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dragonlady7via http://ift.tt/2ojZG3j:klyaksa1 replied to your post “klyaksa1 replied to your post “well we were maybe going to go out to…”
Forgive me if I have crossed a line here. I am a psychiatrist and I’m hearing some pretty long-standing depressive symptoms in your descriptions. It doesn’t necessarily mean that you need to DO anything about them if you don’t want to, but it sounds like you are both unhappy to varying degrees so maybe taking for granted that this is just how you live isn’t the best option.
Oh yeah, you’re not really crossing a line as far as I’m concerned, I do appreciate the perspective– but yeah, I was diagnosed with depression in like, uh, probably like 2010 or so,
and went through a rotation of medications, which probably helped but it’s pretty hard to evaluate that from this perspective; I think that easing my depression made my anxiety markedly worse, though, so it was kind of a wash in terms of quality of life. Mostly I gained 30 pounds, permanently, on sertraline, which meant that my coach in the sport I played at the time stopped taking me seriously and no longer gave me any play time, and that crushed me pretty profoundly. (She said my performance was fine, but benched me, for literally two years.) I tried a couple other things, accidentally cold-turkeyed myself off Wellbutrin at a point when I didn’t have access to medical care [I think it was Wellbutrin? it was time-release capsules you couldn’t cut in half so i had no way to taper, and it was brain zaps and freakouts for a solid week], and that was so incredibly unpleasant that I absolutely cannot muster the gumption to get myself back in to see a doctor because that was fucking terrible and none of it really helped with my executive function or brain fog problems, which upset me more than the mood issues in general. I mean, I get fucking brutal aphasia basically every month at one particular point in my menstrual cycle, like cannot-communicate-level aphasia, like don’t speak for two days kind of level sometimes, and none of the depression meds helped with that in the slightest bit.
If I had any kind of executive function at all, I’d go get evaluated for ADHD/dyscalculia, which I know I have, and try to work out a treatment plan for those, and see if that helped with any of the other stuff. Buuuuuuut that involves making phone calls so it won’t happen, so. Oh also I’m violently allergic to sunlight and haven’t had that looked at either. I pretty much have to be dying before I can manage to get myself to a doctor of any stripe, so I’m not holding out a ton of hope that I’m really going to do anything about that anytime soon.
They don’t just– hand out executive function boosters. And I’ve spent so much of my life– the vast majority of my adult life, really– without health insurance that the whole concept of ??? having insurance?? ?? seeing a doctor? ??? is like?? ?????? that sounds fake? but okay? I mean– I have insurance, but I don’t believe in it. I wonder how many people in my generation are like this! We’re going to go back to the weirdo Depression-era pulling of our own teeth like our grandparents did, it’s goddamn horrifying. (Dude’s grandpa pulled his own teeth in the basement and kept them in a coffee can and they only found out after he died. USA! USA! USA!)
And I guess my dude is perfectly happy? A couple of years back, around the time of the Meds Experiments, I just went on strike, stopped doing all the emotional labor I’d been doing, stopped doing what little housework ever got done in the house, and Dude took over all the cooking and dishes, and apart from that has lived in apparent filthy bliss since that time. I leave town for a month and come back and he basically hasn’t moved except to go to work and feed himself and spend the hour before I pulled in doing his dishes because he hadn’t up to that point. He swears he’s fine and doesn’t care, except occasionally when he snaps and admits he wishes I’d clean the house. (He thinks he can’t, because it would disturb my stuff. He thinks I keep stuff in the toilet? He thinks the lint and crumbs in the corners of the kitchen floor, which hasn’t been swept in Christ knows how long, is stuff I’m planning to save for later? I don’t know, I can’t really follow his logic. He has a whole cache of weird things saved on the kitchen counter and when I asked he looked at me like I was crazy and said that was my stuff. I don’t! live here! most of the time! I don’t know what that is and did not put that there! He genuinely believes it’s my… empty oil bottle and unaffiliated jar lid and this looks like maybe the slider from a Ziploc bag and these are the lids of some Tupperwares we threw out? I don’t know!)
I can’t gainsay his personal experience of himself but I don’t understand it either.
Alas, we are perfectly compatible in every way except that neither of us can keep a fucking house. He swears he feels fine though. He hasn’t seen a doctor in longer than me.
Forgive me if I have crossed a line here. I am a psychiatrist and I’m hearing some pretty long-standing depressive symptoms in your descriptions. It doesn’t necessarily mean that you need to DO anything about them if you don’t want to, but it sounds like you are both unhappy to varying degrees so maybe taking for granted that this is just how you live isn’t the best option.
Oh yeah, you’re not really crossing a line as far as I’m concerned, I do appreciate the perspective– but yeah, I was diagnosed with depression in like, uh, probably like 2010 or so,
and went through a rotation of medications, which probably helped but it’s pretty hard to evaluate that from this perspective; I think that easing my depression made my anxiety markedly worse, though, so it was kind of a wash in terms of quality of life. Mostly I gained 30 pounds, permanently, on sertraline, which meant that my coach in the sport I played at the time stopped taking me seriously and no longer gave me any play time, and that crushed me pretty profoundly. (She said my performance was fine, but benched me, for literally two years.) I tried a couple other things, accidentally cold-turkeyed myself off Wellbutrin at a point when I didn’t have access to medical care [I think it was Wellbutrin? it was time-release capsules you couldn’t cut in half so i had no way to taper, and it was brain zaps and freakouts for a solid week], and that was so incredibly unpleasant that I absolutely cannot muster the gumption to get myself back in to see a doctor because that was fucking terrible and none of it really helped with my executive function or brain fog problems, which upset me more than the mood issues in general. I mean, I get fucking brutal aphasia basically every month at one particular point in my menstrual cycle, like cannot-communicate-level aphasia, like don’t speak for two days kind of level sometimes, and none of the depression meds helped with that in the slightest bit.
If I had any kind of executive function at all, I’d go get evaluated for ADHD/dyscalculia, which I know I have, and try to work out a treatment plan for those, and see if that helped with any of the other stuff. Buuuuuuut that involves making phone calls so it won’t happen, so. Oh also I’m violently allergic to sunlight and haven’t had that looked at either. I pretty much have to be dying before I can manage to get myself to a doctor of any stripe, so I’m not holding out a ton of hope that I’m really going to do anything about that anytime soon.
They don’t just– hand out executive function boosters. And I’ve spent so much of my life– the vast majority of my adult life, really– without health insurance that the whole concept of ??? having insurance?? ?? seeing a doctor? ??? is like?? ?????? that sounds fake? but okay? I mean– I have insurance, but I don’t believe in it. I wonder how many people in my generation are like this! We’re going to go back to the weirdo Depression-era pulling of our own teeth like our grandparents did, it’s goddamn horrifying. (Dude’s grandpa pulled his own teeth in the basement and kept them in a coffee can and they only found out after he died. USA! USA! USA!)
And I guess my dude is perfectly happy? A couple of years back, around the time of the Meds Experiments, I just went on strike, stopped doing all the emotional labor I’d been doing, stopped doing what little housework ever got done in the house, and Dude took over all the cooking and dishes, and apart from that has lived in apparent filthy bliss since that time. I leave town for a month and come back and he basically hasn’t moved except to go to work and feed himself and spend the hour before I pulled in doing his dishes because he hadn’t up to that point. He swears he’s fine and doesn’t care, except occasionally when he snaps and admits he wishes I’d clean the house. (He thinks he can’t, because it would disturb my stuff. He thinks I keep stuff in the toilet? He thinks the lint and crumbs in the corners of the kitchen floor, which hasn’t been swept in Christ knows how long, is stuff I’m planning to save for later? I don’t know, I can’t really follow his logic. He has a whole cache of weird things saved on the kitchen counter and when I asked he looked at me like I was crazy and said that was my stuff. I don’t! live here! most of the time! I don’t know what that is and did not put that there! He genuinely believes it’s my… empty oil bottle and unaffiliated jar lid and this looks like maybe the slider from a Ziploc bag and these are the lids of some Tupperwares we threw out? I don’t know!)
I can’t gainsay his personal experience of himself but I don’t understand it either.
Alas, we are perfectly compatible in every way except that neither of us can keep a fucking house. He swears he feels fine though. He hasn’t seen a doctor in longer than me.
