The Trial and Travail

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So, my psychiatrist told me that medication is all trial and error, that it would be great if they could just run a blood test and know what would work for me…but, they can’t; you never know what you’re going to get because all the meds effect everyone differently.

I have now tried eight different meds for depression and anxiety and I keep returning to duloxetine as the lesser of all evils.

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My last trial (and, what a trial it was), before again returning to duloxetine, was with escitalopram.

The good points..well, there was only one good point, and it was a very good point: I could reach orgasm again easily. It was delightful to not have to work so hard… the relief from frustration… the glorious intensity of pleasure. However…

The broken pieces of glass in my head would not stay put. Crashing and slicing around, they blinded me with mental and emotional agony. Thus, not doing much as an ANTI-depressant. Then, there was the physical pain which forced me to my bed.

Maybe, prior to taking duloxetine, I hadn’t realised the severity of physical pain I was in. I knew my body hurt most of the time, but it was…manageable, compared to the mental/emotional anguish.

Now, the pain in my body was intense and overwhelming, further contributing to a downward spiral.

And, so, I stopped taking the escitalopram and started again on the duloxetine. Bye bye easy orgasms but, also, goodbye crippling pain.

It’s sad that in numbing the bad, the good gets numbed as well. And, as far as mood…I still want to die…but, the duloxetine helps me function by effectively killing the physical pain.

The duloxetine also holds the glass in my head in check; it dulls the sharp, jagged edges, doing little for anxiety and low mood, but keeping full blown psychosis at bay.

It’s no way to live, it’s just a way to exist a little better, to (I detest this word) survive (bleurgh, I spit that word out with hatred).

I’m OK With That

I am not friendless, and for this I’m grateful. As, I know what it is like to be sans friends (been there). But, no one calls me their best friend. They tell me about their best friends and I see updates and statuses about them being with their “besties”.

Not being anyone’s best friend was bothering me until I realised, I’m ok without that extra responsibility. I’m not the friend that is unlivewithoutable (it’s a word now). I can disappear, I can withdraw when needed, and none of my friends will be too put out about it; they’ll just get on with whatever. I’m not necessary. And, really… with my health (both mental and physical) as it is, this is a good thing.

I’m nobody’s bestie. And, you know what? I’m ok with that.

Dangerous Encounters (or, “encounters are dangerous” OR, “the OTHER SIDE of social anxiety”)

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Pardon this, my exercise in futility.
Some may relate, others will think it insanity.
And, it’s true that madness is never far from me…
But, still, I bet I’m not alone in my quandary.

I’m not alone in this aloneness that must be.

© Autumn Dawn Leader 2014

What if I like you but you don’t like me? Eh, not that likely…if you don’t like me I’m not liable to be especially enamoured of you either. So, this is more of a gnat-buzzing-around-the-face annoyance rather than a problem. And, if for some reason, I do really like you while you don’t like me, I’ve had years to get used to rejection. I’ve built up an immunity.

But…

What if I like you too much? And maybe you like me a bit. And then I get attached. Or, worse, you get infatuated.

It might not ever happen again. I’m getting old. But…

And, infatuation aside, what if there’s some spark of friendship? What if I like it? But, you’ll get tired eventually. They all do. I’m no one’s “bestie” or “bff” or whatever the cool kids are calling best friends these days.

No. I’m no people person; that’s for sure. And, when I meet new people, there’s a chance for strong dislike. My dislike of them because they’re human. They’re dislike of me because I’m me. And, the thing is…that’s ok. There’s no danger in this.

No, the problem comes when there is a liking one way or another…or mutual. Because, it rarely ends well…but, it always ends.

Body and Soul

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Last year I embarked on a journey of – what I, a big Doctor Who fan, called – regeneration. Not actually being a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey (more’s the pity), it is an ongoing process rather than a blast of light and an instant transformation.

What began as a declaration of freedom from a group of confining and judgmental people, has evolved into a continuing discovery and expression of the real me, and what suits the real me.

I think that many of us who go the way of body art and modification aren’t merely rebels. Certainly there are individuals who fall into that category. But, for me, the outer transformation is a reflection of the inner person. This is me taking off the masks.

I’ve discovered blue hair suits me. The most natural thing in the world. If my soul had hair, it would be blue.

I’m a wild thing which has been royally fucked up by being born on this planet and forced to live here. I don’t cope or function well here. But, here I am, for now. And, as long as I am, I choose not to hide, but rather to express, this tattooed, pierced, blue-haired soul.

An Overgrowth of Pain

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“An Overgrowth of Pain – A Self Portrait”

I feel sad today. I’m physically unwell, a nasty cold/flu virus scuppering my plans for the day as well as just working to make me feel worn down. I also, once again, have questions about my ability to keep friends.

It’s not all bad: my beautiful husband got me a cool new scull coffee mug to replace my previous fave mug that got broken a couple of weeks ago. I’m so grateful for him. A mug isn’t a big deal (coffee is a big deal, but I won’t digress here), but his loving, giving thoughtfulness and care of me is huge.

The weepiness persists, though. Exhaustion and this…this battering, bruising sadness.

It’s just another thing. It will eventually lift, or I’ll get used to it. But, yeah…life, I don’t like it. It never knows when to let up, to stop hitting…relentless fucker.