Succeeding

Hi. How is everyone? It's been a minute.

My last ECT was in April, it is now November. For the most part, I've done really well. I had a bad spell in July that was scary for me. It lasted two weeks, then subsided. I should have gone into the psychiatrist then, but as awesome as depression is, it felt hugely overwhelming and heartbreakingly hopeless. But, I don't want to write about that right now. Maybe another day. Maybe. Suffice it to say I made it through. And now, again, it's the middle of November.

I've had some tell tale signs of slippage for a little bit now. Not horrible, but warning signs that others are also noticing. Mainly fatigue, irritability, poor personal hygiene, constant sleep, poor apartment cleanliness, and losing interest in things I enjoy. So, at some urging from very dear to me peoples, I made an appointment with Dr. Allen, my ECT psychiatrist. I saw her three days ago in Seattle. I had a really good and thorough appointment with her. I really like her. The first thing she said to me is "are you using your cpap?" Uh hem, I have not used it in a couple years. She said so much of our mental health is connected to our sleep and we have to get my sleeping under control. I've been diagnosed with sleep apnea for over three years, but I just don't tolerate the mask at all. I can't sleep with it and when I do it just falls off so what's the point? Anyway. We talked about that for awhile and she referred me to the Swedish Sleep Clinic and made me promise to go in and see about getting a mask that will work for me and to then USE IT. I said fine. Hahaha. I do think a regular sleeping pattern would be beneficial... So there's that. Then she asked if I'd had a med change at all since starting ECT last September. I hadn't. Nor have I wanted too as historically I don't respond well to med changes. But she said it's the least we can do right now, so she upped my Zoloft to 200mg. Then we talked about ECT. She said she didn't want to zap my brain unless I was seriously depressed, which I am not right now. So we talked about other options. She told me about Ketamine. It's a new drug, administered in clinic twice a week for four weeks. It's a nasal spray they give you and then you chill for two hours while they make sure you're ok. You're not allowed to drive yourself home after treatment, as Ketamine impairs cognitive function and can leave you feeling high. She also told me about TMS, Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. It's like ECT, but not invasive like ECT is. It's basically a magnet they put on your head to stimulate the brain. It's also done in clinic five days a week for six weeks. And this therapy you can drive yourself to and from. But wow, driving the hour and a half it would take to get there five days a week for six weeks is too much. I would never complete that, I know myself. Which is unfortunate. One other thing Dr. Allen told me about was Partial Hospitalization Programs (PHP). Basically they're like intensive group therapy from like 9am - 2pm. I can't remember how long the program goes. I want to say two weeks. But she referred me to her favorite, so I'll look more into that as well.

SO. When all is said and done I had to decide what treatment option to take. Dr. Allen stressed many times how important good sleep is to mental health, so what I'm going to do for now is try the 200mg of Zoloft, and go into the sleep clinic and talk to them. They should be calling in the next day or two and if they don't she gave me their number to call. So that's what I'm going to do. It's, like she said, the least we can do right now. But it also feels like the best we can do right now. I did respond really well to the increase of Zoloft and added Abilify during my hospitalization last year, that I am hopeful this increase will be just what I need.

So anyway! That's where I am today. Just plugging along, taking it day by day. Doing the best I can. And really, if I do say so myself, succeeding. 

Grandpa Hinkson

Today is my Grandpa Hinkson's 88th birthday. He died almost 12 years ago. I put together this note on Facebook over ten years ago. But I still think about it, about him. I miss him so much. Love him even more. I used to go have picnic lunches with him at the cemetery in Salem, Utah. I'd sit under the tree above his grave and just enjoy our time together. Happy Birthday, Grandpa! I love you.

***

Lunch With Grandpa

We made sandwiches for lunch
Then went out on the porch
To sit on the swing
And talk about life.
You reach for my hand
And tell me about times
When you were my age.
You talk of war
And trials and friends.
I watch your eyes drift to some place
That I will never know.
You talk of simpler times
When neighbors were friends
And kindness meant more than debts owed.
You talk of a changing world
And remind me that families are forever.
Then you tell me you love me.
And I believe you.
You became my hero today
While we ate our sandwiches on the swing.

S.G.
September 18, 2001


~~~~~~~~~~~

Life is so unpredictable.  One minute you're here- and the next you're gone, forever.  The next breath you take could be your last.  And you'll never know it.  You're just gone.  Death is a fascinating thing.  Going off into the unknown.  Ending?  Or starting over?  Empty?  Or full of. . . what?  Not life.  That's over.  Of love?  Do you feel love?  Of peace?  Is there peace in death?  Is the hard part over?  Do you have knowledge of a job well done?  Can you just. . .  sit?  And think?  How does time work?  Can you make it stop?  Can you just feel?  Feel for as long as you need to.  For something to make sense, before you have to pick back up and move on before you're ready?  Can you make time stop?  Is there understanding?  Nothing makes sense in living.  In life.  In human life.  What about in death?  Does your vision change?  Are you calm?  I'm calm here.  With you.  You?  I can't see you.  Or hear you.  And my soul hurts, but still. . .  calm.  You were a good man.  One of the best.  And now, you're here beneath me.  Never to take a breath again.  And I'll never hear your voice again.  But somehow, I think you still know.  Me.  You know me.  Probably better than anyone alive knows me.  Because you can see into my heart.  You can see what others can't.  What they won't.  You can see past what they say, the labels.  You know the genuine me.  At least that's what I like to think.  Think.  I wish I didn't think so much.  Or feel so deeply.  Or at all.  What is it like?  Death?  Are you happy Grandpa?  I miss you Grandpa.  I love you.

11-12-2008

Five Weeks And Three Days

Today is five weeks and three days since my last, and final, ECT. And, I feel good. I was nervous when four weeks passed, but every day since then I've said to myself "I feel good." I've smiled more, I've laughed more. I've been able to do more things that I used to enjoy. The other day I got out the watercolors. That was monumental for me. It felt good.

So, is the depression gone. No, I still feel it. I feel it in my lack of motivation to do nearly anything still. Just because I do, doesn't mean I want to. But I CAN, and there's the difference. I can feel a fight in my head still to think negative thoughts. I do not feel suicidal. I do not want to die. I feel worthwhile. But, death is just a thought that is always there. I can die, if needed. If things become difficult, it's always an option. It just is. This is how I feel. I hope though that it never comes to that. There are things I love that keep me around. I love Lord Midnight. He needs me. I love flowers. I have seven beautiful pots of flowers on my balcony. I love seeing them everyday. They bring me such happiness. I love watching M*A*S*H, and Star Trek, much to my families delight. Hahaha. I love being crafty. I love my family. I love my friends.

Speaking of friends. During my last visit with my ECT psychiatrist she asked me how my friendships have weathered the severe depression. I feel honored and blessed to have been able to say my friends have stood by me and cared for me and done everything they can for me during all this. They've loved me and that's healed me. I have the best friends and we've come through the depression probably stronger than before. Never have I been a burden. Dr. Allen just beamed and said how wonderful that is. I am truly, truly lucky.

I do want to ask for help. Help in watching and seeing how I am doing. Sometimes I can't see it myself when I start to slide. One thing my brother and I have come up with is a weekly cleaning schedule for me to follow. When I am having a hard time cleanliness slides to the bottom of the list. So this cleaning schedule is a really good way for me, and others, to measure how I am doing. Monday is the kitchen, my least favorite. Tuesday is the bathroom, my second least favorite. Hahaha. Wednesday is the living room. Thursday is the bedroom. And Friday is laundry. So far I've kept up with the schedule! It does feel really nice to be able to clean and have it feel good when I'm done. I feel accomplished and I want to keep that feeling.

So, as close as I can with Major Depressive Disorder, I'm enjoying my life. I take one day at a time. One moment at a time. My life is simple and that's exactly how I want it. And today, I am grateful.

Feeling Better

I haven't written in awhile. But that's actually a good thing. I've been feeling good for awhile now. I just need to write when I feel good too haha.

It's been quite the month. My Grandma Gowans died on April 14th. I was supposed to have an ECT on the 19th, but ended up in Utah instead for her funeral. So I rescheduled my ECT for the 25th. That once again put five weeks between treatments. I wrote about my five weeks last time it happened. It was rough. I was really nervous to have to go five weeks again this time, but! it was ok. I did fine. I didn't notice a dip at all in my mood at four weeks or beyond. I don't know if it's because I was very distracted last week, with all the familyness, or if perhaps I'm healing enough to go five weeks now? Either way I am so grateful that I did ok. That my mood stayed up. That I conquered. I have another ECT scheduled for May 23. I also have an appointment with Dr. Allen, my ECT psychiatrist, on the 8th to discuss further treatments and where we should go from here. I know this is going to be up to me mostly, with input from Dr. Allen as well. But ultimately it's my decision whether I continue or not. And I'm honestly not sure what to do. ECT has changed my life and given me hope back, I certainly don't want that to go away. But I also do want to be done. Mostly because it's so damn expensive. So, I'll discuss all this with her at my 8th appointment and we'll see what we decide to do. I would like all observations on how I'm doing. The input I get from my peers is very important to me.

I miss Mr. Purrington. Having my Grandma die brought up all that emotion again. And I miss him so much. But I am truly grateful for a new kitty, Lord Midnight. He's so different from Mr. Purrington, it kind of amazes me. But I just love him and I'm so grateful he's part of my life.

I have another doctor appointment on the 7th with my primary care to discuss my meds. I'm not going to have her change anything. My meds have been where they should since I got out of the hospital in October. Just refills this time!

I'm not seeing a therapist right now. I had the opportunity to see someone at Peninsula Community Health Services, but I only saw her once several months ago. I'm doing ok on my own right now. Should I need a therapist in the future I know how to get one at PCHS.

I still struggle with some things. I don't want to die anymore, but death is always in the back of my head. It's always an option should things get bad again. I'm trying not to have it be, but I guess after years and years of fighting the suicidality it sort of just sticks. I struggle with energy to get stuff done. I struggle with keeping myself and my place clean. But I'm doing it. Things are struggles, but I can overcome. And for that I'm proud.

So, overall, I can't complain right now. I feel alright, life is going alright. I just keep on keeping on. It's what I do.

Guest Post: Craig

I had written a page and half about the plot of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. I love Star Trek and DS9 is my favorite series in the canon. It was good writing—in my opinion. But I scrapped it all. It wasn’t making the point I wanted to make with this piece. Which begs the question: what is the point I want to make? Well, if I knew, then I’d tell you.

Recently, I had finished watching Deep Space Nine (again), and in a little texting convo with Sara, I mentioned that I like Star Trek and that particular series so much because it speaks truth. This being on my mind, when she asked my to write for her blog, “Speak Truth” was what I thought I should write about. Sara suggested I write about hope. So, now I’m stuck trying to mix “hope” and “speak truth” together into something meaningful. Here’s the deal: I’ll speak some truths. These truths are meaningful to me. If they’re meaningful to you, then I’m glad. If you find hope in my words, then I’m grateful.

One year ago, I had my resume up-to-date and many other needed documents ready to apply for jobs. I’m a high school English teacher. I spent seven years working at a small school in a small town out in south eastern Utah. I’m not a small town person. That seventh year I faced some the hardest days, weeks, and months I had yet experienced in my life. And so I sought for a new job. Interview after interview, rejection after rejection. I was discouraged before this process began, but discouragement kept rising.

One more school in St. George called. They called on a Thursday afternoon wanting to set up the interview for the next Monday. These people have weird timing. I had applied for that position, wanted a new job, but not that one. I didn’t know if I wanted to call back and schedule the interview or not. I asked advice from a colleague friend who knew about my efforts to find a new job.  He said to me: “Did you pray about it?” Umm… no. No, I hadn’t. “I guess you know what to do then,” he replied.

That night, I knelt beside my couch and began to pray—or rather, I began to rant. I ranted about how unfair it all was. I even accused the Maker of not caring if I got a new job or not—not caring if I was happy or not. Then I ended and went to bed. Just a few hours later, I stopped my alarm from making noise early Friday morning and went straight to my knees beside my bed and tried to apologize for all the dumb things I said the night before. I said that I decided not to schedule the interview at that school in St. George, then asked if that was okay. I didn’t know what I expected, but peace was a welcome surprise. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt peace. Calming, quiet peace, and I knew I would be okay.

Later that day, when I pulled my phone out of my desk drawer at the start of my prep period, I saw a missed call and a voicemail from a high school in Utah County that wanted to interview me the next Wednesday. This one interested me. I set up the interview. I went to the interview. I nailed it—apparently, because the next week they offered me the position. I accepted the position.

Life was going to get better.

Life did not get better.

Life simply became different.

I don’t know how to explain that. Perhaps a contradiction: Life is still basically the same. All that was difficult before is still there. All the stress and anxiety I felt before is still there. The last two months have been long and hard. However, the experience of a totally different teaching gig has been quite enlightening. Talk about professional development! At that small school, I was a dang good amazing teacher! At this big school, I suck. But it will get better. It did before, and it will again. As for now, I’ve said I hate this job countless times. The workload is nearly unbearable. And then the kids—I’m pretty sure Satan is in my class. Teaching is a big part of my life, but it isn’t my whole life. I don’t think my life is very well balanced. But that’s okay because every night I tell the Universe about it. Every morning the Universe hears about what I want for that day. Most of the time, I wonder if my words actually reach the Universe. One day about a year ago, they did, and I have to believe they will again. I may die before I feel that peace again, but perhaps, lasting peace doesn’t come until after death. I’ll wait, and in the meantime, I’ll watch Star Trek. 

Four Weeks

I had an ECT on January 17th. I was supposed to go in at my four weeks to have my next one, on February 14th. For a couple reasons, I couldn't find a ride that day but also we had that bloody snowpocalypse that week so I wouldn't have been able to go anyway. It simply wasn't safe. So I had to reschedule my ECT for the next week, February 21st. That would make five weeks between ECTs.

It was too long. I felt myself slipping that last week.

Dr. Allen, my ECT psychiatrist, told me when I saw her in January that some people can go five weeks between treatments, but most people can't do that. Most people go four and that's their max.

It's apparently my max. On Sunday, the 17th is when I noticed I really wasn't feeling good. I felt down, sad, depressed, no motivation and no energy. And really I felt SO disappointed. So annoyed. Why was I slipping? I thought I had overcome this burden. At least more than this. I would like to know I can go more than four weeks between treatments. But, I can't.

And that's ok. I whined and moaned on Facebook about this and how disappointed I was that I was slipping and how I felt a sense of failure that this was happening. My dear, wise friend had this to say, "I think it’s so good that you’re in tune with yourself enough to notice. And, in a way, I think it’s good you weren’t able to go last week so you could find this out. It’s important information. Not a failure at all. I’d call it a success to be able to recognize your needs. In time you’ll probably be able to go 6 weeks and then 8 weeks and so on. It’s good to know, for now, that every 4 weeks is best." That caused me to really stop and think. I hadn't thought of things in this way before. But I am in tune with myself. I do know what I'm feeling. And I do know what I need. And you know what? It's ok to need ECT every four weeks. This has been almost a life long issue, it's ok to need monthly maintenance to maintain. The ECT psychiatrist who did my ECT on Thursday, I can't remember his name, he said this dang snowpocalypse caused a lot of people to miss their ECTs last week. But he was hopeful still that I was good at four weeks and wanted to keep me at a four week maintenance schedule. Which I agreed with.

So, I can't go longer than four weeks between treatments. And I may have to continue monthly maintenance after April. And that's ok. It is a success to stay maintained for four weeks and to know that then I need a reboot. 

AND THAT'S OK.

Lord Midnight

It surprised me how quickly I wanted another cat after Mr. Purrington died. I asked Zach if it was wrong to want another cat so soon and he said no. I had a couple other friends agree. I just craved the companionship. I hated being alone. I needed something there that needed me. Mr. Purrington brought me through so many hard times, and I ached for that connection. The few people I talked to agreed that Mr. Purrington would want me to have another cat.

My friend whose house Mr. Purrington is buried at told me about Feline Friday at the Humane Society, where all adult cats adoption fees are $30. So I started watching their website for available cats. One caught by eye, Burley. He was a domestic shorthair, basically a mutt. He was what I had hoped for. An adult, but young. He was two. He was black. I wanted to adopt a black cat because I know they aren't adopted as much as other cats, mainly due to peoples superstitions. And they don't photograph as well. Which is a true excuse people give. Burley's description said he was a gentle and loving cat, who needed a quiet home with someone who has a lot of patience to help Burley settle into his new home. I felt like I could give him what he needed. So I hoped so much that he'd still be available when Friday rolled around.

On Friday, January 11th, my friend and I went to the Humane Society right as soon as they opened. And Burley was still there! He came up to me immediately in his cage and rubbed his face on my hand. After filling out an adoption application I was able to meet Burley. He came to me and rubbed his little face all over my hands and arms and face. He purred and purred. I strongly felt like this was my new little buddy. I learned he'd been at the shelter since Dec 2nd. He came in as an unneutered stray. He'd been there over a month. That was way too long. It surprised me so much because he is so beautiful, with his glossy black fur and big green eyes. And he is the sweetest little guy. Very loving, just like they said. My friend explained that it can take awhile once the Humane Society decides an animal needs a home without children, like my Lord Midnight required. Anyway once we got everything signed and paid for and went to get Burley, who we'll call Lord Midnight from now on, hahaha, the shelter employee asked him if he was ready to go home and he literally nodded twice! It was so awesome. The worker just gasped and stared at Lord Midnight then me and said "did you see that?!" Oh, I saw. He'd been waiting for me.

He cried the whole 30 minutes home. He found a cupboard pretty quickly and hid for hours. I'd come talk to him and pet him every now and then. He finally came out and quickly found that under the bed was a good spot to be. Again, I'd go talk with him and just layed on the floor next to the bed for a very long time. Finally he came out and inched towards me. Then he let me touch him. He spent the rest of the evening under the bed, but he'd come out now when I layed down next to him and called for him.

I don't think it took very long for him to know how loved and wanted he is. He is not Mr. Purrington, I still struggle to realize that at times. And the hurt is huge still. But he is Lord Midnight, and exactly who he should be. He is super playful. He loves all his toys, and the curtains and the cupboards. He is so loving and has woken me up at night headbutting and rubbing his face on mine. And well as cute as that is... luckily he is slowly sleeping more through the night. Or at least he's letting me sleep more. Ha I honestly don't know which. I miss Mr. Purrington. Oh how I miss him. But I love this new little boy so much. And I am genuinely happy he's here with me.

Welcome home, Lord Midnight.

Healing

I had my ECT today. We're officially doing maintenance care now. I'm starting to go in every four weeks. The doctor said if I start declining before the four weeks is up, to let them know and we'll go back to every three weeks or so. I feel ready to go to once a month. I didn't decline or have any returning symptoms this last three week since my last ECT. I'm excited about this. ECT has changed my life. I had all but given up. I was sure this was the end. I felt like I had tried everything with no success. Then the doctor at St. Josephs suggested ECT. And that was the beginning of this huge change. I will be forever grateful.

I feel at peace. Things are not perfect. There are things I struggle with and things I'm not sure how to resolve, but I don't feel hopeless anymore. I am able to do more. I have more energy. Not a lot just yet, but I am able to do more than I have been for a really long time. I'm able to take better care of myself. I shower, I brush my teeth daily. I'm no longer letting myself rot because I feel like crap. There exists some self worth. This is life changing.

I am so grateful for my amazing friends who have supported me through all this. Without hesitation they've taken me to all my appointments, an hour and a half away. They've provided support and encouragement and have never given up on me. I am so blessed.

If you had told me three months ago that I'd be saying these things I would have laughed in your face. But here I am. Not just surviving, but living. And enjoying it too.

Mr. Purrington 7/19/2011 - 12/28/2018

I have to write about this. December 28, 2018. Mr. Purrington had been sick for a couple days. Christmas Eve he started vomiting. He vomited three times that night. It's not overly unusual for him to vomit like that. I figured he had an upset stomach and that it would pass. It didn't. I woke up at 1:30pm on Friday, December 28, 2018 and went out to the living room to find Mr. Purrington. I knew immediately when I saw him that he was gone. I could just tell. He was half way under the couch. I touched his body and he was stiff. My baby boy was dead. My baby boy was dead. My whole body went numb. I didn't know what to do. I started calling everyone I could think of that might be able to come help me. Everyone was in shock, no one could believe it. My dear friend came over to help me with the body. We wrapped him in one of my shirts. I didn't lift him out. I couldn't. My friend was kind and gentle enough to do that for me. I didn't have enough money to cremate him, so she offered to let me bury him in her back yard. So we put Mr. Purrington in a box and drove to her house. Her husband dug a nice hole at the edge of the back yard and we tenderly place my boy, still wrapped in my shirt, in the hole and covered him up. It was the most difficult thing I have ever done. We placed a cement block as a marker of where he is.

I can't believe it. I still can't believe it. It happened so fast. How could my precious boy be gone? He was loving, and gentle, and funny, and a little bit mysterious. But mostly he was pure love. He loved me unconditionally and without hesitation. If anyone knew me completely, all my flaws and strengths and weaknesses, my ups and downs and everything in between, and loved me anyway, it was Mr. Purrington. I miss him more than I can say. I love him more than I ever thought was possible to love. He was my guardian and my strength. We were as close as two beings can be. And now, now he is gone. And I am heartbroken. My soul hurts and my heart hurts. I just can't believe it.

I hope he is free. I hope he is happy. I hope he is at peace. I hope he is running and playing and causing all sorts of mischief. And I hope he comes around once in awhile. I hope he pokes me with his little paw when he wants attention. No one will ever replace my Mr. Purrington. He will forever hold my heart. I miss him. I love him.

Rest in peace, my angel.