To Think or Not To Think

There have been times where I wished my brain would shut off. Though I feel arrogant for saying so, I have been placed in the genius level when my IQ has been tested. But with that comes a downfall. I over-think EVERYTHING. While talking with my therapist, I have told him on many occasions that sometimes I wish I were stupid. I feel horrible for saying that, because I realize I have been blessed, but I cannot help but feel this blessing has it's curses. I've heard it said that Albert Einstein had some type of mental illness and it makes me wonder if that's the price. Does a good mind also come with a heightened chance of depression or something similar? Is it the fact that your mind is able to comprehend things more fully that you tend to think there's no hope for the world? These are some of the things that run through my mind on a daily basis.

I would love nothing more than to be a functioning member of society. I have tried, God knows, to fit into the dog-eat-dog scheme of the work force. Being that I haven't been able to complete my schooling as of yet, I have been unable to compete for some of the higher level jobs that I know I could be good at. In fact, I don't think there's many jobs out there that I couldn't be good at with training - I can pick things up in a short amount of time. But I've found that no matter what job you're in, there is always that pesky little problem called co-workers. It's amazing the lengths that some will go to make a more competent worker look bad. Even in the most basic of jobs (customer service) I had co-workers that would try to bring me down. I've even had a manager tell me I was useless when I did his work on top of mine. It's amazing. Sorry, I got side-tracked, but my point is that I have had a hard time being able to maintain work with my panic disorder. I do have some underlying paranoia because of the nature of my illness, and when these petty co-workers try to undermine me, I can't help but think "I knew it all along!"

I was fortunate enough to stumble into a career I love. See, when I went to college at first, I decided to be a pharmacist. The only reason I had decided on that was because the college I was looking at, and ultimately chose, did not offer genetics (it is a hard major to find.) I qualified for an early admission seat in their pharmacy school, and was poised to graduate with a doctorate of pharmacy in 2003. We all know what happened there, but it turns out that the fact I had been in pharmacy school ended up working to my advantage. While at community college a few years after I had been diagnosed, I was taking photography classes. I took a few classes to test the waters and see if I was able to function at some level. I was doing well, so I decided to apply for a part-time job as a photo lab technician at a large pharmacy chain. A year after I had applied, on my birthday no less, I received a call from them. While they didn't have a photo-lab position available, they had seen that I had been in pharmacy school. They offered me a position in the pharmacy. I took the position, and found out very quickly that I loved the job. I was able to prove myself as a valuable employee very quickly, and become one of the most reliable workers there. Then it hit. There's no better way to describe it other than you jump over a hole in the road but hit a brick wall and fall in anyway. I was unable to work.

The pharmacist and I had developed a friendship and we had a disagreement. I wanted to apply for a hospital job to decide whether I would like to go that route as a pharmacist and for an increase in pay. (I had decided to go back to pharmacy school while working there.) He got very angry with me and to skip all the gory details, left me crying as I helped customers. This is the brick wall...I was unable to pull myself together enough to go back. I quit and used a few months to regroup, then began working at another pharmacy. I didn't enjoy it this time. It wasn't right. Luckily, the pharmacist that I had had the disagreement with offered me my job back anytime I wanted it a few months later, and I decided to take it. We never talked about that day that things had happened and just moved on. It was odd, most employees had issues with this pharmacist, but I would defend him. We had a connection that I couldn't explain. One of my friends from work once told me that I was different from others. He had never offered anyone their job back once they had quit. He never said a word about them afterward. I suppose I had found my place. I went back to work and almost a year later, I hit the wall again. Here I am now.

So now I'm left to wonder what it is that makes it hard for me to keep up the normal 9-5, 5 days a week routine? Am I lazy? (There's that nasty word again.) Will I ever be able to do it? Am I just too quick to give up? I don't have the answer. I just hit a stage where I'm so depressed I start having panic attacks over a little thing like leaving the house! The job is never the problem - I love working hard - it's the social aspects. Is this person talking about me? Is he/she watching everything I do, waiting for me to make a mistake? Did I just say too much? It never stops. So I'm back to the wish that I could just turn my brain OFF. I wonder what the price would be on an on/off switch for the mind. If anyone runs across one, let me know.

Will I ever overcome this illness enough to be a functioning member of society? Should I accept the fact that some things just aren't possible for me because of this illness? Will I EVER live up to my potential? I've talked with my doctor about these things very frequently, and he has suggested that I need to lower the bar on my expectations for myself. While he doesn't doubt I'm mentally capable of any job I would like, my illness is always going to be a road block. So how low should my expectations be? I'm applying for disability - should I expect to be on that for the rest of my life? I hope not. I don't want to be dependant on the system. I'm also afraid of the stigma. Will others see me as a leach? Will they think I'm just playing the system so I don't have to work? I understand that if they think that, they don't know me, but I've had those thoughts as well. Am I doing what's right? I doubt I'll ever know.

Aftermath...

So it's been a day since supposed "friend" pulled crap with me. No apology, no contact. Never knew she was like that. Oh well.

I'm thinking I need a girl's night with those that love me. My sister called me earlier with just the news I wanted to hear. Dress shopping for her wedding then going to see "He's Just Not That Into You" Friday night. She told me to invite my best friend too (She's getting married in the next few years as well - we figure she can browse dresses too!) Hopefully she'll be able to make it. Her schedule is pretty tight lately - 2 jobs, 2 kids and school. I don't know if I'm really all that hopeful...but the time with sis will be great. Maybe afterward I can talk her into a little "guitar hero world tour" party with herself and her fiancee.

Have a doctor's appt. tomorrow. Hopefully this week will be more normal than last. I hate going in there and crying for an hour in front of him. I'm not feeling as bad as I was then, so there's hope. Usually my appointments are pretty fun...we joke and laugh while we talk about everything. He even lets me play with the kid's toys...what more can I ask for? LOL

I want to start back into making graphics, but I can't find the artistic motivation. I've also thought about writing some short stories or something, but I just stare at the screen every time I try to do either. I miss being able to just sit here and make graphics for friends and websites. I suppose that's one downfall of depression - it sucks the artistic drive right out of you.

I really need to find my digital SLR...I had some great pics from family gathering on there. Not sure if I left it at the cottage or somewhere else. Good camera...can't afford to lose that.

I'm babbling tonight. I guess boredom has overcome me. Have a good night everyone...I think I might try to go back to the thoughtless slumber!

Introductions

So, I've finally decided to get myself a blog where I could talk about everything going on in my life. As you can see in my "About Me" section, I am dealing with clinical depression and an anxiety disorder. Sometimes it can get pretty overwhelming, and rather than feel as if I'm bringing everyone down with me I'd rather just be able to put it in writing somewhere. This is that somewhere.

I was diagnosed (incorrectly at first) in 1998 at the age of 18. My first doctor seemed to think I was manic depressive but mostly just a spoiled brat. I'm still dealing with the repercussions of that today. There are times when I think he might have been right although my doctor these days would like to beat me senseless for thinking that. (Well, he wouldn't beat me senseless, but he insists it's not true.) Thankfully, after being hospitalized twice for being "manic" - I really just wasn't depressed for a short period of time - my general practitioner recommended a wonderful psychiatrist who in turn recommended an amazing psychologist that could work in tandem with him. They have been a blessing. I have spent years trying to find the right combination of medications - the best result with the least side-effects. Throughout the years, a combo of drugs would work for a period of time, then I would spiral down. Every day I feel I'm doing good, I'm also waiting for the shove that's going to push me into that spiral again.

I had to leave college (I was at a private university and had an early admission seat into their pharmacy school) when this all started to show itself. I laid in my dorm room for about 3 days straight. No classes, maybe leaving for 1 meal, no practice. Finally my basketball coach - who had gotten word of my lack of attendance - called me and told me to put on a nice outfit and go to see my professors. The plan was that I would talk to them about how I could save my education and then meet with the school psychologist and then the dean. I saw my first professor and he looked me in the eyes and asked me outright if I was happy there. I burst into tears and admitted I wasn't. He told me he knew and that I needed to be home. I went to the psychologist and told him I wanted to go home. I forget exactly what happened after that, but it culminated in me crying and shouting in the dean's office at both my parents and my coach. I went home the next day, my parents found a doctor and 2 days later I found myself in the psychiatric ward of the local hospital.

It's been a struggle for the 11 or so years since this all happened. I've tried multiple times to hold down a steady job and provide for myself. It has ended the same way every time so far. I'll be doing very well for a while - months at a time - and then I'll get depressed which makes me have panic attacks when faced with ANYTHING social and I'll have to leave my job. Every day I wonder where the illness ends and the laziness - if any - begins. My psychologist consistantly reminds me that I have an illness just like anyone with cancer. His words are etched into my brain. "Shana, would you come down this hard on someone with cancer? So why are you doing it to yourself?" I always joke that my psychologist is a friend I have to pay, but there's some truth to it. In the years he has been working with me, I have learned to trust him more than I have most people. I think the only exceptions to that are my sister and my best friend since 5th grade. He has done so much for me that all the thanks I have in this life would not be enough.

So now, here I am today. My life consists of waking up and trying to push past the urge to just stay there and pull the covers over my head. I spend most of the day rationalizing the self-depreciating or anxious thoughts that never seem to stop. Sometimes it feels like I won't make it another hour, let alone a year - or worse - a decade. There are days I'm tempted to try to knock myself out or scratch all my skin because my mind won't stop. So what do I do? Lord, if I had the answer to that I'd be one rich woman.

My family and friends are wonderful. If it weren't for them...I doubt I would be here. They try so hard to understand what I'm going through, but how do you explain something you don't even know the cause of? I've had friends come and go - a lot of people can't accept that some days I simply can't get out the door. I've had so-called friends that would turn my illness against me - use it as a joke. I've been called many names - girl interrupted, pro-pro (someone's attempt at prozac humor,) psycho, lazy asshole...the list goes on. I've had one "friend" that would get mad at me whenever I told her I wasn't feeling up to doing anything. I would try to explain it to her every chance I got, but I guess it never got through. That friendship has pretty much ended tonight when she sent me a text message as a joke saying "I have to talk to you about something that's been going on in my life. It's about you. My phone is dying so call this number..." I wrote the number and called only to find it was a psychiatric hotline. Nice joke.

Why am I writing all this? I'm asking myself that right now. I suppose it's for release mostly, but a part of me has wanted to find a way to reach out to other people that are going through the same thing as me. I have never quite figured out how I could do that while I'm still struggling myself, but I hope that maybe just by making my own story known I can help someone. Maybe it's just a pipe dream.

So here I am. I'll be posting as the need arises. Read if you'd like and if not...I understand.