tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-94154902011-12-13T21:53:38.344-06:00I Can't Hear You. My Head is in the Oven.eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.comBlogger491100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104899002521213502005-06-06T14:23:00.000-05:002006-04-02T18:55:03.650-05:00

Ring the bells that still can ringForget your perfect offeringThere is a crack in everythingThat's how the light gets in.Wise Words from Leonard Cohen

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104899506585003612005-06-03T12:40:00.000-05:002005-06-05T14:31:03.406-05:00

March 2002The doctor from the HMO misdiagnosed me...and she threw Lithium on top of the two meds I was already on. Besides the side effects from these many meds, I began experiencing anxiety attacks that started to trigger social phobia. She increased the Lithium and gave me an anti-anxiety drug. Then I began to hallucinate that people were in my house. She gave me an anti-hallucinogen. My skin

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1116776366300909592005-05-22T10:30:00.000-05:002006-08-14T23:35:54.460-05:00

I love listening in on a conversation between funny depressed people...I wish there was just a PsychoBot 3000 that would do the therapist's job, so that we wouldn't have to determine for ourselves if we're the biggest nutbar in the room or not. "and. how. did. that. make. you. feel? Press 1 for Good, 2 for Bad, and 3 for I wish I had a penis." ...thanks for sticking with me during this "I am the

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1106066255347258692005-04-28T19:10:00.000-05:002005-04-28T19:41:54.626-05:00

I was pacing the halls on my way to the doctor's office last week when a poster on a bulletin board caught my eye.It was for a "group" that meets on the first Thursday of each month at a local hospital. It was a support group for people with Depression. Although I am sure that the brainchild who thought of this concept has the BEST of intentions, like, what on earth?Okay, if I am depressed? I

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104899294895043672005-04-16T22:01:00.000-05:002005-04-16T22:29:34.726-05:00

I go to my doctor's office. It is a small eight-by-twelve room with a couch and a desk. It's downtown on the top floor of an old building with an elevator operator who recognizes me from my monthly visits. Like my doctor, he has seen my mercurial mood through these last eight years in the expression on my face, the presence or absence of tears, my posture, and the tidiness of my clothes. He

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1113572713954238182005-04-15T08:33:00.000-05:002005-04-15T09:12:26.036-05:00

Oh man! I missed one of the most fun memes of the last year during this blogging hiatus. Rats. Well, hmmm. I'm going to plunge in anyway, late as usual, just because I'm so intrigued by the question.Ten Things I've Done That You Probably Haven't1. Worked my way through college doing PG-rated bikini grams, many in public places.2. Hung out of a train crawling up the mountains to Chamonix,

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1113571872650547112005-04-15T08:24:00.000-05:002005-04-15T08:31:12.650-05:00

so. I'm back. After an ALMOST successful attempt to slip the bonds of 3 meds I'm trying to switch from...Neurontin, Parnate and Ativan. I kicked it all except for the last .25-.50 mg of Ativan. And that is kicking me. I'm giving my body a much deserved rest from w/d hellishness (and giving my DH a break too.) Now I'm on Zoloft and missing Parnate (oh, Parnate. Please come back.)I've spent

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1110235162814441072005-03-07T17:18:00.000-06:002005-03-07T17:37:32.710-06:00

...from my favorite online discussion boards about depression.I'm still in withdrawal mode right now so my attention span is frightfully shor...hey! What's that over there? Anyway...on to the snippets..._____________________________________________________"Double-depression" is a good description for how I feel, even if it does sound like something you'd order at the Starbucks in Purgatory.I've

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1108664522168644812005-02-19T15:50:00.000-06:002005-02-19T15:59:38.383-06:00

Sister: I think I'm in menopause.Me: Menopause??!! What in the hell would make you think THAT?Sister: Well, I haven't had my period in a year. And the last time I did, it was maybe a teaspoon.Me: Oh my God. I pray for that. A teaspoon? Really? Mine is like a...um...like a...Sister (trying to be helpful): A cup? Two cups? A bucket?Me: A tsunami. It's like a tsunami. Sister: Oh God

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1108572184276634722005-02-17T12:02:00.000-06:002005-02-17T12:14:26.706-06:00

I love this site. It is brilliant. Turning the message lines from SPAM into poorly drawn cartoons.But wickedly funny cartoons.For everyone's Spamusement.This one was labeled...We have your medicine.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1108568018021235342005-02-16T09:18:00.000-06:002005-02-16T09:36:59.856-06:00

My sister and I both share chronic depression. We also share a horrible, dark sense of humor which allows us survive some pretty dark times. Cops call this "gallows humor"...the use of humor in the face of a grave or dire situation, used to cope with the situation emotionally. (Doctors, EMT's, other emergency people in the house...you know what I'm talking about.)So, after a marathon phone call

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1108327308793033782005-02-13T14:10:00.000-06:002005-02-13T14:41:48.793-06:00

Running out of meds is very, very bad. The drugstore knows me as "the woman who allows our pharmacist to vacation in Maui". It's sad when you belly up to the counter and they brighten up with a cheery, "Hey Eeyorena! The usual?"It's like "Cheers". With drugs.More sad is when you have had such a stash throughout your lifetime that you find Neurontin in the bottom of your purse like other

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1107450291019322392005-02-03T11:03:00.000-06:002005-02-03T11:05:56.110-06:00

Remember...Kansas is a state of mind. Just in a slump over here, but one that I put myself in on purpose (trying to switch meds to attempt the whole "having a family thing"). I'm down to the lowest dose on my AD and almost off of the Neurontin (which has made it easier to get to sleep at night.) I've been getting to bed between 3 and 4 am, which is when I've felt sleepy. Soon, I will be

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104899281237415572005-01-31T22:26:00.000-06:002005-04-16T22:28:36.456-05:00

Now that I am married, I am living with someone who is beginning to know me intimately and who can scrutinize the details of my day-to-day routine. We sleep in the same bedroom so I cannot hide there. I cannot hide my slide into this episode…it is all around us. My clothes, books and belongings are scattered all over the floor and furniture. The temporary paralysis is back and it is difficult

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1107125068211114392005-01-30T17:20:00.000-06:002005-01-30T17:22:51.273-06:00

I am folding upon myself, like a pocketknife or a paper crane. Except that I keep getting smaller and smaller and I don't know when it will end.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1106857076559590582005-01-27T14:04:00.000-06:002005-01-27T14:19:36.880-06:00

My career counselor in high school always encouraged us all to "play to our strengths" when selecting a career. Folks who suffer from anything listed in the DSM-IV (the bible of diagnosing many things in the mental health field) as I do might appreciate the fact that I have done a bit of brainstorming with my groovy social worker pal, B. We have assembled a short list to help others begain their

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1106292269946655282005-01-21T01:03:00.000-06:002005-01-22T00:16:57.473-06:00

I love Moxy Fruvous. And look! I told you...sad can be very fashionable. So you aren't depressed. You're a culture fashionista! Play music by clicking HERE > Sad Girl Sad girl,taking every cue from every ad, girl. Hopelessness is easy when it's a fad, girl. And being good is only when you're a bad girl. Sad girl, maybe you've got every reason in this mad world. Sad girl, showing there is

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1106059494936181412005-01-18T08:42:00.000-06:002005-01-18T08:44:54.936-06:00

I cannot believe it. This is so great! I'm still working on switching meds (which means that I have to get rid of current ones in order to take new ones.) I am on exactly HALF of the dosages on ALL of my meds. Half the doses I was on as of November 1, 2004. And my head still hasn't fallen off. Bloody amazing, that.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104898913248840822005-01-14T22:21:00.000-06:002005-01-22T00:18:31.466-06:00

My experience with seesawing meds has been so ridiculously complicated and so fraught with emotional landmines that even my normally non-plussed PDOC got frustrated on my behalf. It was very nice, actually. Dr. D: Why is it so hard for you?! Oh, I'm so frustrated that it is so hard for you... Me: Dr. D! Are you going to fold on me now? Don't you dare! When I say that things are going badly,

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1105329300260515432005-01-09T21:55:00.000-06:002005-01-09T21:59:08.940-06:00

Who needs a psychiatrist? When you can put yourself through your own Behavior Therapy with... Pop-Up Book of Phobias! This is fast becoming one of my FAVORITE pop-up books EVER! You can work on fear of spiders AND fear of dentists without EVER leaving your armchair. (Perfect for the Agoraphobic!) Other pop-up titles include: Pop-Up Book of Nightmares! Pop-Up Book of Menopause (P.S.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104899036567306862005-01-08T22:23:00.000-06:002005-01-09T01:30:36.770-06:00

Ah, childhood. My condo neighbor, Anne, struggles with bi-polar disorder. The bad news? It is much harder to treat than my dysthemia. The good news? Her manic shopping sprees provide her with the best stocked clothes closet on this side of the Mason-Dixon line...and she SHARES! Anne's bi-polar disorder showed up as early as my depression did. Around age 12 or 13. Both of our families went

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104900370493226502005-01-06T23:43:00.000-06:002005-01-09T01:37:10.646-06:00

Today, I actually got dressed and stopped by work (I've been on leave) for my mail. I put on a bra and clean underwear for them. I thought I should be praised for this, but then I would have had to actually confess to the fact that clean undergarments are a BIG achievement for me right now. I couldn't find matching socks, so I borrowed a pair of my husband's socks. He has enormous feet. I

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104898737700354742005-01-05T23:02:00.000-06:002005-01-05T23:04:41.836-06:00

...please let me go like my very dear Aunt, who passed away about this time last year. After braving cancer for 9 years, she was very specific about how she wanted the money for her funeral spent. She wanted a wake. Tradition! Irish-Catholic style. She told us, "I want a closed casket and an open bar. Then you can do what you like with me." We gave her both...with gusto. Man, I miss her.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104859889024464472005-01-04T11:13:00.000-06:002005-01-04T11:42:47.006-06:00

I keep coming back to this book by Martha Manning about depression called Undercurrents, A Life Beneath the Surface. It is so fantastically funny. Yes, funny. And touching. And truthful. Manning is smart and irreverent and a damn fine writer. She cuts cleanly through the stigma and knows how to explain what life is like while dragging depression around with you. When I began to date my

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104642432494401522005-01-03T12:18:00.000-06:002005-01-03T12:35:58.323-06:00

You know, many times I cannot summon the energy to be witty, or snarky, or assertive. So I must let my clothing do the talking for me. This means a supply of excellent t-shirts and, yes, pajamas on hand. Like these: David & Goliath rock my world. What can I say? I get introverted, but I still want to express my crabbiness.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104526945162204012005-01-01T14:46:00.000-06:002005-12-16T01:09:09.250-06:00

Back in October, I was sitting on the couch. You know, THE couch. The one in the doctor's office. Damn, that boy has a fine leather couch. Anyway, he was asking me all of the questions that you get during your med management visit. Appetite? Sleep? Sex drive? Whatever, whatever. I gave him the run down on my life at the moment and we sorted through the pile. Depression-related? Med-related?

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104523153429843212004-12-31T13:37:00.000-06:002004-12-31T14:06:59.876-06:00

In the summer of '95, I changed jobs. For someone who goes through med management et al., this meant that I could: stay in the job that was driving me slowly over the edge...but get insurance coverage!change jobs and but pay for my own med management for a year until my "pre-existing clause" expired.change jobs, join the HMO for coverage, and be forced to change doctors. Start diagnosis and

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1104521547371081242004-12-30T13:20:00.000-06:002004-12-31T13:37:03.363-06:00

Where did the last 13 days go? Seriously. I think my soul was sucked out of the top of my head and stashed with the dust bunnies under the couch. At least, that is where I found it today when I actually entered a fit of cleaning frenzy--accomplishing a shower AND vacuuming all in one day. (I have to do at least one of each per year. Showering & vacuuming, that is. And the calendar was telling

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1103314244702815512004-12-17T13:47:00.000-06:002004-12-17T14:14:51.980-06:00

And, yes. This really did happen to me. About three years ago, I was switching meds and the withdrawal from the med I was on? KILLING ME! ohmigodsobadmyheadisgonnablow. That kind of med withdrawal. The withdrawal also made me RAVENOUS for carbs. "Eat the whole loaf of bread at 3 a.m. kind of ravenous." You've been there, right? When you run out of chips and bread and stuff, so you start

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1103215135953187822004-12-16T10:32:00.000-06:002004-12-16T12:11:49.513-06:00

Research published in the VERY scientific journal...Self Help Magazine...is investigating the connection between facial expressions babies interpret from their mothers and the prevalence of developing chronic depression. We figured, "Hey! Our readers are pretty smart. I wonder if they are adept at reading and responding appropriately to facial expressions now that they are in adulthood?" So we

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1103087998345779012004-12-14T23:14:00.000-06:002004-12-17T14:16:45.666-06:00

Nope. There isn't anything like it at all. All of the GUILT! SHAME! DYSFUNCTIONAL SECRETS! PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE BEHAVIOR! PARENT & CHILD ROLE NEGOTIATIONS! PIN THE TAIL ON THE MARTYR!!! (My mother LOVES this game.) EXPECTATIONS! OBLIGATIONS! I love. love. love. the holidays. With Prozac. Oh, yes. Holidays are MUCH better with anti-depressants.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102937480694680912004-12-13T05:15:00.000-06:002004-12-13T05:31:20.693-06:00

The perfect stocking stuffer for your favorite melancholy mama (or papa). Let me explain why. I'm tired a lot. I often don't have the energy to keep everything tidy when even a shower seems like climbing Mount Everest. HOWEVER! Tidiness keeps me calm. Calm is good. Simple is REAL good. What to do? What to do? Hooks. A whole wall of 'em. In the bedroom or in your closet. Doesn't

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102832255338017492004-12-11T11:56:00.000-06:002004-12-12T00:19:18.906-06:00

I was digging through am old box of papers today. Cards and letters from college sent to me long before I was officially diagnosed with depression. I guess it was pretty obvious that something was up way back then IF someone knew which signs to look for. I mean, symptoms other than the five-day long sleeping marathons and total loss of emotional control after a few beers. Because that only

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102712358333924132004-12-10T14:57:00.000-06:002004-12-10T14:59:18.333-06:00

No other message. Just "fixed the comments feature". Thank you to the folks who wrote to me and pointed out the bug. Signed, One who is very sorry for sucking (SUCKING!) at the weblog set-up thing.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102676504566694402004-12-10T04:28:00.000-06:002004-12-13T05:31:58.713-06:00

The Holidays with HappyNotHappy Series is in honor of my sainted mum who did not disown me or my sisters when we replaced the candy in her Christmas candy dish with the merry little meds. She also did not disown us for hanging special glass ornaments on her tree with tiny little Prozacs suspended in them. In our family, depression is more than a CONdition...it's a TRADition! Gift Idea for

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102652221085139442004-12-09T22:15:00.000-06:002004-12-13T06:11:37.796-06:00

I was keeping an offline diary about depression. And I put a few stories online, but nothing really "striking". I'd like to hang them here so that I can examine them next to these other stories. I hope you don't mind. November 27, 2003 Some history of me: Girl Blue It's the middle of the day, February 2001, and the cold light outside of the window matches the light of my inner mood.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102562668960525392004-12-08T21:15:00.000-06:002004-12-13T05:33:43.386-06:00

Jack-in-the-Boxes are just too...too...surprising for those of us with delicate nerve endings. That is why YOU TOO can have your VERY OWN nifty FREUD IN A BOX!!! This Freud Action Figure comes with, er, a cigar. A steady knowing gaze. And that familiar goatee. He can make all of your other action hero dolls CRY FOR THEIR MAMA'S! Because that is his special superhero power. Take THAT

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102404305020976512004-12-07T01:07:00.000-06:002004-12-07T11:14:01.150-06:00

Mushy, mushy, mushy. But I can't help it. My husband and I went to a Santa Lucia festival this past weekend...the Swedish celebration of a beloved saint. My husband's parents are in Sweden right now where it is SO DARK this time of year, ALL DAY LONG, that you might as well hibernate until Spring. Sweden is a lot like Alaska. My husband's sister lives in Alaska and we visited her one winter. It

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102176044870159982004-12-06T13:06:00.000-06:002004-12-08T21:13:55.023-06:00

Whoo hoo! Saints trading cards! Collect them all! This is the one especially for the HappyNotHappy Crowd...St. Dymphna, Patron Saint of the Depressed AND Therapists. Which tells you more about therapists actually. Did all of you Irish Catholics in the crowd notice the shamrock? Huh? Didja? I'm not surprised. We Irish have always been overachievers in this area.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102277312470022882004-12-05T13:59:00.000-06:002004-12-05T14:11:43.946-06:00

There used to be this song which was (just a bit) controversial in that it declared I Am My Own Grandpa. This morning, I looked down at my handful of Neurontin, vitamins, Parnate, Cytomel and Allegra right before I swallowed 'em. I looked up at my old stash of discarded drugs in the medicine cabinet which I just can't bring myself to throw away yet...Prozac, Elavil, Wellbutrin, Effexor. All of

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102139660969002102004-12-04T01:01:00.000-06:002004-12-09T16:05:17.133-06:00

Same day, same Gay Pride Parade last year. I was sitting in traffic--in the very special head trip that only depression can bring to you with its trashcan lid cymbals--surrounded by many, many Dorothy's. Yes, that Dorothy. From the Wizard of Oz. Only there were many of them. With red glitter shoes. And some with moustaches. Oh! It was a glorious head trip. Some were cheerfully shouting...

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1102050111089795932004-12-03T10:15:00.000-06:002004-12-13T06:11:10.556-06:00

I have this wicked smart, very funny psych med doctor who saved my life...basically. Remind me to tell you more about that someday. Now THAT'S a funny story. No, it is! I should also tell you that Dr. X is in a committed relationship with another man and is one of the most caring, upright people I know. Very comfortable with his life. He's d*mn funny. One of the few people who really gets the "

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1101971189883843062004-12-02T01:03:00.000-06:002004-12-02T01:51:50.643-06:00

So, a recent article came out about a study which shows that mildly-depressed women tend to live longer than other women. I think that it's all related to pain tolerance. We just don't know when we are starting to REALLY lose it like other people know it about themselves. I can imagine having this conversation with my doctor. "I'm dying? Tell me something I DON'T know..."

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1101940187337424732004-12-01T16:03:00.000-06:002004-12-01T16:29:47.336-06:00

Let's face it. I'd rather not have it. I mean, kee-riste! Who wouldn't give it up? But if you've gotta have it, there has to be a good side. Right? Right? #10 - The prestige. I mean, ALL of the best artists & writers have it. What? You don't have it? Too bad for your Guggenheim/Pulitzer aspirations. # 9 - The drama. Lord knows, there is never a dull moment. "Guiding Light"?

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1101938294460472792004-11-30T15:56:00.000-06:002004-12-01T15:59:53.396-06:00

Don't worry. Really. It's electric. I come in here once in awhile for the peace and quiet. I just tell everyone I'm cleaning it.

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1101937938556633832004-11-29T15:49:00.000-06:002004-12-01T15:52:18.556-06:00

Do you wonder sometimes if you see yourself as reallybadmom because you KNOW what you would do differently if you were feeling better? And that kids/pets/spouses don't see it at all because they don't know what you would do differently? Does that even make sense? I am blabbering. Meanwhile, the Dog (a chocolate lab) is blissfully unaware that she is being "angsted" over. She divides her world up

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1101937393953277362004-11-28T15:36:00.000-06:002004-12-01T15:45:52.746-06:00

I have no memory anymore. Do you really expect me to remember what day it is? The headaches and joint pain have gotten better, but the ADD and demotivation have gotten worse. Guilt and paranoia are kicking in too. I packed my stoopid stoopid work that I have to read through and respond to, and dragged my ass through the shower, stopping only long enough to wash my hair but not shave my legs. I

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1101936957292501312004-11-27T15:31:00.000-06:002004-12-01T15:35:57.293-06:00

Let's feel crabby together. Let's do a crabby cheer: Go away! Go away! Go the fuck away! Leave me alone. Rah!

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9415490.post-1101936549706878542004-11-26T15:20:00.000-06:002004-12-02T01:49:30.836-06:00

What do you MEAN there's nothing funny about depression? Look. If you grow up in a repressed, NYC-Irish-Catholic, alcoholic family, you had better find the humor in really dark places if you expect to get out of this world ever having truly lived at all. At my grandfather's wake, we put a book of his favorite crossword puzzles in the casket. Figured we'd give him something to do while he was

eeyore-nahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388135231535476912noreply@blogger.com0