Libia vs. Labia vs. Libya.

I had this really embarrassing social network situation the other day.  We all know I try to avoid the "News" in all its forms because it's just so depressing.  Usually I get as much as I need to know to keep me going through life from Yahoo News one liners.   With Yahoo, I can be selective with my news.  I can, for instance, bypass the story of the some pissed off guy who takes a machine gun to college and instead read the one about the woman who gave birth on an airplane so they upgraded her to first class.  See, so much less depressing, right?

Okay so back to Facebook, I write as my status:  'Just found out Gadahfi is dead.  Yay Libia!!'

So one friend writes:

Libya.

And then I think...Did I spell Gadahfi wrong too?  I bet I put the 'H' in the wrong place....sure enough, I'm corrected on that too.

In my defense, I was super conscious of not spelling LABIA, so I think I over compensated by forgetting the 'Y' completely.  Of course, spelling *Libia* isn't half as embarrassing as writing Labia...but I looked super ignorant, and I dislike looking anything other than perfect and smart.  Gadhafi isn't exactly Smith or Jones and I'm pretty sure the 'H' is silent, so I could have put it anywhere and it would still be silent, right?  

So, I decided to make a conscious effort to listen/watch/read more news and this is what I have filled my pure, innocent *ahem* mind with....

1.  In Ohio, a man who owns an exotic animal zoo opens all the cages then kills himself.  The animals, lions and tigers and a monkey with herpes - 40 animals in total - were shot dead by police because they're "not equipped  to deal with animals..."

2.  A 10 month old baby girl goes missing from her bed in the middle of the night and her mother is the prime suspect.  They're currently looking in abandoned wells in the area.

3.  There was a horrific earthquake in Turkey where at least 1000 people lost their lives.  One man lost his mother, wife and four children.  Can you imagine anguish like that?

And there were other ones, but I've evidently blanked them all out of my mind due to their graphic, sad nature because I cannot remember anymore.  They were really gruesome though, I remember being thoroughly shocked.  I remember thinking, "this is why I don't read the news!"

I don't want to read about murders and missing babies and suicides and natural disasters.  I mean it's great that we're all pulling out of Iraq and I'm super stoked that Afghanistan might be next (or already happened, or....something....).  It's great that they're finding survivors in the rubble in Turkey.  

I think I'll continue to be selective with the stories I read...

Drug of Choice

Typically, I go thru a depression every three years.  Just like angry uterus, depression visits me like clockwork.  They are all the result of some life altering change that I have a difficulty reconciling within my safety zone.  The first depression I can remember began when I was in grade 7.  It was not diagnosed, however looking back and knowing what I know now, it was clearly depression. 

My next depression came when I was in grade 12 (okay, so that's five years...)  Final exams, first boyfriend, first break-up, I was 17.  I lost 40 lbs in one month while they poked and prodded and looked for an answer.  When they couldn't find a thing wrong with me, they labelled it IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) and called it a day. 

Third depression was when I was 20.  I had dropped out of University, because my type A bowels couldn't stand getting a B's and C's instead of an A.  I had no purpose, no focus, no drive.  I had a boyfriend who wanted to make me into his wife.  Not such a bad thing, except that his vision of his wife was not me, so he began to *mold* me into the woman he wished I was.  My parents were getting a divorce, however some stories are not yours to tell, and this one is not mine.  Suffice it to say, life as I had known it changed forever. 

Depression number four began when I was laid off for the first time from my first job in the airline industry.  I was in love with this job.  It defined me, gave me purpose, it was adrenaline inducing and it was my career.  I had the airline industry coursing through my veins.  It was the only place I could ever imagine working and the airline folded.  Declared bankruptcy two months after 9/11, took our keys, took our employee ID's, took my sense of purpose.  I was 23 (three years...)

This was my first diagnosed depression.  After weeks of hiding in my house, sitting on the couch chain smoking and watching t.v., panic attacks if I had to leave the house, and a dwindling bank account, I went to my doctor and bawled like a baby for half an hour.  I went to a therapist, and we began "cognitive awareness" therapy.  As in, changing the way I thought, changing the way I saw things so that I could be a functioning member of society.  This, coupled with Effexor, got me back on my feet and I was ready to face the world. 

Okay...are we all depressed yet?  Geez...my fifth depression was when Q was born, in 2004.  I was 26.  Depending on who you talk to, it was Post Partum Depression, it was Post Partum psychosis, it was Generalized Anxiety Disorder, it was lack of sleep and lack of nourishment.  Being a mother was completely foreign to me.  I was alone and scared and asshole Mr. Ex was to busy "living his own life" to care about my mental health.  This was my first experience with a Pscychiatrist.  I was put on Effexor, but it wreaked havoc with my heart and made it race to 150 beats per minute...resting.  I was diagnosed with the Generalized Anxiety and we went with Paxil, Ativan and Respiridol. 

Life was good.  I was back in the airline industry, I had a beautiful boy, I had left Mr. Ex and I had a gentleman caller.  It was all good.  I carefully and slowly weaned myself off Paxil and I could feel again.  The good, the bad, the ugly.  It was good and I could deal.  Until, like a MAC truck, depression and anxiety (number 6, if you've lost count) hit once again.  I was 29.  I thought I was pregnant.  I found myself in the same old spot...not married, a guy who wasn't as serious about me as I was about him, and couldn't fathom making the same mistake twice.  How could I be so stupid?  How could I have allowed myself to be so careless with my heart and my body, again?  As it turned out, I wasn't pregnant.  But the damage had been done, the fear had settled nicely into my soul and with no end in sight, I once again started with Paxil and Ativan. 

I've been on Paxil ever since. 

I tell myself it's because I want my son to have a good life, where he doesn't have to worry about his *crazy* momma.  I don't want my depression to give him baggage.  I want his childhood to be filled with happy memories and as little *crazy* as possible. 

Sometimes, though, I think I medicate because I'm afraid to feel.  Afraid to feel anything other than melancholy.  Sure, happiness is great.  But happiness is fleeting, in my experience.  It gets replaced, sooner or later with fear and anxiety and sadness. 

Paxil is an anti-anxiety drug.  It's not an anti-depressant.  So, I'm not sure where I go from here.  Do I go to the doctor, tell him I'm depressed and get prescribed another drug that takes away the sadness?  And in that case, just feel nothing at all?  Is that how I'm to go through life?  Do I plough through it, determined and wiser than before?  Do I go to therapy to see why I'm afraid to feel, what I'm afraid I'll feel, and how to deal with my feelings, good and/or bad?  At this point, I don't know...I just know that I can't just be.

I'm feeling the anger and the sadness slowly creep into my being, and I find myself embracing it rather than finding a way to rid it from my bones.  Maybe who I am is just a sad person, and I should accept it and become it.

And I'm really kinda pissed, because I was feeling whole and healthy and was in a good place to find a man, to find love.  Now this.  I wonder if that's where the fear comes from, where the sadness stems.  Maybe as much as I say I'm good on my own, maybe I do need the love of a good man to complete me.  Maybe we're meant to go through this world two by two. 

Oh, and this is number 7, for the record.  I could bore you with all the details, the sob story, the *Why Me, God, WHY?* but aren't we all just sick of that?

Anyone Got a Spare Valium?

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but it's been almost two weeks since my last rant...er, I mean, post.  It crossed my mind, "Hmmm, what if this isn't just angry uterus..."

What if...

What if I'm being completely unreasonable, irrational and emotional for absolutely no reason?  What if I'm jumping down throats of friends and strangers alike, just because I'm an angry person? 

And then, just like clockwork...just like every single month for the past 21 years...with the exception of roughly 10 months almost 6 years ago...my hormonal madness was completely justified.

Except...

It's been almost two weeks and I feel no different.  Well, that's not completely true.  I was settling into feeling sad and sorry for myself, until it changed into deep routed anger.  However, 'deep routed' would insinuate that I knew what I was angry about. 

Ha.  That would be nice.

I'm just angry.  I'm angry at everyone.  I'm angry at no one.  I hate going to work.  Going to work is a reprieve from myself.  I'm lonely, but I find solace in being alone.  I'm tired all the time.  I want to sleep and I do, like 10 hours or more if Q is at his dads.

I'm angry at Mr. Dog Park for being old and unavailable.  I'm mad at myself for falling in love with someone who was old and unavailable.  He haunts my dreams at night, and plagues my thoughts during the day.  I can't seem to shake his memory.

And Oh. My. Goodness. you'd think I was a fricken brain surgeon for all the stress I'm going through at work right now.  It's effin' mail, people.  If it doesn't get there today, it'll get there tomorrow.  And it's not rocket science either.  It's a pretty simple concept...mail, that is...what comes in, must go out...the sooner, the better.  If you can't grasp that, then I don't even know how you're capable of leaving the house in the morning with your knickers in the right place.

I'm angry that after working from 4pm to midnight every week day for the past two and a half years, I officially have no life at all.  While every one in the world is out cavorting and having fun, I'm stuck in jail.  It feels like a death sentence.  I haven't seen any girlfriends for ages.  It's gotten to the point where I just don't respond to their invitations.  It's the same old, same old. 

I decided to read this "bubble gum" book...by which I mean that it's like super easy to read, doesn't take much thought process, and when you're done you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.  I picked this one called "Rachel's Vacation" by Marian Keyes.  It's about this woman who OD's on drugs, her family all "over reacts" and send her to rehab.  She goes along with it, only because she can't wait for two months in a spa with massages, facials and yoga...maybe even a famous person, if she's lucky...but certainly not because she's an addict.  Only for her to discover she's stuck in this horrid place with no saunas, no celebrities and no way out for the next two months.  It's fairly tongue in cheek, as Marian Keyes is a Brit and she's got the "AB FAB" air about her. 

Only it wasn't so much bubble gum because it made me realize something about myself.  I have the personality of an addict.  Not because I'm addicted to drugs, or alcohol (although if I weren't so shit scared of everything in the world, I just might have become one).  I'm all about the instant gratification.  I'm addicted to the rush of NOW.  I don't want to have to wait for anything.  This kinda sucks, because not much in my life has been instantaneous.  Instead of being taught the power of waiting for and working for something, I'm even more pissed that I can't just have a horse shoe stuffed up my arse and sail through life with it stuck there firmly.

Mostly, though, I'm just mad at myself for being sad.  And angry.  And for not having the energy to do anything constructive about it, except rant and rave and snap at anyone who gets in my way.