That which we call a blog by any other name would still clutter up the internet with self-important monologues. However, that is not what I intended when I started Braids and Broken Clocks.
I can't even begin to count the number of times I've found myself surrounded by a group of hysterically laughing people who often guiltily turn to me and say, "I'm so sorry for laughing. I know it isn't funny, but somehow the way you talk about your misfortune makes it impossible not to." If you are one of the people who has said this to me, then don't worry. I was trying to make you laugh. I was also probably trying to make me laugh. This has been a coping technique of mine for a long time. On the whole, my life has been privileged, yet somehow it has also been filled with enough small misfortune to make me seem like one of the unluckiest people you'll ever meet. Making fun of the little things helps me to deal with frustration, as well as to help me gain a healthy perspective about the more serious problems life has to throw at me. This blog was supposed to be a place for me to tell these funny stories, but instead turned out to be more of a receptacle for my more depressed moods. So I guess it does kind of fit the criteria for a self-important internet monologue. If you don't find yourself discouraged, however, I fully intend to eventually entertain you with the most bizarre and outlandish stories a person with a life as typical as mine could possibly ever tell.
It's been several months since my last post, so I'll try to bring everyone up to date. Of my myriad disorders, I've only gone into depth about Trichotillomania and ADHD, and I haven't really given enough history or examples for you to know how the other disorders affect my life, but for now I'll treat them all as a whole for the sake of brevity.
Over the summer I went to see some doctors. I was sick of being sad and of pulling out my hair and of basically not being motivated in any way to live my life. I've never been suicidal, but I at least know what it's like to despise being awake and conscious, to just wish you could lie in bed day after day, dreaming forever. And after all that struggle I finally did get help. I saw a therapist for several months and finally, FINALLY got to see a psychiatrist, right before my fall semester started. I started taking two medications: an SSRI called Lexapro (escitalopram) for the depression, OCD, anxiety, and TTM, and a stimulant called Focalin XR (dexmethylphenidate) for the ADHD. There are some long, hilarious stories about the next few months of getting used to my medications, but ultimately they helped. A lot. My life mostly went back to normal. There continued to be plenty of struggles, but for the most part I was able to keep a handle on things. Or at least not panic when I didn't keep a handle on things. I didn't realize how much I owed to the medications until these past couple days. For some very, very stupid reasons, I missed taking my meds several days in a row, and I can honestly say I feel like emotional shit. Everything is overwhelming in the worst ways. People talking on my hall are even more annoying. Boredom is extra boring. Homework is extra intimidating and painful. My relaxation music is too loud and not at all relaxing. My lights are too bright. My stomach hurts when I'm hungry but it also hurts when I eat. I'm just generally upset with life right now. Maybe that's why I needed to write a blog post. Not funny, I know. This is not one of those times when I'm trying to make you laugh. It's one of those times when I'm trying to let you know why I can laugh at those other little things. Nothing can make being mugged at a nude beach sound funnier better than depression can. Pretty much every obnoxious thing that ever happened to me sounds hilarious when compared with the shitty way I feel right now. And the worst part is the realization that this version of me is the real one. How independent can you feel when you know that your autonomy is tied to downing half a dozen pills every morning? How successful can I expect to be when I wake up after sleeping 16 hours and instead of using the extra time given to me by the cancellations caused by Hurricane Sandy to complete late work, I just want to go back to sleep? I know that I'll feel better in the next few days as I start absorbing my meds, but I can't help but feel this is like a revelation. If I was getting so behind in my work this semester while getting the proper help, how much of that was really my success? Was it success at all? I've missed more classes than I can count this semester, and have a pile of late work lying next to me that I could have been doing over this long, four-day weekend, yet I've done pretty much nothing other than sleep since Thursday. The hypochondriac in me thinks maybe sleeping disorder? But even if I had an actual excuse for sleeping through my life, it wouldn't make it any easier to live. There are things I really want to do, but I truly am getting in my own way. As much as I thought this semester would be a new start for me, I know my professors have already started to think of me as that student who'll show up half an hour late if she shows up at all. Or that girl who always has an excuse. Usually my excuses are entirely valid, but they don't throw me any less off track. I'm not failing my classes or anything, but I can honestly say that things aren't going like I thought they would. I've missed lectures I really wanted to go to, and cut several deadlines stressfully close when the work was really easy and laid back. Basically, I can see that everything was set up for me perfectly this year. I got a good dorm room (single!), great classes (with the best profs), a good support team of doctors and therapists, and a great balance of meds that's made me feel like I was on top of the world. And I still can't get my homework in on time? And my body forces me to sleep 10 hours a day, even if that means turning off my alarm in my sleep and missing all my classes. What gives, body? I thought we were cooperating here. It's still an uphill battle as far as I can see.
As I wrap up my self-important monologue, I would like to assure any friends and readers of mine that this depression is probably my own fault, self-inflicted by being lazy with my meds. I hope to start writing again regularly, and hopefully in the future it will be because I have great stories to share, and not because I'm too depressed to leave my room and seek comfort in an actual, living human being.
Have a happy Halloween, everyone! Eat lots of candy. And good luck to any of those who were affected by Hurricane Sandy.
