echodrift

Of drugs and other things

Over the holiday weekend I realized that soon bloggers will start compiling lists of “What Happened This Year.” I started thinking about the year in general and boy has it been a rough one. I realize I am quite young to say this but it may have been one of the roughest years of my life. Also, gonna go ahead and say that I use writing for therapy. Sometimes just writing things out and hitting publish helps me to get some things out of my mind, which is a far better alternative to letting them rattle around in there on their own for days and days.

In January I started a 20 week Accutane treatment. I can’t recall if I ever mentioned it here; it was an extremely rough time. I thought almost everyone knew what that horrible poison is but apparently, some do not. It’s technically a drug called isotretinoin and is used as an aggressive acne treatment. This is what dermatologists put you on when all other methods have failed. Methods such as but not limited to hormonal birth control, various cleansers and creams, and months of antibiotic treatment. I was in such misery emotionally and physically (it was painful for areas of my skin to be touched by my clothes) and in danger of scarring my face that I signed up for the overwhelming list of possible side effects. If anything, the knowledge that certain side effects were simply possibilities, especially those that affect pregnancies (trust me, it’s terrible, they put pictures on every single 10 packet of pills; I had to take two pills a day so I saw the pictures a lot), scared the ever living daylights out of me even though I never experienced some of them. I have no doubt that I suffered more than a little depression as a result. It was a horrid, terrible experience that I hope to never put myself through again. At this time I do think it was worth it. I was becoming depressed anyway and my little self esteem was plummeting.

To say that I was excited for my treatment to end in June and my last dermatologist appointment in July is a huge understatement. My skin is miles better than it was and whatever does come up will be dealt with. It will take a lot to make me even think about considering another round of Accutane.

One of the many potential side effects of that vile stuff is headaches. While I was taking it I brushed off anything I had as being due to it, took some tylenol or whatever and that was it. I didn’t keep a close track of anything but I think in July they started to get worse. Still no problem, Excedrin Migraine and some sleep fixed everything.

Then. Then came August 26 and… something that left me in such pain and discomfort that I was barely able to sleep for two days and no pain relievers worked. That started a cascade of doctor’s visits, prescriptions, diagnostic tests, insurance hassles, and ~SIDE EFFECTS~ Pesky thing about drugs: they seem to break more things than they fix, sometimes. After determining that I have no tumors or some other cause of my headaches my neurologist decided to bump up the anti depressant I was put on in order to try to prevent the headaches. By the way, it bothered me to find out after I had my prescription filled that it was an anti depressant. Shouldn’t doctors be telling their patients what sorts of things they’re being given? Anyway. The increase? Big. Mistake. After experiencing crazy heart rates (120 while sitting!!) and bizarre vertigo they backed it down. After weeks of that, though, it didn’t seem to be doing any good. Solution? Switch to another drug! Start Topomax at 25mg and increase to 50mg after just a week. And by the way, side effects for this only include confusion, inability to concentrate, forgetting things, small stuff. Oh yes, while not an anti depressant it can increase depressive thoughts. Just a few days after I went to the higher dose my lips and eyes to twitching enough to drive a person insane. Back to 25mg it was.

That’s where I am now. Except I don’t think the lower dose is really doing enough to prevent the headaches. But what can I do? A higher dose will drive me crazy and I’m talking certifiably, not the “she’s different and that makes me uncomfortable so I’m going to call her crazy to make myself feel better” type crazy. I honestly feel like I have absolutely no way to tell what is or isn’t helping. I have a very sneaking suspicion that stress is playing a huge part in this giant cocktail of whatever it is that’s wrong with me. That Which Shall Not Be Named has caused more than its fair amount of stress this entire year. (I am most curious to know which sentence in this post wins “Understatement of the Year.”)

Life has been stressful. Add in the smorgasbord of drugs that I’ve been on this year it is absolutely no wonder that I feel like an emotional wreck right now. I really don’t understand it myself. There is not one single thing that I can pin down (I might be lying to myself right there but will leave it as is) but I am just super unhappy, especially here in the last few weeks or so. And you know what? I’m tired of living like this. I used to wonder why when researching different headache disorders so many different sites suggested support groups or counseling or therapy for pain management for the person with the disorder and the ones close to them. I get it now. When there is absolutely nothing that anyone can do life turns pretty bleak. You don’t want to always complain about feeling bad yet there are no times in which you feel better. Your friends and family want to help but when they know that they can’t even fetch you a tylenol to help it sucks. The doctors seem to be treating you like a science experiment, guessing how much of which drug to give you.

So. I am endeavoring to change what I can. I have no solid plans at the moment because there are a lot of things I don’t have answers for right now. And even if I did, That Which Shall Not Be Named is so called for a reason. What plans can be wisely and safely shared will be. Gosh, that makes it sounds like I’m planning a rebellion or something equally nefarious. I’M NOT. I SWEAR. I’m just altering my outlook and goals. (Does that sound better? Maybe?) More of which I will be saving for a later day. It is late and I let myself get distracting researching symptoms on Wikipedia. FYI, NOT a smart thing to do to yourself at 11:30PM. But for what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure I don’t have fibromyalgia. Mostly sure.

Work in progress

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about this site and what I do on the web. I haven’t done a lot to get the word out about it. I don’t think I have that many readers and I often neglect to write for months at a time. And let’s just not mention the fact that I haven’t touched the layout in a long time. These thoughts have been rattling around in my head for a while and they’re probably still a bit jumbled up.

I don’t consider myself that good of a writer. I always feel like I can never fully express what it is I want to say, that whatever I write is inadequate. I figure I’ve got the technical part of it pretty squared away. (Is saying “I figure” less southern than saying “I reckon”? Cause some people have made fun of me for saying “I reckon.”) I can generally piece together coherent sentences and even some well structured ones. It’s the art of choosing words and knowing how to use them effectively, placing words so that the flow instead of standing stiffly that seems so elusive.

So while I may not be good at it I love writing. There are a lot of times I use it as a type of therapy. Even when I know that not many, if any, people will ever read it I feel better putting thoughts down. And I want to get better with my writing. I’m not going to sit here and say “I’m not a writer” because that would be stupid. I write, therefore I am a writer. I may not have aspirations of writing for publications or creating novels or making a living from writing but that doesn’t mean I’m not a writer. (This sort of goes along with my “not a photographer” gripe.)

I’ve struggled to find topics to write about for this site. A lot of my life right now focuses on my job, which I am not willing to write about. I don’t view that as a form of censorship; I see it as being smart. I’ve never tried to keep this site anonymous and I take full responsibility know that family, friends, and employers (current and theoretical future ones) could find and read to their heart’s content. I have no desire to start password protecting posts, either. That’s why when I do mention anything remotely job related I make sure that, given the chance, I don’t say anything that I wouldn’t say to someone’s face. Besides, it would mostly be boring things about SQL and report writing and– here’s where I stop myself.

What I’m trying to say is that I feel like I lack purpose. Why do I write here? I don’t have a cause. I’m not an advocate for anything. I don’t lead an amazingly interesting life. And I’m not a mommyblogger (not that there is anything wrong with mommybloggers). I’m not out to monetize the site through sponsorships or advertising. And I’m not about to start regularly blogging about my cats because I’m not a crazy cat lady. Yet.

In spite of all of that I feel like I could be doing something with this site and writing in general. I’ve been doing ok with having Wordless on Wednesday posts fairly regularly and while I highly enjoy sharing my photos (I think I’ll be writing another post on that), I want to write. Having a blog seems like having a mass of potential that is just waiting to be used. So I must ask myself why I haven’t used that potential yet.

Maybe I just haven’t found “my thing” yet. Or my niche if we want to get fancy. I’m about to equate this with my “real life.” Actually, now that I say that, I don’t want to have to make a distinction between the two. I am who I am; I don’t need to create a different persona. This is part of my real life. Also, it pains me to see writers who say they are afraid to write certain things because they’re worried about what their established readers will think. (Watch, I’m about to really contradict that statement.) I think that happens because maybe sometimes they intentionally or unintentionally create this online person that is only part of them or is entirely fake. I don’t want to create a persona that isn’t wholly me. (Wow, that’s a whole other issue to tackle.)

Rabbit trail over! What I mean to say is that fairly often I feel like I’m sitting on the sidelines. Part of that is intentional. I really value my alone time and I don’t always need to be in the thick of things. I’m no stranger to being called an introvert and let’s just say I didn’t socialize much when I was younger. Or ever. And while I’ve been raised to believe in “hogwash labels” I think I have some form of social anxiety. I have irrational thoughts about how I just know that people are going to judge me for saying or doing ANYTHING and I just freeze up and do nothing. As I said, they’re irrational. I know this. It doesn’t keep me from thinking them. The fear of being judged is really strong for me. Awesome thing that is the internet: I tried to see if “the fear of being judged” has an amazingly cool name like triskaidekaphobia. (I ALMOST SPELLED THAT RIGHT WITH NO HELP. Stupid “k.”) (By the way, that is fear of the number 13.) From what I can tell it doesn’t. It’s the definition of social anxiety or social phobia.

So. Social anxiety. It’s not extreme to the point of my not being able to be in any sort of social situation. I can and do function. I do, however, feel like I don’t and never will fit in anywhere. Not even in online communities and the quasi-anonymity they offer. I will never meet most of you who read this. I could hide behind my screen and write whatever I want and probably never have to deal with the consequences. I don’t want to be like that (but I could).

There are so many times that I see people talking to each other, having conversations, and making good friends and I want to jump in and say something because I don’t want to be a total hermit. But then fear of people not liking me holds me back. I want to be a part of their group but what if they hate me? What if they think I’m being rude or totally random and crash their party? Why should my opinion be worth anything? What if they call me weird or crazy? I joke and try to tell myself that everyone I know has called me crazy at least once. I think that’s a coping mechanism. While it may be true that many people I know have called me crazy it’s a very painful truth. I am not literally crazy. Why do they feel the need to label my behavior as such when I’m no more crazy than they are? Maybe that’s a separate issue.

There’s a vulnerability to opening yourself up to others. (There is a lot of vulnerability in sharing art but I’m saving that for another post.) Maybe my social anxiety has developed from the number of times I have been burned and now I’m afraid to open up to anyone. Because that fear of being judged? It’s not completely irrational. I’ve experienced it before, and from the people I had thought most would be the ones to at least accept, if not understand, what I had shared. I’ve never ever had buckets or even slightly moderate amounts of self confidence. So why am I writing at all?

I want to get better. The little reading I did about social anxiety said that cognitive behavioral therapy is the way to correct it. I think cure is too strong of a word. I’m not about to sign up for therapy. Not yet anyway; I’m not going to completely rule that out but I don’t think it’s likely. Besides, I can’t imagine what some people would say about needing therapy for this. Or anything because all psychologists and psychiatrists are quacks, right? (I’m joking; others wouldn’t be.) From what I can tell, all of this is in my head. There isn’t anything wrong with me in a neurological or chemical any other sort of sense. It’s thought processes, processes that can be retrained. The first step to recovery is usually admitting that there is a problem in the first place.

And so, using my own form of therapy, I’m writing about it. Writing a massive post that is starting to resemble a wall of text. I should give a cookie to everyone who reads it all. Virtual cookies. This is definitely a work in progress and I plan to revisit the topic of social anxiety as I try to figure out how I can overcome it.

And I wish that I had some pretty pictures to break up this massive wall of text but I don’t. I’m making do with a laptop that has lasted over 7 years now. That qualifies it for the label of dinosaur, right? And the edit area for my WordPress dash on this laptop screen is SO DAMN TINY.

Oh, I said damn… what will people think?