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Me: addressing … sadness?

Just had too lol.
Sometimes My way of describing things cracks my shit up.
So as I’m going through my old posts and re-categorising etc, I happened upon this beauty lol. Turns out, I still agree with my own insightful wisdom 😉 and with the newly donned label of mdd to add to the shortlist, I find myself once again, in this predicament – to medicate or not to medicate. And guess what … if I get all medicated up and shit, the ‘professionals’ tick the ‘she’s complied with treatment’ box. Doesn’t mean I get paid more. Also doesn’t mean they offer more or different assistance. Doesn’t mean the fluffy pts(d) and mdd fairies come and wave some wand to make me feel all a wee bit better …. Nope.

meptsdandallthefuckedupshitinbetween

I’ve been ruminating on this for a while … I’ve written about it a few times in the past; from my point of view of course.

I’m at it again, because there is a disturbance in the (my) Force and it’ll come tumbling out all slightly messed up as usual … but oh well 😉

We’ve had a few more suicide attempts within the family; a couple of deaths; couple near misses; the earth (Paptuanuku) has been flexing her muscles which sends unease throughout the masses;  … Theres grief and perplexity abounding all round. Not obvious; but it’s there.

So as the Suicide Hotline numbers are topic 1 on the family Newsfeeds at the moment, and there’s an outpouring of “I’m here if you want to talk … anytime” sentiment tagged onto these Hotline messages; and Topic 2 is Depression and what you should do if you think your depressed…

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Me: addressing … sadness?

I’ve been ruminating on this for a while … I’ve written about it a few times in the past; from my point of view of course.

I’m at it again, because there is a disturbance in the (my) Force and it’ll come tumbling out all slightly messed up as usual … but oh well 😉

We’ve had a few more suicide attempts within the family; a couple of deaths; couple near misses; the earth (Paptuanuku) has been flexing her muscles which sends unease throughout the masses;  … Theres grief and perplexity abounding all round. Not obvious; but it’s there.

So as the Suicide Hotline numbers are topic 1 on the family Newsfeeds at the moment, and there’s an outpouring of “I’m here if you want to talk … anytime” sentiment tagged onto these Hotline messages; and Topic 2 is Depression and what you should do if you think your depressed  … *not feel ashamed *talk to someone *get help … being the top 3 suggestions            …. I am left wondering the following:

  1. If we really gave a shit about people / family / those in grief / those struggling; why do we offer assistance only after the fact?
  2. Why is the go to anecdote have to do with how sad we once felt and how we ‘chinned’ up and ‘soldiered on’?
  3. Why is the reason to anything we don’t really understand, to do with sadness, have to be labelled as “Depression”?
  4. Does the title Depression make Us feel more comfortable, rather than Sadness?

Don’t get me wrong, Depressive Disorder / Depression in any sense of the word / label is a bitch, no doubt. I was raised around plenty of depressives … I get it.

What I wonder though .. is, were they really depressed? Or is that just the clinical term given to those who then have a legitimate reason to be drugged? By labelling them as such, do we then get to tuck them all neatly away in the corner, drugged up, still rocking … but labelled, so at least we know what ‘that’ is?

From my own groove; I’ve been given more drugs for Depression than I care to remember. No-one actually did a blood test and said … Yes, your whats’its are low and a good dose of this shit will increase those whats’its and you should be all tip top again in at least a decade. No, they questioned me. They ticked a few boxes and because I ticked the ‘depressive’ category, they prescribed.

The problem with questions, from one perspective, or an ‘anti-wholistic’ perspective – is they only ‘fit’ a generalised populace. And generally, that populace, depending on what it is … is white, mid age, mid class … not, indigenous, not sensitive, not artistic, not unique. Generalised, is just that. Unfortunately, generalised is not really the ‘norm’.

So, back to the drugging aspect of this all … the drugs ‘they’ have prescribed for me over the years include most on Wikipedias List of Antidepressants excluding those that aren’t available in NZ and Lithium.

Fast forward to 2016, and after nearly 2 decades on, some clever fucker decides to look a little wider, noticing that there might be more to this than meets the naked eye … that Me doesn’t display all the A Typical symptoms of Depression / Depressive Disorder …. Whoa … brilliant … we label this one with PTS(D) instead. Now lets try medicating this bitch with other shit …

Hold the fuck up I say … No more medication.

If they misdiagnosed, mis-medicated for nearly 2 decades; like fuck will I let them continue doing that! Because somehow they got brighter and smarter over the last 20 years?? Well, thats what the last lot said.

Now, I’m not bashing the medical System (well, not completely) … my point is …

I know ME … if I’m left to figure it out … I know ME. Therefore I know what I need.

Which brings me to where I’m at now.

But slightly of track with the rest of my ramble …

Back to the Newsfeed Depressives and Suicide peeps.

Whether they’re truly depressed or not, I’m uncertain. I know they’re sad; that much is clear. So they toodle off to the doctors who prescribes one of a trillion possible anti-depressants. ‘Go home, take these .. back to work Monday’. Couple years later, after a dozen or more ‘trials’ of medication have unfolded … but they’re still living a ‘productive’ life … they try and Top themselves … and we all sit back and go, Fuck … didn’t see that coming … ???!!!

Why? How? How did we not see that coming?

I believe medication isn’t designed to cure us, just placate us. If it placates us, where does everything that caused the sadness go??

It got me wondering, what my tipuna (ancestors) did, pre-colonial days, when someone was ‘sad’.

And heres what I found out:

When someone was deemed to be sad, or depressed … unable to engage or talk … they were taken into the whare or community house … where everyone worked and met and talked … the ‘sad’ person, was able to rest / sleep, on a mat in the centre … they were surrounded by their loved ones, who continued to go about their daily business … but would also feed the person, touch them, tell them stories, laugh, cry … love them. And this went on for as long as it needed to. It went on for as long as the ‘sad’ person needed it to.

And you know what … I dig that way of doing things! And i guess, it’s what I’m doing for myself now.

….. Lastly, the suicide topic … ….

Why?

I don’t think i agree with suicide, but I get it. Been there, done that and I get it. Is it preventable?

Fuck yes.

Most of Us want the fight to be over … we want the sadness to be over … we want acceptance … just to be left to be who and what we are … what ever that form may be.

The only way I can see for any of us to find that … is to create it for ourselves.

I’m still pissed at those that have left me; taken their own lives … but I get it! And those that have tried and been ‘unsuccessful’ and look like they are getting better but are just actually waiting for an opportunity to try again … I get that too … and I can see it on You.

To those that I love … If you do, I hope you find peace. For those that don’t, I hope you also find peace.

There … think I’m finished that for now …

For now 😉

addiction cloud…2010

Sometimes I wonder how the fuck I’m still here! But I am … and stronger for it I do believe 😉

meptsdandallthefuckedupshitinbetween

The BPPV didn’t go away, it got worse. I saw a neurologist and had a CT scan which showed up nuddah. The neurologist suggested I had some kind of CHVS, Chronic Hyperventilation Syndrome, and sent me packing. I was having panic attacks 3-4 times a day, but at this stage they weren’t diagnosed as that. Brilliant doctors decided I had Major Depressive Disorder, and tried to medicate accordingly.

What was interesting about this turn of events is that I had spent about 10 years ‘clean’…not taking any mind altering substances; not drinking and maintaining a pretty descent diet. And their first thought was to pump me full of medication. By this time though, I was so wobbly on my feet, I think I would have kissed a frogs ass if they said it would help. I tried yoga and breathing exercises to help with the dizziness…aka undiagnosed anxiety! No one thought to…

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looking back…

I know I’m making personal progress even though most of the time I’m second guessing myself. I guess it’s one of those ‘flaws’ that I’ll figure how to make into something spectacular one day.

But just so I remember…how far it is that I have actually come…

March 2014 we moved to my beach heaven – the 3 years previous had been filled with unexplained anxiety, sickness, increased weight, depression, increasing medication, pain, emotional distress, very little sleep, nightmares, sensory overload, not driving, decreased travel in a car, not working and eventually not leaving the house.

The car ride to our beach was the first ‘long’ trip I had taken in a very long time. For the first 4 weeks I think it was, I didn’t leave the house at all. I freaked out when the neighbours tried to be neighbourly. I’d have a panic attack in the backyard because it was too far from the actual house and I didn’t venture past the mailbox without medication.

It took about 3 months to feel some kind of relaxed feeling. I started feeling more familiar with my surroundings and not so on edge. There is something quite peaceful about hearing the ocean roar all the time. It was soothing. For the mind and the soul. It still is.

I eventually got past the mailbox and tried to walk to the beach. I failed, lots; and freaked myself out numerous times. It was plenty discouraging!

I finally got a diagnosis of PTSD about 6 months after moving out here. While it was painful to hear; it made sense. Everything made more sense. But it pissed me off. I waited about another 6 months for any type of treatment…the wheels of ‘health’ move way to slowly in this country.

The first session with the psychologist was awful…for her and me. She ended up coming to me instead. We’ve had about 6 months of her coming to me.

Anything I did…the shop, the beach, family celebrations, family coming to visit…were hard work. It’d take days to recover.

I struggled with sleeping and the more I became anxious about it the harder it was to sleep. The nightmares were hell-a-scary for ages, and waking up sweating and shaking and crying, were pretty horribly normal.

We are now in November 2015…and I am not where I was five years ago; a couple years ago or even a few months ago. I have made progress.

More than anything, I’ve learnt…well learning, to accept my little quirks as just me. Not necessarily a part of PTSD…but just the way I’m wired. And as long as it’s not hurting me, then its OK.

I can socialise now…not like the partner does; but in my own funky way 🙂

I can talk on the phone now…I still don’t like it; but it doesn’t freak me out 🙂

I can walk to the shop…by myself…making sure I always return home with a brownie 🙂

I can do family…I love doing family…I love having the kids here; the mokos here…I don’t find them draining like I used too 🙂

I’ve figured size is just a number and don’t really give a shit about my weight…it’ll decrease when its ready I reckon…and I’m OK with it…so much so, I’m going to buy a bikini for summer 🙂

I can sleep up to 6 hours on a quarter sleeping tablet…there are less nightmares…and I know what to do when I do wake up from them 🙂

I have made progress…I need to remember that, and congratulate myself regularly. I know I’ve forgotten some of my mean achievements, but these will do for now 🙂

Rock on you funky thing you 😉 Let’s tick some more stuff off that list of yours…

medication irony

There’s been

Fluoxetine and Paroxetine

Citalopram and Clonazepam.

The Tricyclic, Notriptyline

And the Noradrenaline

Venlafaxine.

Then Naproxen and Nurofen

and Ibuprofen and Promethazine.

Don’t forget the Metoclopramide

and the Metamide.

The Diazepam and the Alprazolam,

the Lorazepam and the Oxazepam.

Then there’s the Dexamethasone and the Valdecoxib,

Meclofenamate and Metoclopramide Hydrochloride.

The Sertraline and the Parozetine,

The Benzodiazepine, Aprazolam

and Zopiclone.

Meclizine Hydrochloride, Antivert and Diphenhydramine,

not to mention Dopress too.

Then there’s Omeprazole and Paracetamol,

Varenicline and Allersooth.

Not forgetting the

Surmontil and Aropax.

And where I wonder are the things

I ‘self medicated’ with?

Well there’s abit of coke, and weed

Plenty of Tobacco and bourbon.

Beer, a few uppers and downers.

A couple of trips

And some red wine.

IRONY?

I thought so.