. It shows. And I also know there is a relief to letting it out, even on a blog. But right now, I don't want to be that guy. (Not that that's stopped me before.)

And really... who wants to read that kind of crap any way?

So instead I've been going through an exercise today. Today is about focusing on those moments that pull me away from that cluttered, noisy room. The moments I see light from the outside, breaking in through the dirty windows.

It can be a song on my iPod so compelling that makes me stop and listen. The combination of the warm sun and cool breeze on my skin as I walk outside. A smile from a stranger. Watching my cat sleep.

Rosie O'Donnell calls it yellow. Until today, I never understood what she meant by it. But now I get it.

When I find myself in those moments, I stop and relish it. Submerse myself in it. Let it work its mojo on me.

And for that moment, I'm no longer tired. No longer angry. No longer sad.

Comments (5)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Drawings, Life, Sharing

Honestly, I could use some good news right about now. I feel somewhat overwhelmed, useless and let's just be honest...a tad dead on the inside.

No worries. Nothing a few thousand bucks and a handful of Xanax can't fix.

Now where did I leave those gold bullions?

Comments (6)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life

Five years ago, I was emailing back and forth with a friend of mine from high school, getting reacquainted. I asked about her husband, whom I hadn't met, and she said, "If you want to know more, check out our family's blog."

My response? "What's a blog?"

Five years later, here I am.

I've often questioned, mostly to myself, why I keep maintaining this blog. I often think about closing up shop. But on Monday, I read something that made it very clear to me why I keep blogging.

"What I really want to say is that each of these connections matters. In the same way that those ladies at the post might be my first human contact of the day, I might be theirs too. They remind me that we all matter. Everywhere we go we matter. And that we take that for granted. We think, "Oh, I won't go to the meeting/ the party/ the class. No one will miss me anyway."

But the truth is, we all matter and we are all missed.

Even here, on this blog."

From Superhero Journal

This post really brought it home to me. Over the last five years, I've made some amazing connections with many people. Some have developed into strong friendships. All have had an impact on my life in many ways.

When I was going through the worst of my depression a couple years ago, I shut so many people out. I felt tired and irritable and just wanted to be left alone. I worked from home to avoid seeing my co-workers. I made excuses to not see my friends. Getting through each day felt like a chore. A dull, colorless chore.

And then there was this blog, staring back at me with maybe two banal posts a month about nothing in particular. Nothing about who I was or what I was feeling. I was ready to pull the plug on it permanently and walk away.

And then an unexpected thing happen. New people started reading my blog and commenting. While I had no desire to connect with anyone I actually knew, starting a conversation with a faceless stranger felt safe enough. So emails were exchanged and eventually instant messenger screen names. Slowly, connections were being made.

Meanwhile, my blog roll started to grow. My site traffic went up a bit, but more importantly, new friendships were forming. That — along with lots of time on the couch and some choice pharmaceuticals — set me on a path to recovery...or whatever you want to call it.

There are many people who've touched my life in many ways, but here are a few I'd like to give some mad props.

• Jennifer and Matthew for getting me started. (Now, would it kill ya to post occasionally?)

• Mark for making that first connection all those years ago. Thank you, hon.

• The Zenchick. I learned a lot from this woman. She opened my eyes and heart to a new way of seeing the world. For that, I am very grateful. I wish her well.

• Robbie for sharing his love of great music. (PS - Go buy his CD. It rocks, just like him.)

• Adam being a good friend, awesome tech support and letting me mercilessly mock him in images and song.

• Dyanna for graciously hosting this website and being as sweet as dulce de leche.

• And finally for Homer, who is smart, funny and makes me laugh every time I talk to him. He is a wonderful guy and a super friend to have.

And to the rest of you...of all the people who read my blog, you are my favorite.

Here's to the next five.

Peace,
Brian

Comments (8)
Permalink | File Under: Blogging, Depression, Friends, Life

Homer popped into Scottsdale yesterday morning to take me out for breakfast. I don't think that makes him my Sugar Daddy® but it definitely makes him my Omelette Daddy®. It's always nice to see Homer. We once laugh about wildly inappropriate things that will no doubt secure our place in hell, if there were such a thing. Silly myths.

After that I puttered around the house pretending to do chores. Load of laundry here. Wash some dishes there. Work on a website for a bit. Uploaded photos.

Throughout the course of the day I could feel myself getting moody and cranky dreading the next morning. It is currently The Thing I Shouldn't Blog About™ which really frustrates me because this is suppose to be my outlet for getting shit out...therapy on a web server. But for many months, I don't feel like I have the freedom to do so here and THAT truly sucks.

So for the meantime, I hunker down and listen to Loverboy's "Everybody's Workin' for the Weekend" on the radio in my head and eventually my thoughts turn to tight, red leather pants and that makes me giggle. Aw, the Eighties. So much tragic excess accompanied by a Roland synthesizer.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Friends, Music, Ranting

I have things in my head that I need to sort out. It feels like the weeds have overgrown and are out of control. Some pruning is in order. I know I have some decisions to make and definitely have tasks to accomplish, but when I start to think about doing them, a little voice says it's not time.

I don't think the voice is Depression rearing its ugly head. I'm pretty good at spotting him and putting him in his place now. Sometimes it's okay if he visits. I know he's going to from time to time. He is a part of me and will always be. Just as long as I know when to recognize he's overstaying his welcome and kick him to the curb.

I could be Laziness. She is a seductive mistress. So enticing with her tempting offer to just not deal right now and come back to bed.

Whomever and whatever it is, I guess this is just part of the current process. Things will happen soon. Plans will be set into motion. Changes will be made.
Just not now.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Thinking

Since coming off my anti-depressant a couple months ago, I've noticed something is different about me. I think some sort of physical change has occured. Remember when I said I don't easily cry? That's not quite the case anymore.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in my living room, playing my guitar along with the latest Patty Griffin album, trying to figure out the chords of one of the songs. There we were, Patty, I and my cheap blue guitar, strumming and singing together. And then it happened.

I felt a lump in my throat.

I cleared my throat and hit the rewind on the remote to go back a few bars and picked it up where I left off, but the words wouldn't come out. I was officially "choked up". I couldn't sing and barely could strum. The words were stuck in my throat and I couldn't see clearly because tears were welling up in my eyes. DAMN YOU PATTY GRIFFIN FOR MAKING ME CRY AND INTERRUPTING MY CHEAP BLUE GUITAR PLAYING!!

I put down my guitar and turned the CD off. "Okay," I thought, "THIS does not happen to me. What the fuck?" I mean, I could not continue playing or singing. It was very strange.

Flash forward a week. I'm watching Joan of Arcadia. Androgynous Grace has been secretly dating Joan's brother, Luke. Via instant messaging, she confided in him her mother is an alcoholic. That morning at school, when he finds her, the look on her face, just the look...no words were spoken, TORE right through my heart and got to the chewy center. I was a mess.

The same thing happened two weeks ago with the same program only this time it was Adam who was watching a video of him with his mother who later committed suicide. Slowly his face started to morph into a complete sob and I was RIGHT there with him. DAMN YOU JOAN OF ARCADIA FOR MAKING ME CRY...TWICE!!

Today was no exception. I was watching Camp, possibly one of the dumbest movies ever made but DAMNIT if I don't like it for what ever inexplicable reason. Two scenes just rip me up and the first one is the very first scene of the movie when you see the three main characters for the first time. One shows up to his junior prom in drag, only to be refused admission and then get the shit kicked out of him. This happens while the song "How Shall I See You Through My Tears" is being sung. Those Camp fuckers let you know right off the bat they mean business. From the first frame they declare, "We are going to be overtly melodramatic and over the top and GAWDAMNIT you will cry mutherfucker, so get ready!"

The other scene is during the final big show for the camp, when the plus size girl who's father had her jaw wired shut for the summer in an effort to lose weight ("That's right! We said we'd be over the top!") is asked to sing the finally number because the girls who were going to sing it got into a petty cat fight and can't perform. (Predictable? So what!! Get your tissues ready fool!")

One of the staff finds a pair of wire cutters to free her from her fortress of locked jaw. ("Implausible you say!? Oh. You just get ready for the water works dude. Get ready!")

She enters the barren stage and sings some song which OBVIOUSLY was created JUST for this scene. The song is basically her chance to bitch slap her father and say, "I'm a big girl and that ain't gonna change. You got a problem with dat. Then BRING IT!"

As she belts it out, I slowly start to well up and get all lumpy throat. By the end, I was sniffing and wiping tears off my face.

("Yeah...you thought you were immune to it, didn't ya? I just got you to SHED TEARS at a movie about kids at drama camp produced by Danny DeVito. DANNY DEVITO! DRAMA CAMP. Yeah...that's it. YOU are my bitch now! Go ahead. Wipe those tears away. There will be more, you pathetic little girl!")

By the way, my version of the film's commentary doesn't appear on the DVD. Only in my head.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life

Several weeks ago, I was sitting in my therapist's office. Our visits had become more and more infrequent. No more weekly sessions, instead we met every three to four weeks. She's pregnant with twins so I was always surprised how far along she'd gotten every time I entered her office. After I sat down and we started talking, she asked, "Is this our last session or is it the next one?" We had been talking about coming to a stopping point for a while. Things had been going great for a while, I had fewer things to discuss, so I said, "This can be the last one if that's cool with you."

We started talking about what this year has been like and what I was like when I first walked in her door opposed to now. I remember so vividly how I felt a year ago. What my state of mind was. How I was. In some ways it seems light years away and in others it seems like last week. It was kind of cool to reflect on the year and see how my life is different. "It's because you were willing to do the work," she said. "Not everyone is. You were."

"Yeah," I said, sort of proud and slightly beaming. We wrapped up our discussion at the end of the hour and agreed this wasn't an end necessarily. If I needed anything to just call her. I shook her hand, thanked her, wished her well with the remainder of her pregnancy and left.

My first go of therapy was very unsuccessful. That guy was pretty ineffective and not really good at what he did. The experience left me feeling uneasy about starting again and I waited a long time before making another go at it. I lucked out finding this therapist on the first try. When we met, we were instantly a good fit and I was ready. While I saw her for most of the year, it seemed like a very short time in retrospect. But like she said, I was willing to do the work, I did, and now it was time to set out on my own. I know I'm not cured, but it was time I handled myself and my shit alone. Time to deal with what life throws at me on my own.

Life threw the first punch a week later.

When I was laid off, I was determined to remain positive about it. It's an opportunity to find something new, something that makes me happier. I still believe that. Having surgery three days after being dismissed kind of took my mind off everything hanging overhead. Well, that and the drugs. But as soon as the stints were taken out and I no longer needed the pain medication, the gravity of my unemployment started sinking in.

I was with The Company? for seven years. I didn't always like it, but it was a steady paycheck and very good benefits. That's what I wanted. The stability of knowing twice a month, a direct deposit was made to my checking account and I could immediately disperse it to my many bills. Now, I'm faced with major decisions peppered with The Unknown?. The Unknown? is no friend of mine. I don't mind The Unknown? for trivial matters, but when The Unknown? fucks with the (seemingly) important, that's when I worry. I worry I'm not going to find a job before my severance runs out. I worry about not finding a job that pays anywhere near what I was being paid before (and that wasn't much). I worry about not being able to pay my bills and getting kicked out of my debt management program. I worry about not being able to pay rent. I worry about being a failure.

I worry about the future, but now I also worry about the present.

Over the last year I watched a very dear friend go through exactly what I am going through now. It wasn't fun to watch. The disappointment and frustration. The feeling helplessness and hopelessness. Trying to comfort someone going through this is not easy and many times I felt like I was falling short or incapable of really being any comfort at all. No matter what I had to say or offer, I knew she was going to feel what she was going to feel. Just as now, I am going to feel what I am going to feel.

Before I left therapy, we talked about what if my depression comes back. I know it is possible and statistically likely. Most people who suffer from depression have recurrences. Of course at the time I had hoped it would be quite a while before I had to think about it, but now I find myself becoming hyper aware of EVERY move I make to see if the clues are there that depression looms around the corner.

I took a nap one afternoon. Am I depressed? I skipped the gym one day. Am I depressed? I avoided answering the phone. Am I depressed? I had a spoonful of peanut butter for dinner. Am I depressed? Everything received a thorough CSI examination. Looking for signs of depression was starting to depress me. It was too much. I realized I need to dial it back.

Yesterday was a particularly shitty day. EVERYTHING seems to go wrong and both suck and blow. All I could think about was how much I wanted the day to end. By the time my roommate and her boyfriend got home in the evening, I felt unraveled and ready to lose it. I grabbed my keys and drove with no destination in mind. I had to get away. After driving around in circles, I ended up at a friend's house and was invited to stay for dinner. For the next three hours, we talked, ate, laughed and were just there together. It was exactly what I needed.

During my drive home, I rolled the windows down. I felt the cool air. I said out loud, "I'm gonna be okay," because I was reminded what I need in my life: good, caring, loving people.

All the rest, including The Unknown?, is just filler.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life, Unemployment

Okay! Okay! Okay!

Gah! I can't take a little break without The Internet? getting all over my ass? Geez!

And for the record, between the two of them, I talk (chat, IM, text message, whatever) with Adam
& The Zenchick like a bazillion times a day, so it's not like they haven't heard from me at all.

As for the rest of you, I am truly sorry if I worried you. I guess I wasn't very specific in my last post.

The craziness I referred to, was due to work-related stress, not SSRI withdrawal or strep throat or the sinus infection I got following the strep throat. It's been a fun few weeks filled with mulitple visits to the pharmacy and various health care professionals.

Just so you know, I am now SSRI free and I feel fine. Great in fact.

And Patrick...you were right. *wink*

I won't write specifically about the work-related stress here. I have no desire to ever be dooced. I will say it has been a true test of the newly un-medicated Other Brian. I've been viewing situations, professionally and personally, and can see a distinct difference between the way the old Brian would have handled things opposed to the way the new improved Brian does.

It's The New Improved Other Brian, now with Mountain Fresh Scent!

Adam never got to see the old Brian, just the transition Brian, which is pretty close to the new Brian. One night he asked what the old Brian was like.

"Oh, you would have hated that guy. He was too quiet and shy. He was all wrapped up in what he thought other people thought of him. He had no confidence or idea of who he was. He was a real drag."

Last week I had my first appointment with my therapist after a six week break. I told her about all the shit going on and how I reacted to it. She asked how the old me would have dealt.

"He would have internalized it all and made himself sick over it. He would have been miserable."

"And the new..."

"The new me is decisive. He responds quickly and takes action immediately."

"That's great."

"Yeah. It is."

So know that despite all the bullshit going on, I am taking steps to fix it. And it will be fixed.

Thank you all for your emails and comments. I really, really, really, appreciate them. Next time I take a blogging vacation, I will try to drop you a few postcards.

Comments (6)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life

UPDATE: I just read this post and realized I forgot to put the ONE thing I intended to put when I started writing this post. It just sort of took a life of its own and I forgot my original intentions. I guess I am still pretty out of it.

Gracias,
The Other Brian

Well, I know it's rough, but I am going back to work tomorrow in time to work one day before the holiday weekend. One day after a six day weekend. Not bad - huh?

Oh wait...there were the fevers, chills, night sweats, body aches, loss of appetite and constant sore throat. Real fun. So much fun that I forgot about all the crazy from weaning off the SSRI. But no worries, those side effects just took a back seat for a few days, waiting for their turn at the wheel. They are driving now that the strep throat is in the car seat in the back being spoon-fed antibiotics, which of course, give me diarrhea.

Nice vacation. Can't wait to get the photos back.

And all the while I bitch about my pain, I've been reading about hers and I think "What the fuck am I bitching about? Sure, I'm uncomfortable but Gawd! Look what she's going through."*

It's given me some perspective.

Oh, how my heart breaks for this family. Jon and Heather are amazing people. I knew this when I first started reading her years ago. It was this post. In that moment I thought, "She's a bitch. She's my hero! I heart her. I want to BE her."

I have used the word "crag" often in my daily vernacular since that day.

Heather has always been ballsy, fresh and candid and in my opinion the fucking funniest woman on the web.

I admire her so much for sharing her life, its joys and hardships, her family, her photos, her embarrassing moments, her happiness, her pain, her disease with total strangers.

She is simply remarkable. I heart her even more than ever.

*Before anyone says it, Yes! I know my pain is real and I don't discount anything I am going through simple becuase it's not as bad as what other people have gone through. It is very real to me. Trust me. But it helps knowing someone going through something so much worse than I can ever imagine, has the strength to not only survive but recover and become a better person despite it. THAT is what helps me most of all.

PS - Another thing Heather's done for me is curse me. I somehow had NEVER heard Bootylicious until this day. (At the time she had links to the MP3s.) Since then, it's become my silly "make me smile" song. It's also my, "drive The Roommate up a wall" song too.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life, Thinking

I saw Garden State last night. Overall an enjoyable flick. I do have two problems with it. One is the ending which I won't spoil for anyone here. The second has to do with a minor plot detail. If you don't want to know anything about Garden State, stop reading now.

The movie is about Zach Braff going home to New Jersey for his mother's funeral. During the movie we find out his has been on lithium and a host of
anti-depressants since he was ten years old. He mentions at one point, that he left his medication at home in LA and hasn't been taking it since.

Miraculously, Zach experiences absolutely no side effects from coming off his meds so abruptly. Oh, he mentions short headaches, but you get the feeling he's had those already on the meds. Considering he spent the last sixteen years on heavy medication, he's got it pretty easy coming off them.

Trust me. I know.

I haven't written about this yet. A few weeks ago, I started the long and somewhat painful process of going off my anti-depressant. I consciously decided not to blog about it for one simple reason: It's my business and no one else's.

I've noticed lately that The Internet? has a lot of opinions. More importantly, The Internet? isn't hesitant to share those opinions unsolicited. While I understand usually it is from a place of care and concern, sometimes it's just plain obnoxious. I find that obnoxiousness particularly annoying, especially now that my brain is on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.

I decided to go ahead and blog about it because 1) it's my blog and I can blog about what I want to and 2) If The Internet? has something to say about it, I can tell The Internet? to fuck off.

I knew going off my anti-depressant was going to be strange and difficult, but it's time to go off it. I don't need it any more. However, nothing I read or was told could have truly prepared me for the way I feel.

It is very bizarre. At times I feel like someone else's brain is in my head and whomever's brain it is, is a total loon. The side effects from weaning myself off the drugs include painful stomach cramps, horrible headaches, dizziness and mood swings. I described my symptoms to a girl friend and she said "Welcome to PMS!"

Girl, you'll be a woman soon.

I also get this feeling of shocks, similar to mild electric ones. Sometimes my brain feels like it's vibrating at a very high frequency. And the mood swings...dear gawd!
Oy! The mood swings. The other day, The Roommate said something to me that normally I would have let slide right off. But this time I was like a crazy person, slamming doors, getting in my car and speeding off. I went to the grocery store and was pushing my empty cart around for like 15 minutes, feeling the world move at a different speed around me. I felt so crazy. So crazy that if they made a movie about me, Karen Black would have been playing me with wild hair, wide eyes and smeared makeup. That is how fucking crazy I felt.

But I did the one thing that has truly helped me through all of this. I talked myself down off the ledge. "This isn't real. These feelings aren't authentic. This will soon be over." Amazingly, that helps me keep my focus.

After seeing Garden State last night, I kept thinking about Zach going off his meds. While I'm feeling like my body is having an electroshock treatment, he's getting to hang out with Natalie Portman and drive a funky motorcycle. I kept thinking, "Where's Zach's diarrhea? Where's Zach's horrible mood swings? Why isn't Karen Black playing Zach in this movie?"

But I guess that wouldn't make a very entertaining movie, now would it?

Comments (9)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Movies

"Things have been going pretty well for you for a while now."

I look up at my therapist and say confidently with a smile, "Yes they have." We've been talking about all the changes I've made lately and the changes I am working towards.

"That's good," she says. "It doesn't always work this way you know. Most of the time, it takes a lot longer."

"I know," I think. Sometimes when I look back at the man I was just six short months ago, it is like looking at someone so different yet so familiar. Maybe I'm a bit of a skeptic, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering what it will be that will send me spiraling back into a depression.

I'm very cognizant that I've made a lot of progress in the last six months, but also that six months is not a very long time. I can still remember what it felt like to isolate myself from everyone around me. The mornings I had to force myself out of bed, otherwise I would have just stayed there. The panic I had even thinking about having to be around other people. The absolute despair I felt every day.

It's probably good that I remember what it was like. It will probably help keep me on course. It also will probably be much harder to fall back in those patterns, after all, I am a different person than I was. I know this to be true. Not completely different, just new and improved I guess. The same detergent you've always trusted, just now with a new fresh scent.

Part of what has helped me through this process is not only this blog, but you, dear readers. When the year started, I took a look at my content from 2003. As that year went on, I had less and less to say. In January, I was ready to walk away from this. I figured my interest was gone or this medium simply wasn't for me. I was prepared to end cheap blue guitar forever.

But instead, I decided to, as Dr. Phil would say, "get real". Turns out I had plenty to say, I just didn't ever say it. So I started to say what was truly on my mind. I posted about being sad and being depressed. It was very cleansing.

And then a wonderful thing happened. I started hearing from some of you. Through comments, through email, through instant messaging, you reached out to me.

Over the last several months, I have forged some very real friendships with some of you. During a time in my life when everyday, I disconnected from the people in my world and detached more and more, I was able to make connections with some of you. Maybe it felt safer that you were intangible to me, but now you aren't. You are very, very real to me. I experienced a kind of healing that helped me reconnect with the live "in the flesh" world around me.

In short, blogging has truly been a gift. It helped open me to not only the people around me, but to those of you out there in the ether.

There is a quote that I love, but it turns out the way I was taught it, was a paraphrase of the original. However I like the paraphrased version much better. I think I will adopt it as a slogan for this blog, my virtual home.

"There are no strangers here, only friends we have yet to meet."

Thank you each and everyone who come here. Thank you for reading my rants and raves. My ups and downs. Thank you for your comments and emails. For those of you with my digits, thanks for the drunk (and sober) dials. I love the serenades. Whether you were a "Muppet on crack" or just relaxing after a long day, thanks for calling. Thank you for chatting with me about music, art, pets
and life. For listening to me about my daily life and for telling me about yours. For reading to me on the phone and calling me when you have good news or just wanted to say "hi".

Thank you for letting me a part of your life and for being a part of mine. I truly appreciate each and every one of you, more than you may realize.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Thinking

Since beginning my journey to wellness through therapy, medication and exercise (Oh Dear Gawd! I have become one of those people. Those people who talk about "the journey" and "wellness"), I've had many moments where things come up that would normally stress me out or upset me. I've handled these with a sense of humor coupled with a newfound clarity and perspective.

It has worked swimmingly. Things that normally distress me are met with a calm demeanor and I find a new point of view to assess and diffuse the
situation. The Roommate is in a pissy mood? This is about her, not me. Coworkers stressed out about a perceived "emergency"? No problem. I'll take care of it. Jackass cuts me off on the road? Go ahead kind Sir. I'm not in a hurry. There are of course more pressing issues in my life, but you get the idea...swimmingly.

That being said, TODAY IS WORKING MY LAST FUCKING NERVE!!!

I think the dosage of my medication has reached its plateau. Over the last few weeks, I've gone from feeling like a Shiny Happy Person to just feeling like People. I remember when I brought up a day of moodiness to my therapist, it was met by a, "Good. You haven't had a crappy day since going on the medication. I'd be worried if you didn't."

Honestly, I would be too. I didn't expect for everything to be sunshine, rainbows and puppy dogs all the time. But today is one of those days that I just want to crawl back in bed. Today is the kind of day I want a "do over".

I want to Ctrl + Z this day.

I've been a little stressed about money lately. This is nothing new. I've made great strides towards financial responsibility, but it is hard at times. Some days harder than others. Right now, it just plain sucks.

Having insurance is a wonderful thing but all the co-pays for my increasing doctor's visits, weekly therapy and many medications are zapping all my limited disposable income. A few weeks ago, I actually had an over withdrawl on my checking account. For the record, let me say that I never overdraw on my account. I can't afford it.

Pre-anti-depressant I was extremely anal about knowing exactly how much money was in my account. I'd check my balance every day online and kept a record of every transaction. After going on the meds, I obsessed about this less and less. Once I went three weeks without recording any transactions. (The horror!) Everything was fine until one day I checked my balance and saw the font for my balance was in red with a little minus sign. "What the fuck?!" I thought. I proceeded to go through every transaction to see how this happened. Turns out I forgot to record my automatic debit from the online pharmacy (an unfortunately large dollar amount) and I thought I had more money than I did. This cause many fees which further sent me into the red and I'm still trying to get my shit together so I can be back on track.

I hate money and the worries it brings. I don't expect to make much more than I am making now because I have no ambition to make a higher salary.
In fact, the field I see myself going into eventually will probably pay less than I make now. It's more important to me to be happy than get to take vacations and buy furniture and what not. I'm okay with this, but I can't wait to be rid of this debt so I can handle credit wisely the next go around. Only five more years to go! In the meantime, I'm checking bus schedules to see if it's worth getting a free bus pass from The Company to save money on gas.

So, I come into work this morning and am feeling a bit down because of my budget so tight I need a lubricant just to register another bill in it. I'm sitting at my desk and what is the first email I read? A missive from some bastard who decides to put the following sentence in all caps: "THIS CHANGE IS UNACCEPTABLE."

My first thought is to call him and go off on him like Whitney on crack. "Who the fuck do you think YOU are muthafucka to fucking talk to me like
that you fucking muthafucka!?"

I instead chose the high road. I replied to his email with a rational explanation of what happened and offered the proverbial olive branch and pologies. I know better than to send a nastagram, especially at work. It never yields the results you want and ALWAYS just complicates the situation. (Go Meds Go! Gooooo clarity!)

Now, having spewed all this out, I find myself relieved and "over it". I guess venting, bitching and ranting helps get it out. ("Blogging for Wellness" I suppose.) The money thing still worries me, but there is no use wigging out about it. It will only make me sick and that won't do me any good. I will figure shit out and survive...like I always do.

Comments (3)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Ranting

Last night, I saw a movie with my friend Kooka. Yes, that is her name. Well,
actually it's not. It's a childhood nickname. Her real name is in Hebrew that we
non-Jews have trouble saying because we can't master that throaty gargley sound
that is in so many Hebrew words.

We haven't seen each other for several months so we were catching up and
naturally the subject of my therapy came up. I told her the kinds of things I'd
been discussing lately and the progress I've made so far. She said
something that kind of stopped me in my tracks for a bit.

"You are a good man, Brian."

At first it was odd hearing those words. They just seemed to hang in the air
between us. Don't get me wrong, I know I'm a good man, but I guess I've
always believed no one else really saw it.

One of the things I've realized about myself in therapy is I need to remember
who I am more. For the longest time, I've always claimed I've never really known
who I am. I've never felt like I fit in anywhere or "belonged". I've
always felt misunderstood by others. Like I was some mysterious enigma.

When I told my therapist I didn't feel like I knew my own identity, she called
me on it. "I think you are much more aware of it that you think." She
asked me to start describing myself. I threw out a few words and adjectives.

"You seem to know yourself pretty well," she said.

"Huh. I do, don't I?"

I think for whatever strange reason, I convinced myself that I didn't know who I
was. It
was a story I told myself and eventually believed. I guess another story
I've been telling myself is others don't see me as I see myself. Turns out, I'm
not such a mystery at all. I live my life quite openly and honestly and apparently
people do notice.

As I've become more open talking about what's going on in my life and my therapy
with my friends, I'm discovering that they are in turn more open with me. Over
the past several weeks, I've had some amazing conversations with my friends.
Real heart to hearts. It's been very revealing and honestly, just what I've
needed to hear.

Last month, I started applying to be a volunteer at a local homeless youth
shelter. Part of the extensive application process is to submit four references.
Four of my closest friends sent emails to the volunteer coordinator and carbon
copied me. They all had the nicest things to say and in a few cases, I was
actually surprised by their comments. It was extremely humbling to say the
least.

I highly recommend soliciting that kind of feedback from your loved ones. It
will make your day.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Friends, Life

I'm not sure if it's the higher dosage of anti-depressants or the fact that
I've been getting up early every morning to go to the gym, but this week I feel
exceptionally chipper. I've actually caught myself humming and smiling at
people. I haven't done that in a while.

I've been choosing to walk in the sunlight, instead of the shadows.

For the record, let it be known that I hate, hate, hate the gym but it is
something I have to do. I started going about 2 years ago and it's been and on
again-off again kind of relationship. I tend to be extremely routine orientated
so when my schedule is thrown out of whack, it's hard for me to get back on the
horse.

Exercising at night just hasn't been doing it for me. It either makes me too
wound up or I find it far too easy to make excuses not to go. I've seen some
benefits to going in the morning. I think exercising has been giving my
day a little pep for a better start. I've also been sleeping better.

I used to be a night owl. I worked a late shift, I slept in all morning. I fear
I am becoming one of those Morning People. The Roommate is definitely NOT
one of those Morning People. But the time she rolls out of bed, I have gone to
the gym, worked out, eaten breakfast, shaved and showered, ironed my clothes,
gotten dressed, taken my vitamins and am walking out the door. Yet on the
weekend, she always marvels when I wake up before her. I suppose because I have
a history of sleeping in on the weekends.

Is this post really about anything? I feel like I am just blabbing. I've noticed
I've been doing more of that lately too. Just rambling on. I must have more
energy.

Comments (4)
Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life

A few weeks ago, I was standing by my bed, staring at a little round yellow
pill in my hand. I couldn't move. I just stared at the pill. I felt the gravity
of what I was about to do. This is significant, I thought. This is admitting
there is a problem. This little round yellow pill is a symbol. It stands for
something.

"Here we go," I said. I popped it in my mouth and washed it down with
water. I sat on my bed and just stared into space for a minute.

This was when I first truly acknowledged I have depression.

When the subject of anti-depressants first came up during therapy my gut
reaction was to say no. But instead I said, "I'll think about it."
Maybe it was clarity that comes with starting to think of things in a broader perspective
that prevented me from instantly rejecting the idea.

I went home and started researching the drugs. How they work. What they do. The
side effects. I read WebMD and Yahoo Health. I read about her
experience and his.

I discussed it with some friends. I was surprised by some of their reactions.
"You need medication? It's that bad?"

Yes. It's that bad.

After thinking about it, I realized I shouldn't be so surprised. I spent most of
my childhood seeking help and never found it. After being rejected so many
times, I eventually stopped trying to find help and kept my problems to myself.
I didn't let people see that side of me. I carried my burdens alone.

Yet I ignored those burdens. Tried to muddle through life avoiding thinking
about how empty I felt. Hollow. I was in a self-induced denial.

I couldn't overlook it any more. It was affecting every aspect of my life: work,
my friendships, home. I loathed the person I was becoming.

I asked my doctor to prescribe me something, trying to sound confident, but I'm
sure my awkwardness shone through. He looked at me for a moment. There was such
empathy in his eyes. We discussed my options. I named a few I had researched. He
gave me some samples and asked me to come back in three weeks to check my
progress.

It's been about a month now. I'm starting to feel the effects. It's weird and
hard to explain. The difference is very slight so far. It's like I've been
looking at the world through a thin layer of gauze. I could still make
it all out but everything was dull looking and a little blurry. The world now
seems clearer. More vivid. Sharper.

It's a start, but I've got a lot of work to do.

Here we go.

Comments (5)
Permalink | File Under: Depression

"Have you ever done drugs?"

"No. Well, I smoked pot three times when I was younger, but other
than that, no."

"I'm surprised that you've never done drugs."

I look at my therapist like she is on drugs. "Why is that?"

"Well, it's not that you look like someone who does drugs. It's just,
you've had such pain and sadness all your life. I'm surprised you never
tried drugs to ease or take away that pain."

I think about it for a moment and then look at her. "You're
right. I'm surprised I never tried them too."

I've been thinking about this conversation a lot. It is weird that
I never turned to drugs. I always thought at some point I'd turn to alcohol, after
all, it is the family tradition, but the family tradition is also having a
really delicate stomach. My dad would vomit blood because the alcohol
would eat away the lining in his stomach. He had to take
prescription medication for his stomach. I get acid reflux just looking
at a peanut butter sandwich. I can only imagine what drinking a bottle of
whiskey everyday would do to me.

Honestly, sometimes I feel like a big square boy scout. The first time I
got drunk was my freshman year in college. I remember calling all my
friends to tell them I was drunk, because I knew they wouldn't believe it.
Somehow being woken up at 1 AM by a drunken phone call, they were convinced
pretty easily.

I knew a lot of people in college who did drugs, but for some reason they always
shielded me from it. It was as if they were protecting me from it.
"Oh Brian, you don't want to try this," they'd say as they
carefully rolled their joint.

Eventually I did try it at a bachelorette party where I was one of the
hosts. I sat in a circle with about eight women. I made jokes that it
was very much like the scene in 9 to 5. "Hey," I said the the
girl with the big ones. "You can be Dolly and I'll be Lily
Tomlin." "Just take you turn and pass it along dumb ass,"
she snarled. I must have not done it right. I didn't feel
different or high. I also didn't have a craving for barbeque afterwards.

The third and final time I ever tried pot was a real After School Special kind
of moment that is far too embarrassing to ever detail on the internet to the
masses (the twelve of you reading this being the masses). Let's just say
it involved a bowl of oatmeal cookie dough ice cream, fruit soaked in Everclear,
Linda Blair-esque vomiting and other bodily fluids. After that experience,
I never wanted to try it again.

I think I've never been attracted to drugs because of my father. It's a
very strange conversation you have with your dad when he tells you if you ever
want to try "weed or anything stronger", just let him know and he'll
get it for you. I know in his own bizarre way, that was his idea of
being protective and what he thought a good parent should do, but for me it was
very unsettling.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Life

In July, I stopped seeing my therapist. It just wasn't a good fit.
It took me a while to see that. I kept thinking maybe I wasn't trying hard
enough or wasn't open to therapy or wasn't doing something I was suppose
to. Micheale told me, "You've got to stop thinking that you have to be
a certain way in therapy. It doesn't work that way."

My last session with that therapist lasted about 10 minutes, long enough for me
to confront him about some issues I had with our sessions and argue about
them. We both agreed it would be best if I saw someone else. I left
his office feeling as if I had been set free, but also very uneasy. Later I
told a friend, "it feels like we broke up or something."

I put off finding a new therapist the rest of the year. I had to much to
do at work...or I had to find a place to live...or the holidays were coming and
I was too busy. I had dozens of lame excuses.

The holiday season was particularly hard on me. I wasn't
prepared for it in general: all the decorations, food, people, shopping,
parties, merriment. I wanted none of it. No tree. No
gifts. No carols. I wanted to act like it was a completely different
month. A month with no celebrations or festivities.

In November I got an e-mail from my mother saying she wanted to spend Christmas
week with me. We hadn't seen each other for a couple years. I knew I wasn't
up a visit, but said yes because she is my mother. Also, she rarely gets a
break from taking care of my grandmother and knew she needed the rest.

I don't want to get into the specifics what transpired during her visit. Let's just say
- it didn't go well.

There is nothing quite like mothers and the
holidays to send you running back to the couch.

I'm on the phone with my new insurance company this morning so I can obtain
authorization to see a therapist. I switched to a new provider
during my benefits re-enrollment, because the medical part of my old insurance
was getting on my nerves. I had an HMO and all referrals to any specialist
had to come from my primary care physician, a man I was becoming increasingly
frustrated with after each encounter with him and his staff.

In April, I was having lower back pain and wanted to see a chiropractor. I
had treated back pain with chiropractic care in college with much success. A friend referred me to hers. I called and was happy when
they informed me they accepted my insurance. I called my doctor's office
and explained my situation and asked how to get a referral. The
office shrew informed me, "The doctor doesn't refer to chiro."

Bitch.

I ended up paying for two months of care all out of pocket. It was then I decided to 1)
find a new doctor and 2) find better insurance.

After I push all the buttons so the VRU can route me to the correct call center,
a woman name Janet asks me how she can help me. Her tone is as dry,
flat and stale as melba toast.

I explain I am calling to obtain authorization to see a therapist. She
asks for my name and subscriber number. I verify my date of birth, address
and home phone number. Then she asks why I am seeking counseling.

"General mental health and well being," I say slowly, puzzled by her
question. Why do you think I want to see a therapist you crag?
Just for kicks?

"And what specific problem are you seeking treatment for?" she
asks robotically.

"How is that relevant to you?" I snap.

"It helps me match you with a provider." I tell her I already
have someone in mind and that she is in their directory. I give her the
information. She gives me an authorization number and tells me what my
co-pay is. She then informs me that I am initially authorized for only eight
visits. After that time the provider can file for additional visits.

Eight visits!? My old therapist and I had barely scratched the surface
after two months. I ask how is it determined I qualify for additional
sessions. She explains a "certified life counselor" will review
the report and determine if I need additional help.

Fucking insurance
bullshit.

I know I shouldn't complain. After all, I do have insurance.
So many people don't. Some do and don't have sufficient mental health
coverage. I am fortunate. Also, I am covered for 60 visits a year, far more than I will possible need.
Well...sixty if the certified life counselor I never meet deems it.

Permalink | File Under: Depression, Ranting