Depression, Science, and Modern Medicine

Okay. I know it's been a hot minute since I last posted on my blog, but I read an article a few minutes ago that has me wondering if the scientists who are studying depression have a clue what depression really is. The article indicates the belief from a group of researchers at John D. Dingell VA Medical Centre and Wayne State University School of Medicine in Michigan that low serotonin levels may not be responsible for depression.

The article states the researchers developed mice without the ability to produce serotonin in their brains. They claim the mice show no signs of depression-like symptoms, but the article goes on to say the mice show signs of compulsive and aggressive behavior. Now, as a person who has been diagnosed with severe clinical depression, I know my depression expresses itself in the form of anger and compulsive spending. If I am not on my medication, I become aggressive, hurtful, filled with rage, and I go on spending sprees. 

I know several people who suffer from depression, and a number of them have similar symptoms to mine. They spend exorbitant amounts of money on frivolous items knowing they don't have the funds to cover the costs. They become withdrawn and quiet in an attempt to refrain from being hurtful, mean, and viciously spiteful. 

I don't claim to know everything there is to know about depression or its causes, but I know how it affects me. I know how it affects the people with whom I have discussed it. I think they need to do more research before they make claims of this kind.

Until next time,
Peace up!

2013-A Year in Review

I've been reading Dave Barry again. I've missed several years because I'm pretty sure there was a stretch of time when Mr. Barry stopped writing his column for the Miami Herald. Or maybe not. I've slept since then. 

Anyway, this week's post is a look back on 2013--the good, the bad, the less-than-stellar away average of the New Orleans Saints. It's also our expectations for 2014.*

Let's take a short recap of 2013, shall we?

There were things that occurred in January and February...I know there were, but I've slept and my memory is in the same classification as the Saints away average. So let's just say things happened and we lived through them aka "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." That should cover it...whatever "IT" was. 

MARCH!!! No, the month not the action. I had a birthday...again. I turned 24.** I'm now the same age as my daughter. At least until 2014, when I will be YOUNGER than she is by two years. It's complicated, I know. Just go with it.

April, May, June, July, first three weeks of August...more things came and went, but once again, I don't recall what they were. Apparently, they made a HUGE impression.

End of August... YAY!!!  This was a time, once again, for celebration with a twist. Mo-Mo came to visit!!  *insert fanfare and whistles* *toss streamers*  I picked my girl up at the NOIA on Wednesday afternoon AFTER her stupid flight was missed because the original flight from NY left late, which in turn caused her to miss the connecting flight out of whereverthehell***, and have about a five-hour layover. I wandered the Quarter all by my onesies because instead of driving over to Kenner to pick her up so we could roam the streets of NOLA together at about 11 a.m., I had to wait until the Bishop got out of class at 3 p.m. and THEN we went to the airport to get her. 

The good part about all of that nonsense was she arrived safely. She didn't choke the folks who should've been poster children for Darwinism. AND we went to Southern Decadence on Sunday! It was great! My feet hated me the next day, but I'm nuts enough to do it again in 2014. 

September rolled around without a lot of flash and excitement, only to go out with a wheeze. No, it literally went out with a wheeze...and O2, Spiriva, Symbicort, Albuteral, Epinephorine, Avalox, and blood work. I spent six days in the hospital from September 29-October 4.

I went to bed on September 28th feeling a bit under the weather and woke up on September 29th thinking I was dying. Slowly. Turned out, I had Acute Bronchitis and Acute Pneumonia. Neither of which is fun by itself. They are less than enjoyable as a duo. 

Enter the end of October...

I had to basically skip the first two weeks of the month due to my illness. Recovery from a breathing issue is slow. Or mine was at any rate. The one good thing to come out of it was the cessation of my nicotine addiction. Six days in the hospital on oxygen will do that for a person. 

Back to the end of the month. I had my heart broken by my middle son when I inadvertently broke his heart. He announced two days before Halloween he wanted a Halloween party. He gave his sister and I lists of the things we needed for this party, and refused to understand we couldn't do a party because of the time restraints. 

Halloween came and we prepared as we usually do with costumes and candy and Trick or Treating. I even bought a fog machine. He had requested one and it was reasonably priced. His sister took all the boys out to beg for candy. When he returned home (he is my 10-houses-tops kid), he took off his costume, went to his room, and laid in bed. I went looking for him. When I found him, I asked if he was okay since he didn't have his Wii, Netflix, or a DVD on. 

He sighed heavily. "You were right, mom." 
"About what?" I struggled to replay any previous conversation which could be responsible for this melancholy he was exhibiting. 
"The Halloween party. We aren't gonna have one."

Broke. My. Heart. So, I, of course, told his sister and his older brother and broke both of their hearts as well. Misery and company, ya know.

We rolled through November until it was time for the joyous annual attempt to consume as much as humanly possible without exploding, and Thanksgiving. I lucked up this year and had the day off from work which made cooking a lot easier. I had a list. Those folks I live with are SERIOUS about holiday food.

I started at 6:30 a.m. with a cup of coffee and a couple of pumpkin pies. I didn't sit down until somewhere around 6:30 p.m. I played sous chef to my junior-chef-in-training. We prepared: Seafood Gumbo, Turkey, Spiral Ham, Carrot Souffle, Deviled Eggs, Rolls, Stuffing, Green Bean Casserole, Sweet Potato Pie, Pumpkin Pie, Pecan Pie, Mashed Potatoes, Mixed Vegetables, and I know I'm forgetting something.

Anyway, they ate until they couldn't move, and I cleaned the kitchen and took myself to bed, thankful for having the next two days off to recover.

Ah, December, my old nemesis. I don't like December. I haven't for a LONG time. Most people love the Christmas holidays. I don't. I'm pretty certain this was the first year in probably about twenty where I didn't fight my depression. Normally, I get depressed around December 1st and it doesn't get better until sometime in January. This year was different. I'm not sure why, but I'll take it and be thankful once again. 

Speaking of thankful, I'm very thankful Eric Arvin pulled through his surgery with what appears to be no difficulties so far. I'm thankful for his surgeon and his skill. I'm thankful for being included in the real life HEA between he and Travis Klune. And I'm happy to know that love in all its forms can work miracles. 

Now, we can wish 2013 a fond adieu as we gear up for a brand-spanking new shot at not remembering most of what will happen and neglecting that sparkly gym membership in 2014.

Until next time, 
Peace Up
And Happy New Year!

Oh, before I go, let me also include my Christmas present this year. I'm the proud new mommy of a 10-week-old Akita. He is bootimus! ...but then, I'm biased. LOL

*Good Gravy! 2014! How the hell has this happened?! Where has the time gone? Wasn't it 1994 just yesterday?!? And I'm not positive, but I think I saw 1984 last Wednesday.

**Unless you check my birth certificate, in which case, I turned 42. :p

***I think it was NC, but once again, I've slept since then, and have a serious case of CRS. 

Thanksgiving. Is it becoming a lost tradition with retail sales becoming more important?

I was bawdy...I didn't participate in last week's post. I know. I know. It's done. Drop it.

This week on Topic Tuesday we are discussing our thoughts and feelings on stores being open on Thanksgiving. I could probably bitch for days about this, but why? The long and short of it is I don't like it. I don't agree with it. 

Our society is becoming a 24/7 culture. Jobs are requiring individuals to work all hours of the day and night. Family is falling to the wayside. My husband said it best on Friday. "Soon, Thanksgiving will be a lost tradition. There will come a time we won't bother with it."

I fear he is correct. I don't go shopping for the early bird Black Friday sales. I don't go shopping on Black Friday. A $20 savings in a store is not worth the jail time I would serve when I got shoved, pushed, punched, or trampled. My patience is minimal at best. In that type of environment...yeah, I'd catch a charge.

I can't say I didn't go to a store on Thanksgiving this year because that would be a lie. What I can say is it was Wally World, I went early in the day to buy meat for my Seafood Gumbo, and I got to see my Mimi because she was (wait for it) AT WORK!!!! Luckily, she got off work at 4 p.m. so we had dinner at 6. 

I've worked weekends and holidays for going on 19 years now. It's not fun, but it is necessary. It's also not the same as working retail to put money in a corporation's shareholders' pockets. It's understood in emergency services--the job comes first. For 19 years birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, and weekends were lost or put on hold. 

I will do the same thing I've done for all these years this Christmas. I'll wake my children at 5 a.m. and have Santa. Then I'll get dressed and head to work. One day, I'll be able to retire...

As always, check out the Usual Suspects and their take on our topic here.

Problems and their solutions

It's that time once again, and as it seems to be my current trend, I'm running late. This week the wonderful Jeff Adkins has presented us with, personally, a bit of a challenge. I'm noticing a pattern here...*eyes Jeffiekins*

Topic Tuesday is taking a look at the adage "When a problem arises, so does the solution." 

We face problems every day. We also manage to find a way through, around, over, or under them. Most of us share similar difficulties--from bills to illness and all things in between. Some people seem to have an ease with dealing with whatever may arise in their lives. The phrase "Fall in shit and come out smelling like a rose" is what I remember from childhood being associated with people who seemed to be able to bounce back and recover from anything life tossed at them. 

I've never felt like one of those people. I've also never been a person to have blind faith in anything. Not myself, not anything in my life, and definitely not in an unseen deity. It doesn't help that I suffer from depression. I say this because depression will make anything seem much worse than what it actually is. 

I've racked my brain this morning to come up with examples of problems I've faced in my life and overcome, but I'm coming up empty. Don't give me that look. I know we all face problems and we find some type of solution for them, but I can't think of anything that stands out for me to point at and say "This was my problem (whenever) and this was how I handled it." 

I suppose as I sit here typing this I can say depression has been a problem I've faced. How have I handled it? It differs every time, but I'm still here. So even though I've seen rock bottom, I know I have the strength to stay and fight. Sometimes, it doesn't seem worth it, but that's usually when I'm at rock bottom. 

I've faced having a mother who is narcissistic. I read Joelle's post this morning and I salute her strength. My relationship with my mother is nonexistent. I have had no contact with her for four years now. I tried. It was killing me. Life with a narcissist will get you one thing--as crazy as they are. 

So, I know there are problems. I know there are solutions. I guess, for the most part, I exist. One day flows into the next and whatever has to be handled, or dealt with, or overcome is done in whatever fashion is available at that moment. 

Maybe in my next life things will be different. Maybe I'll be different. Who's to say?

Until next time,
Peace Up

Be sure to check out the Usual Suspects and their take on Problems and Solutions here.

Writing specifics or Why is Alan a slave driver?

This week on Topic Tuesday our directive (per assistant slave driver, Kage Alan) was to share our ideal writing situation. That CD we have to have playing, or the room we work best in, or our lucky slippers, or whatever. I know everybody has a certain something, or several certain somethings, to help them get into the groove of writing, but try being put on the spot to identify them. Most of the time my writing comes when it comes. 

I don't have a special room. I wish I did, but I've got 3 boys still residing at my house, and they like having their own bedrooms...go figure. Maybe one day I'll get at least one of them out of the house and then I can have a writing cave, but the way my life goes someone else will need/want/have to have the room for something they can't live without and I'll be SOL again.

I don't have a specific CD to play when I write. At times, a certain song will help set the stage for a scene or an emotion I'm needing to convey, but I don't pop NIN into to the CD player/disc drive and crank out the next novel to top the NY Times best sellers list. I wish my writing would flow that way. I might have more written then I do at present. 

I've written in my car. I've written in my bed. I've written at the dining room table. (No office, remember?) I've written at work (as I am now). I've written on notebooks, loose leaf, printer paper, napkins, receipts, my hands, my arms, and if others were close to me, their hands and arms. I'm not picky, but I am forgetful. 

I've never been able to sit down and have the words flow. It doesn't happen for me that way. I envy those who can. I guess my best answer to Kage's query is I write best when the words and the story are in sync with me, and I with them...whatever that means.   

As always, check out the list of Usual Suspects and their niches here.

(As to why Alan is a slave driver? Personally, he gets off on it. LOL You know I love you more'n my luggage, Kage.)

Why do you want to write?

This week's...challenge...on Topic Tuesday is a 500 word blog about why we want to write. I say challenge because there are days I question every thought I've ever had about being able to write. I've had one story published in an anthology, but even after a year, it still feels surreal. I don't see myself as an author, or a writer, or whatever noun you wish to attach to it.

I've been writing since junior high. English was always my favorite class, and I enjoyed writing stories, spinning tales, and penning poetry. My 11th grade English teacher told me she was sure one day I would be a famous author and she wanted a signed copy of my first novel. (I don't think she meant a short story about M/M romance. She was a former nun at a private interparochial high school.)

I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression approximately twelve years ago, and at times, when my mind feels more like a pressure cooker about to explode, I write poetry. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn't.

I've always enjoyed writing. It's more a need or a compulsion at times. Even if no one reads it, I have to write. The "Rice Krispies" (to quote JR Ward) become to loud to ignore. I write to keep myself sane. I write because my A.D.D. interferes with my life and the only way to keep track of the ideas I have is to put pen to paper, as it were.

My sister is a major influence in my writing, or more appropriately, my writing ideas. I've written a children's book based on my niece's Weimaraner, Lana. The idea came from a conversation between my sister and I about an experience with Lana and my nephew. I need an illustrator for it. 

The latest idea she has suggested is using a tachyon theory to explain the ancient mysteries of our world. She does this to me all the time. Tosses possibilities out to get my "Rice Krispies" hopping. I'm working on it. 

Now, why do I want to write? Because one day, when I grow up, I want to be Nora Roberts. "Why?" you may ask. Well, Ms. Roberts' use of imagery is wonderful. There is nothing quite as descriptive, in my opinion, as the opening page of her novel, Midnight Bayou. Her writing has you standing in a swamp, slapping mosquitoes, breathing humid air, and watching things crawl, slither, and slide around the water, grass, and trees.

This is why I want to write. I want one day for someone to read something I have written and say "I want to be her when I grow up. I want to be able to do this." Will it ever happen? I don't know. As I've said, I don't see myself as an author even though I have two published works. Maybe one day I'll have more published and it will feel less surreal. Who knows?

In the mean time, stop by and catch up with the Usual Suspects here.

Halloween Memories

This week on Topic Tuesday our wonderful organizer, Jeff Adkins, has suggested writing about our favorite Halloween memory. This one has me kinda perplexed. Don't get me wrong. I love Halloween. It's probably my favorite season, but I don't have a favorite memory. Nothing that stands out from all the rest. Not like a favorite Christmas where a long awaited present was received, or a birthday where you got everything you wanted.

I have memories of Halloweens past. I remember the haunted house we went to when I was around 14 or 15. There were four of us, five if you count my sister. It was my best friend, Angie, her brother, Davy, his best friend, David, and me. Davy and David were the same age, 12 or 13. They were both taller than us, weighed more, too. (There is a point here...I promise.)

We waited in line to go inside. David was standing in the back of our group. He kept moving forward  getting closer and closer to my sister. (You have to understand something here. My sister. She's 14 years older than I am. It was more like having a second mother than a sister.) David kept announcing he wasn't going in last every time he moved. Finally, my sister made eye contact with him before pointedly looking down. When she looked back up, she told him if he stepped on her foot one more time, he wouldn't be going in at all. The rest of us watched the interaction waiting to see what would happen. David maintained eye contact as he replied he still wasn't going in last.

That was more impressive than the haunted house.

Trick-or-treating as a kid wasn't the easiest of feats. I didn't live in a neighborhood. There was one house on my street where I could go. My dad would take me to my aunt's house on the street to the east of where we lived. Then I would go to the neighbors on either side of my aunt, across the street to my uncle's, and Mr. Virgil's house south of the field next to my uncle's house. Those were the only places I went as a kid. There weren't any other houses.

When my sister bought her house in the subdivision she lives in, I was 12. I was on the cusp of being too old to trick-or-treat. I went for a few years with my niece and then with my nephew when he came along, but I had stopped dressing up.

These are the only memories which stand out in my childhood of Halloween. What are yours?

Check out the rest of the usual suspects here.