Tag: recovery

I Forgot to Refill My Medication, ft. GIFs

Genevieve1 Comment

I’d like to introduce you to my irrational brain, partly to illustrate how distorted depression can make your thoughts, and partly to convince myself that this will pass. I take methylfolate because I’m a mutant and it helps my antidepressants work better. I ran out a couple of weeks ago and was slow to get it refilled. There aren’t any withdrawal symptoms of going cold-turkey because it’s really more of a supplement than anything else. (I’m much more careful about my other medications; you should never stop taking antidepressants suddenly without the supervision of your doctor.)
In any case, I didn’t call right away to get my methylfolate refilled. Initially, I thought that it would surely stay in my system for a few days and that it wouldn’t be a big deal to go without it briefly. In hindsight, that was a mistake. It was ok for a few days, but once I started to feel my depression worsen, I started to think some really unhelpful thoughts.

I messed up by not being on top of my responsibilities health-wise. This is my fault. I deserve to feel this. Therefore, I should not refill this medication, so as to prolong my suffering and punish myself.


Uh, no. Just… no. This is rational brain speaking. The statements above are utter nonsense and are not helpful in the slightest.
While I know that the most logical explanation for this decline in my mood is the lack of that medication, irrational brain whispers that maybe it’s just me. And that just in case it’s not me, and the arrival of that medication marks an end to this little blip, now’s my chance to self-destruct.

Seriously. Where do these thoughts come from?! Here’s another example: I was sitting outside with my dog and realized I hadn’t had any water in a while. Out of nowhere, my irrational, depressed brain said I deserve to be thirsty. 

Apparently, I should just completely deprive myself of all comfort and nourishment, because according to my automatic thoughts, I’m a terrible person.

My meds have arrived, so the thing to do now is to try not to listen to myself until they kick in. Much easier said than done. In the meantime, I’m doing my best. That’s all we can ever do.

Note to self: be like Leslie
colored-pencil-drawing-of-great-horned-owl-with-feathers-framing-sides-of-paper

The Owls and Me: A Poem on the Nature of Depression

Genevieve3 Comments

colored-pencil-drawing-of-three-great-horned-owlsDid I dream there were three?

Staring at me with six amber eyes
from the fork in the ash tree.
Their shapes like pressed flowers
in the soft light of dawn,
when one is not sure if the slant of sun
means a new day,
or is remembered from some earlier rising-
the aftertaste of memory,
beckoning.

 

At first, there were two; we’d see them glide past our house and disappear into the top of a cottonwood tree down the block. They’d be out at dusk, rousing themselves after a hot day perched up high. Great horned owls are fascinating to watch. For an animal that’s so still most of the time, it’s amazing that I never get bored of observing them. One summer, the two regulars were suddenly four. Two fluffy, baby owls joined the mated pair on their nighttime excursions, hopping and screeching when mom and dad left them for too long. I could sit and watch them for hours, and all told, I’m sure I did.

They haven’t been around recently, and I miss seeing their stately forms keeping watch over the neighborhood. I’m not sure why I love owls so much. What I do know, however, is that those four owls were a source of happiness for me when things were hard. I’d sit on my bed and watch them sleep in the tree outside my window. I was going to sit on my bed and do nothing anyway, so I may as well spend that time watching the owls. Maybe there was a subtle sense of solidarity; the owls in their daily state of rest and me in my extended, bleary hibernation.

colored-pencil-drawing-of-great-horned-owl-with-feathers-framing-sides-of-paper

Of course, their tendency to sit very still also makes them excellent subjects for drawing.

Nature has always been a source of healing for me, so when being outside was too much to ask of myself, watching it through the window was the next best thing. Then, I’d put down what I saw on paper so that even in their absence, the owls were still here. 

 

Recovery From Depression

GenevieveLeave a comment

TW: suicide & self-harm

I Used To

I used to look at the time when I heard a train go by at night, the heavy silence of 2 AM broken by the siren call of escape. I used to notice unlocked windows on the fourth floor of West Hall as I went up and down the stairs, each trip to and from class becoming harder. I used to see ways to die everywhere; in the passing bus, in the cold, dark current of the Huron River, in the pastel-blue sewing scissors tucked under my pillow. I used to wonder how long it would take for these morbid opportunities to escape my notice. How long before I can go a full day without putting some new, self-destructive idea on a mental shelf? How long before any phrase including the word “cut” doesn’t make me yearn to be alone so that I can do just that? I used to wonder about these things until I realized,

drawing-of-woman-lying-in-field-of-wildflowers

 

I used to.

Love,

Your brain