A Month, More or Less

I've been AWOL now for about a month.  There is an explanation, or maybe a reason, although it's not one that I'm particularly proud of.

I take several different medications to help me manage my depression.  About a month ago, I was getting low on two of these medications, so I called the mail-order prescription service to have them fax a refill request to my dr.'s office.  Then I waited, because after all, it takes a little while for these things to filter through the bureaucracy.  When the medications didn't show up after a week or so, I called the prescription service.  "Oh, we put that request in, but your dr. never sent in the prescriptions."

OK.  So then, naturally, I called my dr.'s office.  "Oh, we sent that in to the prescription service.  We don't know why you haven't received it yet.  You'll have to call them."

OK.  So I called the prescription service back.  "Yes, we sent in that request, but we never received any scrips.  You'll need to call your dr.'s office."

OK.  So I called my dr.'s office back.  "Yes, we sent that in to them.  We don't know why you haven't received it, but since we sent it in, we can't send it again."

Lather, rinse, repeat.  I think you can see the problem I was running into here.  Each arm claimed the other was at fault; neither would take responsibility; by this point I had been out of my medications for about two weeks.

In the meantime, I was going downhill.  Sleeping more and more.  Having less and less energy.  Feeling less and less hopeful.  By the time I had called each office 4-5 times, I was getting to the point where I felt it was all just too much to handle and that I didn't have the energy to deal with it anyway.  A vicious cycle.

Luckily, at this point I told my husband what was going on.  He immediately stepped in and called the prescription service.  Of course, they told him it wasn't their fault!  Then he declared, "We are going in to the dr.'s office on Tuesday (the day after the Fourth of July), in person, and getting this thing straightened out."

So we did.  Of course, when you've been out of medication for 3 weeks, your doctor's first instinct is to say blamingly, "Well, how could you have let this happen?!  Have you called our office?"  And that's when I just wanted to beat my head against the wall.

Long story short, we did get my prescriptions refilled.  (As my husband rightly pointed out to me, it's much harder for people to ignore you when you're standing right in front of them.)  And I did start to take them again this week.  And, predictably, my mood is starting to improve.  I'm starting to come out of my funk.

One of the worst things about depression is the lack of energy that you feel when you're in its grip.  I've just had no energy or ambition to do anything at all for several weeks now.  Not interested in knitting, not interested in quilting, not interested in crochet, not interested in painting or paper crafting.  The only thing I have done is to do a little spinning while watching TV.  Not much.  But I still feel that I should be doing something and getting things done, so on top of the lethargy there is considerable guilt.  Another vicious cycle.

But, I am happy to report, my interest and ambition to do the things I love is slowly returning.  I picked up a knitting project again this week.

This is my version of Cheryl Oberle's Highland Triangle Shawl, from her lovely (and now, sadly, out-of-print) book Folk Shawls.  

I am making this out of some reclaimed 100% wool yarn, in this (I think) lovely heathered rust color.

So...I am back!  And feeling so grateful not only for modern medications, but also for my DH, who made it happen!

Feeling the Feelings

This blog is supposed to be about my adventures in crafting, specifically fiber crafting.  Generally I do something crafty (oh, yes, I'm crafty!) every day to report.  But I've just not been feeling the love recently.  Nothing I'm working on is doing it for me.

And, to complicate matters, I signed up for Weight Watchers last Thursday.  This is a good thing, right?  Right.  Except in some ways, it's really not.  Those of you that actually know me know that I am a woman of size, and I didn't get that way by eating carrot sticks, bananas, and Romaine lettuce.  I got that way by using food as my drug of choice--stuffing my feelings, as one previous therapist put it.  I don't do drugs, don't smoke, don't even drink much anymore.  What do I do to deal with all the feelings?  Why, eat, of course.

And now that I can't just eat whatever I want?  I am feeling the feelings.  ALL the feelings.  Depression, anxiety, frustration, anger, disappointment, rage....  ALL the feelings.  When you can't eat them away, what in the world do you do with them?  What I'm trying to do is to simply sit with them--accept them for what they are and let them pass.  Much easier said than done.  It's much easier (and more in line with human nature) to try to avoid the unpleasant feelings.  To do anything to avoid the unpleasant feelings.  Drink, smoke, eat.... Oh wait, that's how I got to where I am!

I've struggled with depression my whole adult life.  At this point, at 45, it's gotten to be an old friend.  An unwelcome friend, to be sure, but a familiar one.  For the last year, I've been doing pretty well, staying on an even keel, keeping my head above water.  So it's scary, to say the least, to feel the depression and anxiety creeping back up on me.

Oh, I could just pack it in and give up the whole weight loss effort, but I'm at a point where I really need to lose some of the poundage for my own health.  It's gone beyond just looking a certain way.

I knew it would be hard; I just didn't anticipate it being this hard, and hard in quite this way.