Rushed

Today has already been a bit challenging, and for more reasons than I had originally expected. Buttercup was scheduled for dental surgery, and this is the second time she's needed teeth pulled since I've had her. It is an expensive, and stressful procedure, that I had done my best to avoid and obviously failed. It's gonna cost a pretty penny, but at least she'll be more comfortable. I actually just got off the phone with the vet, and he said it was pretty bad.

I slept in this morning, completely on accident. Somehow I'd set my alarm for tomorrow, instead of today and woke up at 8, which was when I was supposed to be at the vet office. I got there half an hour late, and thankfully, the staff was cool about it. East River Vet has always been good to us like that, considering it is a struggle to get Ivan out of the house on time most nights, or I have a brain fart, and estimate how much time we need to get there incorrectly. Anyway, that was stressful in itself, but because I was late,  I was also rushing, and in my haste, clipped a car with my right mirror on my way off of Akron. Turning left on there always gives me problems. The lady was understandably angry, but I did apologize, and she wasn't hurt or anything, so it definitely could have been worse. Half-awake, cursing myself and fried from Buttercup keeping me out all night, it was a rough morning. Of course, I knew Buttercup was going to have a much tougher time.

The last time I took Buttercup to get her teeth done was interesting. Originally, her doctor was only going to clean them, and didn't think an extraction would be needed. When they put her under, they discovered that I think, two or three teeth were dead, and had to go. So I gave the OK, and picked her up that night, after her teeth had been pulled and she'd had some time for the anesthesia to wear off. It hadn't completely though, and she wouldn't walk when I got there to take her home. I carried her out, and she cried for the entire ride back, softly, otherwise quiet in the seat next to me. When we got home, she didn't move much, didn't eat or drink much either. I kept her on the bed, where she'd be comfortable and did my best to comfort her. Ivan helped, but she maintained a constant soft whine, probably still in pain and confused. At one point, I did convince her to eat some lactose free ice cream, with a hint of enthusiasm, and that gave me hope. When we woke up the next day, she emerged from under the blankets, looked around, a bit confused, saw me, and went crazy with excitement. I genuinely think that she hadn't realized she was home until that moment, poor thing. She was nearly back to normal after that, though I had to keep her on soft foods and lactose free ice cream for a while (which she thoroughly enjoyed, I might add).

The following was written once Buttercup got home.

Poor baby is drugged up, confused and whining occasionally. She alternated between sleeping and looking up at me, utterly bewildered on the ride home. Five teeth are gone, all four canines, and a loose molar. She'll be on soft food for a week (she's gonna love that) and is currently resting on the bed. Hopefully she recovers quickly with some rest.

Her tongue is sticking out a bit. I don't think she knows what's going on, but she's OK, which is all that matters.

Worth

So, I know it's been a while, since I've written anything, but I wanted to take a shot at it again. I wanted to update anyone who is interested on my mental health (much better, details to follow) and share a few thoughts. If you're still reading this, thanks for sticking with me.

As you may, or may not know, I was diagnosed sometime last year with dysthymia, which is a mild, but still chronic form of depression. I was seeing a therapist for a good while, and I wanted to talk about the experience a little. My therapist was GREAT. He was...blunt, for sure, but I needed blunt. He pushed me not to avoid my problems, and to confront them instead, showing me over and over again that action yielded positive results, where inaction just made my stress and depression worse. Seems simple right? But it was a hard concept to internalize and actualize. I think the most important thing he taught me, was that I needed to re-write my own internal dialogue. Here's an example of my typical thought process, wasting my precious time at a job I hated...

I hate this. I'm going to be here forever. This is all I'm good for. I don't deserve anything better, and I'll never get it.

Or, if something went wrong, I would inevitably blame myself.

This recipe I'm working on turned out all wrong. I'm an idiot, I can't do anything right.

This is just how my brain worked. All of the bad things in my life were inevitable results of my eternal failing as a human being. One of the hardest things I had to do in therapy, was to take a step back and re-work these thoughts into something closer to reality. Instead of, I am slow at work, my numbers must be awful, I'm not doing enough, I had to tell myself, I'm doing fine. My actual numbers are good, and no one has brought me aside to correct me. Again, this sounds like basic common sense, but it was nearly impossible for me to believe that I wasn't absolute worthless garbage, incapable of anything worthy of recognition.

For a long time, I resisted the idea of going on anti-depressants. I wanted to believe that I could fight my depression with therapy alone, and for a little while it did work. I was improving, and could actually see how much my depression had actually effected not only me, but my friends and family. I did agree to take Trazodone, to help me sleep. Trazodone, is a great sleep aid, but it also has mild anti-depressant qualities as well. There was almost an immediate improvement in my attitude, and I went from telling myself I'm OK, it could be worse.to Holy crap, I was basically a completely different person. It was INCREDIBLE, the difference, even then. Eventually, therapy wasn't enough to hold back the crushing lows that were all but impossible to pull out of, and I agreed to go on an anti-depressant.

Now, my therapist couldn't prescribe anything, so I had to go to my primary care physician. She was busy at the time, and I ended up seeing the nurse practitioner, who was an absolutely lovely woman. When I told her what had been going on in therapy and my diagnosis of dysthymia, she had me fill out a short questionnaire that rates how bad your depression is. I can't remember what score I got now, but it was something like a thirteen or eighteen? She told me that if I had gotten an eight, she would have been recommending medication. Honestly, that was a bit of a shock to me, to see how bad I'd gotten again. But, it worked out well enough, I am now on a medication that is the generic of Lexipro. I was warned there would be side effects, and sent on my way with strict instructions and an uneasy hope that something would finally change.

There were definitely side effects to the new medication. They weren't as bad as they could have been, but I did have some interesting nausea the first week or two of taking my new medication. Thankfully, I had been smart enough to take it at night, so I generally slept through the worst of it, though sometimes I would wake up with my stomach roiling uncomfortably. Not pleasant, obviously, but definitely manageable. Then, I started to have mood swings, going quickly from happy to depressed, something that I was already a little familiar with.

The real change, came when I began feeling things more deeply and intensely than I had in years. I cried a lot, but usually because I was happy, and staying happy for more than a few moments at a time. It was a complete reversal of how I had felt for so very long. I remember one instance in particular. I was in the library, sitting at my computer and the cat had gotten to my lap. For the first time that I could remember, I was just overwhelmed with a sense of absolute peace and contentment. I hadn't known I could even feel something like that anymore. That sort of sealed it for me, that I was finally on the right path to recovery.

I also found my mental dialogue beginning to shift. I would sit at work and tell myself I won't be here forever, this is only temporary, and for the first time, I completely believed it. I believed I deserved better. I deserved happiness. I believed I had worth. It honestly awed me a little, but at the same time, it raised me up, lifting my confidence to a level that I hadn't experienced since college.

Now, I'm going back to school, studying to be a vet tech. Life is hard, but the growing void in me has gone, and I have a better handle on my emotions. I know that I am working toward something amazing, even if the day to day doesn't go exactly as I'd like. My relationship with my husband has grown stronger than ever, and he is my unwavering pillar of support in everything I do. Things are a bit scattered, and busy, but they are good, and getting better. I am eternally grateful for the support of my friends and family who were with me through what I now know was an extremely dark time in my life, and who are still here today. I'm grateful for my therapist and my doctors, because without them, my brain would still be imbalanced and working against me. I might even have gotten suicidal with time. I'm glad I never got to the point where I would find out.

I just want anyone out there struggling with depression and self-worth to know that they aren't alone, and there are people out there waiting to help. I know it is hard, money can be tight and insurance is an issue, but if you keep pushing, then you will find something. No one deserves to live the way I did. No one deserves to feel like they have less inherent worth than dirt. You matter, even if your mind tries to tell you otherwise. You deserve good things. You deserve happiness. I hope you find it.