Okay. Maybe one rabbit, one dog and horse in the plural. But you catch my meaning.
The dog and horses, particularly the horses, add a much needed structure to my daily life. There are so many tasks associated with just keeping the horses going, particularly in the winter. Feeding twice a day, medicating and supplements for the old pony. Checking their water tanks twice a day, to make sure the heaters didn't get hung up and the tank has frozen. Checking and repairing the electrical fence (the deer seem to take it down daily in the winter) before I can turn the horses out into the pasture on the days it's not a skating rink. Scrubbing out and refilling the damn water tanks in two feet of snow. But these are things that absolutely have to be done, no questions asked. Doesn't matter if I'm out there feeding in my work gloves and flannel pajamas...the horses don't care and the neighbors can't see. It's like the post office. Come rain or shine it is always done.
The grooming and training is done on an as needed basis. Ironically enough, for 3 years, I was the lead voluteer for a therapuetic riding program for the disabled. The changes I saw in the students were amazing. And now I'm sort of on the receiving end with these horses. The amount of focus required for working with hot thoroughbreds is intense. You have to be in the moment, but keeping mentally several steps ahead of the horse. And the pony, well driving cart is one of my favorite past times. There is nothing quite like taking the pony and a two wheeled cart down old logging roads in the middle of the summer.
The dog, well he's lower maintenance, but has to be walked regularly (not in pajamas of course...even in hicksville they give you weird looks for walking around in pajamas). Just adds to what must be done even if my sorry ass can barely do it. It always gets done.
And the rabbit, you ask? Well, he mainly adds entertainment and aggravation. He's a house rabbit. What's that? He lives exclusively indoors, is neutered and litterbox trained. I've been doing rabbit rescue for over 13 years. I really can't imagine not having a rabbit. They are sort of like very destructive cats (chew on baseboards, pull carpet, eat cords and phone lines) but they don't smell (as long as spayed/neutered). So you may wonder why I've had them for 13 years? Once they trust you, they are hilarious. It cracks me up how much ego is crammed in such a little body. My current rabbit is like dealing with a two year old child, even with everything being bunny-proofed. (And I've been around enough two year olds to know that the comparison is pretty accurate.) Everything is on their terms, and they can be complete smart-asses. I could go on and on.
In terms of animals being therapeutic, I think it's not only the bond created with them but also the structure it adds. I know the horses, and all the animals in my life, have been a tremendous help to me. Getting me out of my head for a while, giving me a break from me. Doesn't mean I'm thrilled about dragging myself through the "chores" on some days, but it gives me a sense of normalcy. I can be Jane for a while, and I like that.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
I forget
I flew from Washington state to Kentucky in late October to see my brother and a good friend I've known for years. My brother had managed to get some leave, and he and his wife drove down from Clarksville (barely in Tennessee) to Louisville to pick me up.
Out of my 3 younger brothers, he was the baby, 8 years younger than me. I played a major role in raising both him and my 2nd youngest brother, since my mother spent most days as an "absentee." But that's another story for another day. Needless to say, so much time caring for the two of them them during their formative years created a close bond.
When I picture my baby brother, even as a grown man, I remember him relaxed and smiling. A warm, tight hug. Fluid conversations that last for hours. There's a easiness about him, like everything is right with the world. This is who I plan to see.
But I forget. I forget how stiff and quiet he is when he's freshly state side. He hugs me awkwardly as if I'm a stranger. He's only been back 3 weeks, I should have remembered. It was this way last time. Why did I not remember? Was it because I didn't want to remember? Wanted to pretend he wouldn't be affected like this, again?
The conversation during the drive to Tennessee is mostly small talk, and mainly carried by his wife. We chit chat about their dogs, about the weather, about their new house. It fills the space during the drive.
The visit goes well. The dogs are a good diversion and he seems to relax a little when we play with or talk about them. I watch him. There is an electricity about him that I can see he is struggling to control. He paces, he needs to stay busy.
It takes three days before he really talks to me. Really looks me in the eye and connects. I think he's trying to explain why it's so hard. He's a Staff Sargent, so he explains to me the policy. Mentions that after World War II, the Army quickly learned they needed to ease soldiers back into civilian surroundings. They found that if soldiers were put directly into partial work instead of being issued a large block of leave directly after coming home, there was a dramatic drop in the violence rates of the soldiers. This had never crossed my mind. I envisioned families happily reuniting, but he tells me that many soldiers go on benders when they come back. Spousal abuse, car accidents and fights were very common. But once they instituted immediate half days and working through the first few weekends, the violence dropped dramatically. It explains why he's been working half days at the base and this his first whole weekend off. They all have to do it this way at this base. I think this is a round about way of telling me he's trying to adjust.
So he's on light duty for part of every morning at the base, and comes home to work on projects. I know it's to keep his hands busy. He tore down a giant wood framed swing set/fort that came with the house, and used the scrap lumber (spending hours pulling out nails, etc.) to build a porch swing...without directions. He has made regulation horse shoe pits, which included putting 4 foot pipes into the ground so the spikes will always stay at the regulation 11 degrees, or something like that.
I've been watching him pace, watching the tension. And this is 3 weeks into his rehabilitation. We play horseshoe for hours. I know his wife has had meetings at the base with other soldier's wives, and they talk about this adjustment period and coping strategies. But actually seeing how different he is, compared to how he left, physically hurts.
I'm flying out of Louisville. On the drive down, he starts talking. He reminds me of the brother I had planned to see. He talks of the frustration, the bureaucracy, that after a 19 hour shift driving the hummer on mission in the desert, they had to hose off all sand before parking the vehicle. Because a commander decided he didn't like seeing the vehicles dusty and dirty. Even though sand storms are common in Iraq, and roll through regularly. Strange things that make a difficult job even harder. He doesn't talk about some things, and I don't ask. The most he's ever mentioned in that respect has been several mass graves, and only then, in passing. I figure he will talk when he's ready, he doesn't need extra pressure.
They talk about how war changes a man. It's self-centered, but I never paid much attention until it affected someone I love. I know there are ways he's fundamentally changed, but the easiness has finally come back. We have the fluid conversations again, I don't hear the hardness, the closed down-ness that I saw while I was there. He's mostly come back.
There are whisperings that he will be shipping again early Fall, once again for a 12+ month tour in Iraq. This will be his 3rd tour. God I hate our government.
Out of my 3 younger brothers, he was the baby, 8 years younger than me. I played a major role in raising both him and my 2nd youngest brother, since my mother spent most days as an "absentee." But that's another story for another day. Needless to say, so much time caring for the two of them them during their formative years created a close bond.
When I picture my baby brother, even as a grown man, I remember him relaxed and smiling. A warm, tight hug. Fluid conversations that last for hours. There's a easiness about him, like everything is right with the world. This is who I plan to see.
But I forget. I forget how stiff and quiet he is when he's freshly state side. He hugs me awkwardly as if I'm a stranger. He's only been back 3 weeks, I should have remembered. It was this way last time. Why did I not remember? Was it because I didn't want to remember? Wanted to pretend he wouldn't be affected like this, again?
The conversation during the drive to Tennessee is mostly small talk, and mainly carried by his wife. We chit chat about their dogs, about the weather, about their new house. It fills the space during the drive.
The visit goes well. The dogs are a good diversion and he seems to relax a little when we play with or talk about them. I watch him. There is an electricity about him that I can see he is struggling to control. He paces, he needs to stay busy.
It takes three days before he really talks to me. Really looks me in the eye and connects. I think he's trying to explain why it's so hard. He's a Staff Sargent, so he explains to me the policy. Mentions that after World War II, the Army quickly learned they needed to ease soldiers back into civilian surroundings. They found that if soldiers were put directly into partial work instead of being issued a large block of leave directly after coming home, there was a dramatic drop in the violence rates of the soldiers. This had never crossed my mind. I envisioned families happily reuniting, but he tells me that many soldiers go on benders when they come back. Spousal abuse, car accidents and fights were very common. But once they instituted immediate half days and working through the first few weekends, the violence dropped dramatically. It explains why he's been working half days at the base and this his first whole weekend off. They all have to do it this way at this base. I think this is a round about way of telling me he's trying to adjust.
So he's on light duty for part of every morning at the base, and comes home to work on projects. I know it's to keep his hands busy. He tore down a giant wood framed swing set/fort that came with the house, and used the scrap lumber (spending hours pulling out nails, etc.) to build a porch swing...without directions. He has made regulation horse shoe pits, which included putting 4 foot pipes into the ground so the spikes will always stay at the regulation 11 degrees, or something like that.
I've been watching him pace, watching the tension. And this is 3 weeks into his rehabilitation. We play horseshoe for hours. I know his wife has had meetings at the base with other soldier's wives, and they talk about this adjustment period and coping strategies. But actually seeing how different he is, compared to how he left, physically hurts.
I'm flying out of Louisville. On the drive down, he starts talking. He reminds me of the brother I had planned to see. He talks of the frustration, the bureaucracy, that after a 19 hour shift driving the hummer on mission in the desert, they had to hose off all sand before parking the vehicle. Because a commander decided he didn't like seeing the vehicles dusty and dirty. Even though sand storms are common in Iraq, and roll through regularly. Strange things that make a difficult job even harder. He doesn't talk about some things, and I don't ask. The most he's ever mentioned in that respect has been several mass graves, and only then, in passing. I figure he will talk when he's ready, he doesn't need extra pressure.
They talk about how war changes a man. It's self-centered, but I never paid much attention until it affected someone I love. I know there are ways he's fundamentally changed, but the easiness has finally come back. We have the fluid conversations again, I don't hear the hardness, the closed down-ness that I saw while I was there. He's mostly come back.
There are whisperings that he will be shipping again early Fall, once again for a 12+ month tour in Iraq. This will be his 3rd tour. God I hate our government.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
I know this is cheesy, but I adored Sesame Street growing up. Try the quiz yourself. I'm not exactly surprised with my result.
Thanks Puddlejumper for finding the site.
| You Are Bert |
 You are usually feeling: Logical - you rarely let your emotions rule you You are famous for: Being smart, a total neat freak, and maybe just a little evil How you life your life: With passion, even if your odd passions (like bottle caps and pigeons) are baffling to others. |
Thanks Puddlejumper for finding the site.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Dogs: Adding a spring in my step and a song in my heart
Everyone knows how walking the dog is supposed to lighten your mood, reduce stress decrease your blood pressure. Animals are supposed to add "unconditional love" and some structure to daily life.
I was thinking about this at the dog park today as I swore under my breath, trying to lure my dog back to me. My obedient, complacent, shaggy black dog. The dog who hasn't been walked in two days because it's been too cold to even breathe outdoors. 2 degrees F is my limit, the dog can settle with peeing on the snowbank and coming back in.
I know he's getting restless, so we compromise. I agree to take him to a giant fenced yard full of dogs and frozen dog crap, and he agrees (at least in my mind) to our standard contract of being his normally cooperative self.
He plays with other dogs, and we start playing a good game of fetch. Except he decides that he no longer needs to bring the ball back. I call him, he runs away from me, with the ice covered tennis ball. I call him again. He lifts his leg on the tree and trots farther away. The other dog park "parents" look at me. Some offer sympathetic smiles. I know what's running through their heads. "That dog needs some training/she obviously doesn't know what she's doing/MY dog would never do that/did you hear her YELL at her dog??/Tsk, tsk!"
All the while my dog, the dog that the shelter staff thinks is a good candidate for therapy dog training, completely ignores me. The dog that already has basic obedience skills under his belt, acts like he doesn't even know who I am. But I know what's really going on. He's giving me the finger. And there is nothing I can do about it.
He pauses, so he can start destroying the tennis ball. I try to walk up to him but he knows what's going on and races away. I here a few "parents" snicker. By the way, when did dog owners start referring to themselves as dog parents anyways? When dogs started getting health insurance and dressed up in cute little coats? (And yes, I did look into vet insurance, and my dog does wear a coat when it's 2 degrees out, but he's my dog. He's not my kid).
I digress. So I'm trying to just wait out this little game of "chase" which really means in dog language "your lazy ass can never catch me, so don't even try." I don't bother calling him, since he obviously is using selective hearing. He's been playing this game for about 20 minutes. I can no longer feel my face. I decided the best thing to do is to let him think I'm leaving him.
I get to the gate, grab his leash off the hanger, and call him one last time. He looks over his shoulder, and you can see him realize that I'm leaving. Without him.
He races to me, sits politely while I attach his leash. The whole time there is a little string of bad words trailing through my head.
Stress reliever, my ass. I think I need to renegotiate our contract.
I was thinking about this at the dog park today as I swore under my breath, trying to lure my dog back to me. My obedient, complacent, shaggy black dog. The dog who hasn't been walked in two days because it's been too cold to even breathe outdoors. 2 degrees F is my limit, the dog can settle with peeing on the snowbank and coming back in.
I know he's getting restless, so we compromise. I agree to take him to a giant fenced yard full of dogs and frozen dog crap, and he agrees (at least in my mind) to our standard contract of being his normally cooperative self.
He plays with other dogs, and we start playing a good game of fetch. Except he decides that he no longer needs to bring the ball back. I call him, he runs away from me, with the ice covered tennis ball. I call him again. He lifts his leg on the tree and trots farther away. The other dog park "parents" look at me. Some offer sympathetic smiles. I know what's running through their heads. "That dog needs some training/she obviously doesn't know what she's doing/MY dog would never do that/did you hear her YELL at her dog??/Tsk, tsk!"
All the while my dog, the dog that the shelter staff thinks is a good candidate for therapy dog training, completely ignores me. The dog that already has basic obedience skills under his belt, acts like he doesn't even know who I am. But I know what's really going on. He's giving me the finger. And there is nothing I can do about it.
He pauses, so he can start destroying the tennis ball. I try to walk up to him but he knows what's going on and races away. I here a few "parents" snicker. By the way, when did dog owners start referring to themselves as dog parents anyways? When dogs started getting health insurance and dressed up in cute little coats? (And yes, I did look into vet insurance, and my dog does wear a coat when it's 2 degrees out, but he's my dog. He's not my kid).
I digress. So I'm trying to just wait out this little game of "chase" which really means in dog language "your lazy ass can never catch me, so don't even try." I don't bother calling him, since he obviously is using selective hearing. He's been playing this game for about 20 minutes. I can no longer feel my face. I decided the best thing to do is to let him think I'm leaving him.
I get to the gate, grab his leash off the hanger, and call him one last time. He looks over his shoulder, and you can see him realize that I'm leaving. Without him.
He races to me, sits politely while I attach his leash. The whole time there is a little string of bad words trailing through my head.
Stress reliever, my ass. I think I need to renegotiate our contract.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
A matter of minutes
This is for Blogging for Books:
--------------------------------------------
Life has so many options, so many decisions. To go or wait? The path veers, choose left or right? Do I tell him the things that have been left unsaid? Share those private monologues in my head, or edit and filter them for content before letting them escape? Maybe keep them locked safely where they belong.
Hundreds of choices we make through each and every day. Sometimes it takes only a split second; sometimes it's with a heavily weighed and long deliberation. But once it's decided and acted upon, there is no turning back. Only the push forward, and the ramifications of things we can never undo.
A matter of minutes. My life changed utterly and irrevocably over a few simple minutes. Minutes that on any given day, slid by with little consequence.
I was impatiently staring at the white ceiling as she continued to adjust her make-up. He was waiting in a bar not far away. I knew the longer he waited, the more agitated he would become. I kept prodding her, reminding her we should have been there by now.
"What's a few minutes? He can wait."
She continued adjusting and primping, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. I looked up at the ceiling.
We arrived and I couldn't see him among his group of friends at their regular table. I apparently had only missed him by a few minutes. I knew what he'd be like. Furious, disappointed which usually translated to a coldness punctuated by long uncomfortable silences. I could probably still catch up with him, but it was best to let him just be. I would talk with him tomorrow, filled with the requisite apology that always made things better.
The 4th was bright and sunny, an ideal day in July. I hiked around the mountain lake with the dogs early in the morning, enjoying the shade the trees provided. The sweat poured and I smiled, happy just being. Hours passed by. We were forced home as the heat rose. I was exhausted but relaxed. In my head I had worked out the conversation, some of the things that needed to be said.
The phone rang. I had the screen door open, letting one of the dogs out into the yard. I noticed that the flowering crab apple was swarming with honeybees again. A bead of moisture trickled down my forehead. I picked up the receiver.
"I don't know how to tell you this, but there's been an accident..."
I had always wondered about certain scenes in movies. People who stare in complete shock and need to sit down, or cry hysterically and hug the requisite cast member. Those reactions I could understand. And some fell to the ground, which I was dubious about. The script was obviously a bit over dramatic. In real life, who would actually do that?
My knees buckled and I dropped like a rock, screaming.
I threw up.
I never saw that part in the movies.
The rest of the week was a blur. Burning the dress I wore to the funeral because I could no longer bear the sight of it. Calling his machine, just to hear his voice. Being forced to drive past the accident site, and stopping. They had left the trail of sparkling shards, crushed remains of his CDs, scattered in the ditch. The swath was randomly punctuated by pieces of fiberglass and a twisted windshield wiper. Numbly following the trail of fluorescent orange paint sprayed on the pavement, which circled the tire skid marks and marked the suspected trajectory of the car that had rolled 6 times.
I think about how easily time slips by. The decisions that are naively made, assured that the next step would follow. Unknowingly forfeiting paths that could have altered everything. Yet time pushes forward. And in a split second it can come to a screeching standstill.
--------------------------------------------
Life has so many options, so many decisions. To go or wait? The path veers, choose left or right? Do I tell him the things that have been left unsaid? Share those private monologues in my head, or edit and filter them for content before letting them escape? Maybe keep them locked safely where they belong.
Hundreds of choices we make through each and every day. Sometimes it takes only a split second; sometimes it's with a heavily weighed and long deliberation. But once it's decided and acted upon, there is no turning back. Only the push forward, and the ramifications of things we can never undo.
A matter of minutes. My life changed utterly and irrevocably over a few simple minutes. Minutes that on any given day, slid by with little consequence.
I was impatiently staring at the white ceiling as she continued to adjust her make-up. He was waiting in a bar not far away. I knew the longer he waited, the more agitated he would become. I kept prodding her, reminding her we should have been there by now.
"What's a few minutes? He can wait."
She continued adjusting and primping, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. I looked up at the ceiling.
We arrived and I couldn't see him among his group of friends at their regular table. I apparently had only missed him by a few minutes. I knew what he'd be like. Furious, disappointed which usually translated to a coldness punctuated by long uncomfortable silences. I could probably still catch up with him, but it was best to let him just be. I would talk with him tomorrow, filled with the requisite apology that always made things better.
The 4th was bright and sunny, an ideal day in July. I hiked around the mountain lake with the dogs early in the morning, enjoying the shade the trees provided. The sweat poured and I smiled, happy just being. Hours passed by. We were forced home as the heat rose. I was exhausted but relaxed. In my head I had worked out the conversation, some of the things that needed to be said.
The phone rang. I had the screen door open, letting one of the dogs out into the yard. I noticed that the flowering crab apple was swarming with honeybees again. A bead of moisture trickled down my forehead. I picked up the receiver.
"I don't know how to tell you this, but there's been an accident..."
I had always wondered about certain scenes in movies. People who stare in complete shock and need to sit down, or cry hysterically and hug the requisite cast member. Those reactions I could understand. And some fell to the ground, which I was dubious about. The script was obviously a bit over dramatic. In real life, who would actually do that?
My knees buckled and I dropped like a rock, screaming.
I threw up.
I never saw that part in the movies.
The rest of the week was a blur. Burning the dress I wore to the funeral because I could no longer bear the sight of it. Calling his machine, just to hear his voice. Being forced to drive past the accident site, and stopping. They had left the trail of sparkling shards, crushed remains of his CDs, scattered in the ditch. The swath was randomly punctuated by pieces of fiberglass and a twisted windshield wiper. Numbly following the trail of fluorescent orange paint sprayed on the pavement, which circled the tire skid marks and marked the suspected trajectory of the car that had rolled 6 times.
I think about how easily time slips by. The decisions that are naively made, assured that the next step would follow. Unknowingly forfeiting paths that could have altered everything. Yet time pushes forward. And in a split second it can come to a screeching standstill.
Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension and Lithium?
I was one of the lucky few to develop Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension about 3 years ago. It was the beginning of the end of my career in science. I had been on lithium for about 7 years and suddenly started having unbearable migraines that would not respond to traditional migraine meds. These progressed to severe daily, non-step headaches with the extra bonus of severe migraines through the week. This was accompanied by papilledema.
I had an MRI that found to my delight, a pituitary microadenoma, but no large tumors that would trigger the kind of severe pain I was in. So they did a lumbar puncture (I cringe at even typing the word) and found my opening pressure to be quite high.
I was put on drugs to slow down the production of cerebral spinal fluid, and sent on my merry way by the neurologist. No one knows what caused this, but the fact I was on lithium for 7 years may have been the trigger. Lithium is "associated" with IIH, but that's about all they can say. And IIH happens so rarely, that it's a pretty slim risk with lithium use. I guess I won the lucky jackpot.
The thing that does floor me is that my neurologist does not take my pain issues seriously, even though I have become completely and officially disabled due to the combination of the IIH and BP. The neurologist keeps telling me that my pain is really because I'm depressed, and she can't help me with pain management.
And of course, the psychiatric nurse says that the reason I'm not responding to my meds is because of chronic pain. Chicken and the egg anyone?
I've gone to different neurologists, but they say that that I'm just having regular headaches, since the pressure is somewhat under control with the CSF drugs I'm on. Basically no one knows what to do with me, so they just send me on my merry way. Funny though, when I'm taken off the CSF meds for 3 days and a spinal tap is taken, my CSF pressure has shot way up to abnormal levels. Go back on the drugs it comes down somewhat.
The psychiatric nurse I see has been talking about putting me back on lithium. I think he's f*cking crazy. There is *no* way I'm going back on it, when I already have high pressure symptoms. I never had very good coverage with lithium anyways.
Don't get me wrong, lithium works great for a lot of BP people, it just never did it for me. And even though it can be linked to IIH, there is no way to know for certain that was the official trigger for me. Even if it is, luckily the chance of IIH is very small for others. But if you do start having severe migraines while on lithium, please go to your doctor.
I had an MRI that found to my delight, a pituitary microadenoma, but no large tumors that would trigger the kind of severe pain I was in. So they did a lumbar puncture (I cringe at even typing the word) and found my opening pressure to be quite high.
I was put on drugs to slow down the production of cerebral spinal fluid, and sent on my merry way by the neurologist. No one knows what caused this, but the fact I was on lithium for 7 years may have been the trigger. Lithium is "associated" with IIH, but that's about all they can say. And IIH happens so rarely, that it's a pretty slim risk with lithium use. I guess I won the lucky jackpot.
The thing that does floor me is that my neurologist does not take my pain issues seriously, even though I have become completely and officially disabled due to the combination of the IIH and BP. The neurologist keeps telling me that my pain is really because I'm depressed, and she can't help me with pain management.
And of course, the psychiatric nurse says that the reason I'm not responding to my meds is because of chronic pain. Chicken and the egg anyone?
I've gone to different neurologists, but they say that that I'm just having regular headaches, since the pressure is somewhat under control with the CSF drugs I'm on. Basically no one knows what to do with me, so they just send me on my merry way. Funny though, when I'm taken off the CSF meds for 3 days and a spinal tap is taken, my CSF pressure has shot way up to abnormal levels. Go back on the drugs it comes down somewhat.
The psychiatric nurse I see has been talking about putting me back on lithium. I think he's f*cking crazy. There is *no* way I'm going back on it, when I already have high pressure symptoms. I never had very good coverage with lithium anyways.
Don't get me wrong, lithium works great for a lot of BP people, it just never did it for me. And even though it can be linked to IIH, there is no way to know for certain that was the official trigger for me. Even if it is, luckily the chance of IIH is very small for others. But if you do start having severe migraines while on lithium, please go to your doctor.
Finally a Shower
Well, it finally happened. Managed to drag my sorry ass into the shower today after a 3 day hiatus. One of those "symptoms" people don't talk about. I always think it's peculiar how such small things become so enormous in a deep depressive stage. I know it's a textbook symptom, but come on. How difficult can a shower really be?? Some water, some soap....and ta da, you're done!
Washed a load of clothes so there was something fresh to wear in preparation. Psyched myself up and it still took all day before I got in. And for some odd reason, getting out is just hard. Drying off and getting dressed is just too many steps sometimes, so I'm in the shower until I'm a prune, sometimes until the hot water runs out and I'm forced to get out.
It's one of those small signs to gauge how I'm doing. Other signs for me include crossing the street without paying much attention (unless the dog is with me, then I'm very careful). Too much/too little sleep. Wanting to drown myself in food or I can't even bear the thought of eating it. It's all the typical crap. Stuff I could work around reasonably well before, but has been amplified over the past year. Not sure why, but am still on the magical quest for the medication cocktail that is going to fix everything. I personally don't really believe it exists. I would be happy to be functional in a dependable way, that's all.
But hey, I got in the shower. I delight in the small victories.
Washed a load of clothes so there was something fresh to wear in preparation. Psyched myself up and it still took all day before I got in. And for some odd reason, getting out is just hard. Drying off and getting dressed is just too many steps sometimes, so I'm in the shower until I'm a prune, sometimes until the hot water runs out and I'm forced to get out.
It's one of those small signs to gauge how I'm doing. Other signs for me include crossing the street without paying much attention (unless the dog is with me, then I'm very careful). Too much/too little sleep. Wanting to drown myself in food or I can't even bear the thought of eating it. It's all the typical crap. Stuff I could work around reasonably well before, but has been amplified over the past year. Not sure why, but am still on the magical quest for the medication cocktail that is going to fix everything. I personally don't really believe it exists. I would be happy to be functional in a dependable way, that's all.
But hey, I got in the shower. I delight in the small victories.
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