the pregabalin goblin

today's flavor: S L I G H T D Y S P H O R I A
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1

With the power and internet connection down for several hours during the recent typhoon, I was able to do a lot of reading and drawing, whoopee!.  But see how funny this is: Now that I'm almost done with the prescription for the impinged nerves on my hands and wrists, I'm beginning to feel pain in those areas again, I suspect because of my drawing-spree.  :(  The stiffness in my finger-joints returned, and may be due in part to the cold.  I just can't work with my hands for hours anymore.  :(

Still, I'm looking forward to clearer thought and increased energy after I'm done with the Pregabalin.  I'm hoping I don't have to extend or take another form of Rheumatologist-prescribed torture.

(Goodness, I need a rheumatologist now?! I feel like a grandma, and I don't even have kids yet!)


This is how I feel on Pregabalin:

 

It feels more like the Pregabalin is on me.  I imagine it would look like a giant blue doldrum, only without the goo.  Okay, that's not exactly a goblin in the Tolkien sense of the word, but more like an anthropomorphised giant sack of potatoes. Come on, it's easier to draw an anthropomorphised sack of potatoes.

And this is what I look forward to:

Pwning the damn thing, after stabbing the wretched goblin in the eye, scrambling its brains with the stabbing implement, strangling it with its own entrails and not having to put up with its heaviness. Though I don't necessarily have to be dressed like a hooker while doing it.

Looking forward to brighter days,
miratemplen

.

dress-like-marla-singer day

 today's flavor: S L I G H T  D E P R ES S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 3


Typical to the heterosexual female construct, I delight in putting on pretty plumage.  I love my clothes and my shoes, I love my eye shadow, I love my lipstick, my volumizing mascara, and that slightly glimmery dust I use for highlighting.  I'm really vain, I know. If self-absorption was a crime, there would be a colossal amount of evidence against me.

As much as I enjoy getting dressed and made up, there are days - and lots of them - that I don't at all.  There are times like today when I wish it wasn't so important to even look presentable.

I wish for a lot of things related, honestly.
Such as, that it wasn't so hot here in the Philippines so it would never be too uncomfortable to layer clothes.
-- That my arms weren't so fat and that my skin wasn't so blemished so I would never have to layer clothes.
-- That changing from a short hairstyle to a longer one was as simple as changing shirts, so I wouldn't have to go through this ugly in-between stage.
-- That it wasn't so hard to pick out clothes that looked good on me.


Today was an awful day.  The Hubby and I planned for it to be a good one, but things didn't work out as we hoped.  He woke me up early so we could go to church early, say hello to people, start the day right.  I got up early, had breakfast.  I got stuck at the breakfast table.  I just didn't have enough energy to carry on.  I supposed at first that it was because I was sleepy, but it later became apparent that it wasn't that.

I managed to take a speedy shower.  Good, I thought, I successfully made up for lost time. But I got stuck again at choosing my clothes.  Anything I put on was just too warm to wear.  I hated myself for having such fat arms and badly-scarred legs.

Besides, nothing I put on looked good on me. Everything was just wrong. I didn't possess the least bit of confidence today and wished we could just stay home.

We left the house way past 9 am, and we got to the service late.  Very late.  Not good for making a positive impression.  I tried to be as happy as I could, even just for show, but I doubt it was convincing.  I was in too much discomfort and was too psychologically misshapen to keep up appearances.  I didn't have enough energy to focus on the preaching.  I didn't even have the focus required to sit up straight or straighten my skirt.  I did not have the presence of mind to be cordial, I did not like the feeling when I shook hands.  I wanted to avoid the sea of people crashing around me.

To make things more interesting, the Hubby was cranky too.  We argued as we were ordering lunch at this resto; the drama of the day was my walking out on him. He caught up with me eventually (I only went from the second floor to the first and across the mall after all), but all the walking tired me out.  We made up (somewhat) and went to a second resto, where I almost fell asleep.

We spent the afternoon at Mom's.  It felt alright there, I was in familiar territory. I was not jostled about by a crowd of strangers.  I could peel off my jacket because it was safe to be chubby in that house.  I calmed down listening to Mom's popcorn-style tales, and watching Top Model reruns.

I sort of wished the Hubby and I didn't have any other place to go to, because I was feeling too fatigued and out-of-sorts.  I wasn't sure I could hold up.  But we had one more rendez-vous.

We stopped by our place for a quick cleaning up and a wardrobe change. Once again, coming face-to-face with my closet felt like going against a Gracie.  I knew was going to topple, submit and face defeat if I didn't think fast.  I tried to think as fast as I could - which wasn't, really; I still got choked by indecision and the overall horrid feeling.  I finally forced myself to settle for a full skirt and a matching blouse. It wasn't the best, not even the aptest of outfits, but it had to do.  At least I no longer felt so warm.  To feel a bit fresher, I washed my face. 

Then there was the ordeal about my hair.  It wasn't a bad hair day; just bad hair, period.  I felt so uncomfy all over and I just wanted my hair out of my face.  I fished out a pretty headband from my box of accessories and slicked my unruly mane back with it.  As my hair was too short, it stood on end, clumping with the leftover styling clay mixed with sebum and perspiration.  I did not like that look.  That look reminded me of formerly-attractive young mothers who have two or more toddlers and can't afford to give themselves a flattering haircut.



Then I noticed the smeared mascara. I washed my face earlier, right?  I forgot that I was wearing  mascara.  The non-waterproof kind.  Idiot.

That look reminded me of Helena Bonham-Carter's character in Fight Club.  But fat and brown, and without the constant smoke trail.  

On the bright side, I guess I don't have to think hard of a costume for next Halloween.

Still I was running low on solutions. I wished heroin chic was acceptable mainstream fashion.  Times like these, I miss the lazy, detached easiness of grunge.  It's very draining to make oneself look presentable. 


I opted to do away with the headband, reapplied product and styled my hair in messy, upright spikes.  We were already late (again) and in an insane hurry.  As for the smudged eye makeup, I just wiped it off with a tissue (I was in too much of a hurry to fetch a moist towelette, so I scraped my lower eyelids with toilet tissue) to make all the black stuff come off.  I covered the remainder with dabs of liquid foundation.  I ended up looking like I had eye bags - which wasn''t so bad, being better than having runny-mascara slasher-flick makeup.

As I sat in the car, I noticed my straps were all twisted, my top had a tiny tear and that I hadn't pulled the drawstring on my skirt tight enough.  I adjusted what I could and went on with the day.  I was a mess. 

The Hubby and I were once again majorly late for this second meeting, so we didn't have much choice in seating.  How convenient was it that I sat next to a lady with the same haircut, but with  much neater styling?  I looked like a major slob next to her.  She was neatly dressed and she had thin arms too. And lovely skin.  How could she manage to look so amazing while taking care of her baby? Life is so freaking unfair.

The Feverless "Flu"

today's weather: S L I G H T D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1

I've been having what seems like an extended period of depression because my anti-allergy meds have more side-effects than actual effects.

DAAAAAARN THIIIIISSSSS!!!

It was only last night that I thought of reading up about Cetirizine Hydrochloride; I hadn't thought of checking earlier because I took the same meds when I was younger and I hadn't noticed any unpleasant side effects then. Maybe these particular tabs have a higher dosage, maybe my body has become less tolerant as it aged, but I've been experiencing symptoms that are like the flu, only without fever.

So. Side effects include somnolence, dizziness, headaches, nausea, malaise, fatigue, muscle pain, stomach pain, sore / dry throat. I've had to stay in bed for whole days because I just couldn't get myself up, and I thought it was because of a depressive episode. Well, let's just put it this way: I unknowingly put myself in an extended depression by taking this drug. Frackkit.

Damn, I've been on it for a couple of weeks ( or months?) now, I kinda think the side effects have gotten worse, if that's at all possible. I noted no adverse indications when I first started taking it earlier this year. It was last week when I first noticed the inconquerable fatigue, pegged it as moderate depression. I missed the dosage for a few days and noticed a considerable lift in my disposition. I took the same anti-allergy meds again the other day, and the following day I was bedridden with the feverless "flu". I began to suspect my being trapped in the doldrums might have something to do with the Cetirizine. I've overdosed perhaps? Anyway, I've decided to discontinue use; I'm going back to Loratadine.

I hope that I'll feel better by tomorrow. I need my energy and presence of mind as we prepare for our trip.

been bipolar from childhood

today's weather: B A S E L I N E
anxiety : 0
agitation : 0

I'm very sure I was born bipolar. I did not acquire bipolar mood. My mind did not break down due to stress at some point, (contrary to what some ignorant fiends from RavenCorp think). I was always bipolar. I will go as far as saying God intended for me to be this way.

It's in my genes, something I inherited from my mother's side of the family. My other relatives' mood-related disorders are proof enough that this didn't "just happen" to me. It has always been there.

As a matter of fact, I exhibited symptoms of bipolarity from childhood. Just to make sure it isn't just a conclusion based solely on my opinion, I checked for How To Identify Bipolar Disorder In Children and cross-checked the items with stuff older people have told me about my younger self.

Much Ado Over Cheese Pizza

today's weather: S L I G H T D E P R E S S I O N
anxiety : 1
agitation : 1


It looks like I'm not quite out of this depressive episode just yet. :(

Today was not a very good day for me. I mean weather-within-wise. I woke up feeling very tired again, despite the fact that I had gone to bed earlier than usual the night before. Even if I m mind was racing with a mental list of things to keep me occupied for the day, I didn't have the capacity to look forward to them. I could not physically pull myself up out of bed, and I felt inexplicably lonely.

And that was just the morning.

I'm lucky the Hubby stayed home today, otherwise I would have stayed in bed until he came back from work, starved myself and accomplished nothing. He watched a DVD in bed with me, and when it was lunch time he made sure I ate. He knew I wouldn't be interested in anything the cook prepared, so he asked me what I wanted to order to go. Believe it or not, I had a really hard time thinking of what to order; I almost cried (partially because I felt frustrated, partially because the Hubby lost his temper at me). Anything and everything I thought of to eat just seemed so unpleasant. The only thing that seemed likable was Lay's potato chips (original), but that wasn't lunch food, and potato chips have a depressing effect when eaten, so Lay's was a bad idea.

Since I had cheese pizza the night before without any apparent ill effects, I thought maybe it was safe to ask for a cheese pizza. It didn't exactly make my mouth water, but I figured it'll do.

On a different but not entirely unrelated note, I'm feeling anxious about tomorrow evening. Not the excited kind of anxious, but the nervous, almost fearful kind.

The Hubby and I were invited to a prayer group at a churchmate's house, and we agreed it would be good to be there. It's just a harmless prayer meeting, but I'm almost dreading it. I have nothing against prayer meetings, mind you.

This is the first time we'll be interacting with our new churchmates outside of the usual service-setting, and I will likely have to actually interact with them. It's not that I don't want to, okay; because I really do want to make new acquaintances in our new church, get involved, get plugged in. It's just that my depressive episodes usually come with social anxiety, and this current one is no exception.

To state it plainly and even overstate it, I have been feeling a bit of social anxiety lately. I have no reason to believe it will dissipate tomorrow.

I'm not a shy person, and I'm not the type to be easily intimidated. But I'm just not savvy with the prospect of a new and unfamiliar social setting right now. Just not right now, not while I'm in this place in the spectrum. Especially not right now when I don't feel like I'm at my best. I fear I will be weighed and found wanting, I fear I will act in certain ways that people who will meet me for the first time will find detestable. I just so want to be part of our new church, I don't want to experience a single hint of rejection from anyone.

Tomorrow's meeting will be at a residence, and I find that daunting. I am the Millennium Falcon on my way into the Star Destroyer Executor, led by tractor beam. Geeky analogy aside, the thought that I will be in someone else's house is dreadful. It's someone's personal territory, and I will be invading it, and I can't ever be entirely sure I will be well received. The fact that it is a house at all is a cause for panic - I won't have any theater seat to nest in, no restaurant table to set as a barrier between myself and other people, no rational excuse to not to make eye contact. I am such a basketcase!

Do I get a pity cookie now?

I will likely be meeting some people for the first time, and that might require some small talk. Oh how I hate small talk. But I hate even more the uncomfortable silence from the lack of it. I don't enjoy having to say my name over and over, and I absolutely hate being asked what I do for a living. But I don't want to be perceived as antisocial.

If I take a happy yellow pill, it'll boost my spirits, and possibly even my social skills. But the effect can be unpredictable, I might become too energetic and invasive, so maybe I should keep away from the yellow pills.

What's worse than being perceived as antisocial is being found to be annoying. I have that effect on people. I don't do it on purpose, I swear; it just happens. But I don't want it to happen tomorrow, because I might be attending this church for several more years, and I don't want to rub anyone the wrong way.

And I am worrying about things unnecessarily again.

The Weather Within and Without: Tropical Depression Labuyo

severe elev. | high elev.| moderate elev.| slight elev. || BASELINE || slight dep.| moderate dep. | deep dep. | severe dep. || anx: 1 | agit: 0


There really is a storm named Labuyo and it's been raining and cloudy the past few.


I've quite given up on life. I'm not about to kill myself, but I don't even want to try to live anymore. I just don't see the point. I feel like things are getting worse instead of better.

And i want to shoot all those "prophets" who said I'd be better because they thought that's what I needed to hear. There's one lady in particular that I want to maim so she wouldn't have to open her mouth in manipulation again.

I can't even get out of bed most days. I don't even want to. But I have to, because I feel like I'm turning into cured ham.

I've ditched on some stuff. Been giving the reason that I'm tired - which is only a partial truth. The entirety of it is that I'm badly depressed, I'm lonely, I'm in despair and I'm not much to be making an appearance anywhere right now.

The current living situation is making things worse. I have no idea how to better it. I just need to get away. Soon. Like now.

depression salad supreme

severe elev. | high elev.| moderate elev.| slight elev. || BASELINE || slight dep.| moderate dep. | deep dep. | severe dep. || anx: 1 | agit: 0


Zero hours of sleep since the other night.

The past few days have been a depression cocktail. Though I haven't yet plunged all the way to severe dep., I have misplaced (not lost) the use of all my limbs and mental functions.

At least I still have my wyckid sense of humor. I can still make fun of myself.

Been faithful with the Lithium, much thanks to the help of the Hubby. I think that's what's making my head bubble and ... what was I saying?

In the daytime, I never left the bed except to use the toilet. And though I stayed in bed, I didn't sleep a wink. I didn't eat a thing either until the Hubby pried me out of bed. I actually have no idea where the day went. All I know is I had the lap top on top of my lap and I blogged. I didn't even FB, I didn't even have any new mail to check. I just submitted to my obsessive thoughts and compulsions, and used up the day endlessly adjusting and readjusting whatever I could adjust and readjust. Pathetic.

The funny thing is, despite my clouded, un-alert head, I keep keeps forming word plays and other irrelevancies. My mind has been able to automatically formulate quips, riddles and alliterations. Maybe I should write them down and see if they're worth anything when I'm stable.

Darn I ffeel so weak and tired and I's just love to sleep but i ca't.


Depression Salad Supreme

ingredients:

• Despondency cocktail, 5 gallons (this serves as the base)
• Muscle fatigue, several servings
• Genuine death wish (make sure to check the label that it is genuine, not a cheap emo imitation)
• Obsession powder, a sprinkling
• Granulated compulsions, 1 tbsp
• Autophobia, 4 gallons
• Agoraphobia, peeled
  
• Mental dullness, a dash
• Paranoia, 1 small pinch
• Anxiety, 2 cubes, crushed
• Irritability, 2 cubes, crushed
• Sleeplessness, at least 24 hours; solid not spongy
  
• Fickle spice (powdered indecision sticks), a sprinkling
  

procedure:

• Important reminder: Ingredients must be combined and contained in a predisposition bowl, or else the recipe will not hold. You may choose from several various predispositions such as Bipolar I, Bipolar II, Unipolar condition, Chronic Melancholia et al.
• Fold the muscle fatigue into the despondency cocktail.
• Wrap this mixture into the genuine death wish. Set aside and let settle for 30 minutes.
• When the despondency-muscle fatigue-death wish mixture is ready, it will be heavy and have the consistency of imported peanut butter. Crunchy, not creamy. Combine all remaining ingredients except the last four. Blend well until hard and lumpy. The mixture will get thicker and harder as it is stirred. That means it is working.
• When mixture forms hard, jagged peaks that hurt people around you, top with the crushed anxiety and irritability.
• Spread on a heavy loaf of sleeplessness.
• Sprinkle fickle spice for color.
  
• Serve hard and cold.

je suis fatiguee

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 0 | agit: 1

"Je suis fatiguee"

is one of the first sentences I learned in Francais Dix back in university, some time after listening to

"Silvie! Silvie!"
"Bon jour Valerie!"
"Comment ca va? Tu habite le cartier?"
"Oui, Rue Mouffetard, au dix."
"Je connais!"

Anyway.

I've been feeling really, really tired these days, with accompanying bodily pains, even if I haven't been doing much. Reading tires me out. Just sitting around and watching the new Narda transform into a foil-bikini-clad Darna tires me out.

The fatigue has nothing to do with my physical activity actually. I'd feel spent whether I stayed in bed all day or I stayed in bed all day in the other sense.

In fairness, sexy ni Marian...

These days I'd wake up late but stay in for at least another hour anyway, then I'd return to bed for a nap at least twice later on. If a bed is not available, I'd pick the nearest most comfortable spot, like the inside of a car or a lobby couch. Sometimes any out-of-the-way corner would suffice.

When you feel this exhausted, agitated and anxious, you wouldn't care about poise or propriety.

The fatigue was a cause of much loathing pre-diagnosis - both from myself and those around me. In childhood and those awkward teen years, there were seasons when I was often chided (er, berated, lambasted, harangued) by parents and teachers for being lazy.

I'm sure we've all had this experience:

Fat Math Teacher: [Garbled message in an alien language]
Me: zzz . . .
Fat Math Teacher: [Garbled message in an alien language] ... Miss Martinez!
Me: I'm . . . sorry . . . I did nat hear da . . . question . . .
Fat Math Teacher: [Asks question in said alien language]
Me: . . . ?
Fat Math Teacher: [Hurls insults which would have been the equivalent of the whole class throwing rotten tomatoes my way]

But lemme just say I still manage to ace the exam the day after. Yeah, me.

SFX: Cymbal crash.

Here's another common occurence:

Guidance counselor: You know, you're a smart kid. You're just lazy. You just need a little [motivation / discipline / inpiration / experience / more fun in your life / whatever it was]
Me: Thank you [Thinks, " G*** ka rin, 'no?"]
Guidance counselor: You remind me of myself when i was young ... [Followed by supposedly inspiring anecdote]
Me: [Sneers]
Guidance counselor: You can do it! [Insert pep talk here]
Me: Thank you [Thinks, "Oh go to hell!"]

The difference between myself and other people who have had similar experiences as a student is that their problem is solvable by an attitude adjustment. Mine couldn't. Believe me, I've adjusted. And adjusted. Of course i now realize I needed neither the pep talk not the public humiliation to make me repent of my slothfulness. What i needed after all were the happy yellow pills.

By the time the Guidance Counselor got to me with the pep talk, I didn't care about grades anymore. They weren't as high as I wanted to be, but they were at least as high as I needed them to be. When you feel depressed and exhausted, you learn to settle for maintenance mode and hope you find a burst of energy later on to make up for the lost time.

Of course in between those fatigued periods, I can boast of highly productive, creative, energetic bursts in which I could be mistaken for a genius.

Fan 1: Wow, ang galing mo! Paano mo naisip / nagawa / natapos yan?

Fan 2: You're so brilliant!

Fan 3: Genius talaga ang batang ito...

But before and after that ...

Parent: [Orders ramdom task] ... What's taking you so long?
Me: [Slowly picks up aching, fatugued limbs]
Parent: Get up off of there, you good-for-nothing sloth!
Me: . . . I'm just feeling really tired . . .
Parent: You mean lazy! You lazy, lazy slob! Why the heck are you moving so slow? ! You are lazy and useless. You Go hang. Lazy.

I accepted laziness as a justification for average-grades-despite-genius-high-IQ and began to parrot other people's ideas about me. Try as I might to de-lazify myself, it seemed as if i worked harder for no reason. My energy was always low and performance poor during those periods.

But this is funny, circa 1994:

Well-meaning High School Classmate: Do you paint?
Me: Not really. I don't have paints right now [Thinks: "Do you have a commission for me? I can use the money"] Why?
Well-meaning High School Classmate: I figured that you're an artist, right? And that artists use these paints and thinners that have fumes, and thought maybe they were going to your head or something, that's why you're so dazed all the time.

Thanks, ha. Ha.

College Schoolmate, c. 1998: Even when I didn't know you, I'd see you around and was sure you came to classes laced. You'd have glazed eyes and be all groggy, but you think real sharp and sound real deep. And you're often sleeping in some corner like [Stoner Classmate 1] and [Stoner Classmate 2]

I wanted to be more than an above average student - and I often times was. I had a satisfactory work ethic, a fantastic motivation (which is, to rule the world), an organizer and a schedule. I just had a problem with being faithful to all of that. It wasn't because I was lazy or slothlike or a stoner (but otherwise drugged, yes) or any other insult. The truth is I run low on temporal resources every now and then. Just honest-to-goodness tired, and anxious and agitated besides. I've often felt myself spread too thin, feeling overly busy if even if I really ain't, freak of nature that I am.

Prof: Magaling ka sana blah blah blah you deserve a higher grade blah blah. Ano ba problema?
Me: [Thinks: Yun naman pala eh. Then just cut the crap and give me the higher grade that I deserve]. I just have these headaches often [Translated: you give too much work], and my eyes hurt constantly. I think I need glasses. [Translated: I'm not interested in your class]
Prof: Patingin mo na yang mata mo.
Me: Pinatingin ko na, may sira daw konti. But too low for glasses. Pwede ko pa daw daanin sa vitamins. [Translated: Kelangan ko ng drugs. Alam ko meron ka. Penge.]
Prof: O sige, daanin mo na lang sa vitamins [Translated: I'm not really interested in your plight but I pretend to be so you will give me a positive evaluation so that i can apply for the Department Head position]

My disciplines and overall life outlook improved as an adult (with much thanks to the academic freedom of University life in which no one gave a fig about how you did your business as long as you get your work done well; there were no confidence-maiming insult barrages and this allowed me to regenerate), but my problem has never been in my habits or my character, but in my psyche. At work, I was often caught slumped in awkward positions in front of the keyboard. This merited a lot of accusation and criticism of course, which compounded the anx/agit factors and really didn't help to improve my performance. This, by the way, was easily mistaken for poor performance or an attitude problem or selective preference depending on mood, even if other evidence proved otherwise.

I've always supposed that having an official diagnosis and taking the meds from a young age would have curbed the symptoms and given me a happier, fuller life. But now I see that the episodes don't really go away; the symptoms are merely muffled. I know it should have been worse without the meds, but I also know I still feel awfully tired with or without the meds.

I'm supposed to wind this entry up now, but I'm too pooped to think of something witty.

gray cookies

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 1, agit: 1


Down, dooby-doo down, down.
Comma, comma, down, dooby-doo down, down.

I am a slave to colorless, cookie-cuttered days.

I've reverted to waking up after noon. I like it that way - for now, at least. I actually prefer to stay in until the time the Hubby comes home from work. It saves me the energy of preparing breakfast and lunch, and spares me the agony of desolation.

And then at night i stay up as long as i can, watching or reading to keep my mind from swirling down into the murky backwaters of my distended consciousness. Just keep things surface, shallow. No delving deeply into Khazad-Dum, no discovering unwanted Balrogs. I stay up until I am definitely exhausted.

Because I just don't want to face another day.

For that matter, there are a lot of thingsssssss I don't want to do anymore.

I don't care about reading.
I don't care about making money.
I don't want to eat.
I don't want to go to sleep.
I don't want to take my meds.
I don't even want to pray.
I don't want to believe in anything.
I don't want to work on anything.
I don't care about any dreams or plans or anything of the sort.
Screw fighting for my life.

I don't see the point since I'll be pishing everything away anyway.

Every day is a bland, gray cookie cut from the boggy dough of what is supposed to be my existence, destined for the compost heap.