RealMental

It’s been on me now for months now. It sits in the middle of my head, buzzing like some sort of damned demented tsetse fly.  I am defeated for no reason whatsoever. I can’t smile, at least not for myself, and my eyes are always heavy.
I know that part of the solution is to move around among the living but every time I try panic sets in and suddenly the lights are too bright, the rooms too small, my breathing too shallow and I can’t find my way back to safety. More often than not, I make the decision to avoid movement.

My loved ones want me to get better. They are sure that there is action I can take to get better. I know that they are right. It scares me that they can see it- I am a world class actress after all.  It must be really bad.

I’ve curled up into myself because I know how to take care of me, to keep from falling over that precipice that looms on all sides of my psyche, craving a misstep. It’s hard to explain how withdrawing helps- it just does.

I think that sometimes depression causes so much pain the sufferer’s only recourse is to anesthetise themselves. I used to do that by using drugs and alcohol. Now I do it by drawing myself up into a ball, so that my insides aren’t exposed.

I am starting therapy again and I know that it will help. There’s no magic pill for this, it is something I have to tread through. That may be the hardest part about living with depression and anxiety. When every fiber in your being is screaming at you to keep quiet, keep still, keep yourself safe- to take those steps towards recovery- I am jumping off of a god damned cliff.

I’ve wanted to write about this for months now, but felt compelled to stay as far away from the media’s scary-unremorseful-rabid-stalker coverage of the story as possible. Now I feel like it’s okay to write about it because something positive has happened- Britney Spears may very well get the help she needs.

You can always tell that a person’s life has taken a turn for the better when the media starts compiling montages of past tragedies and airing them over and over and over again.

I’m not in a position to speculate about or diagnose the nature of Britney’s condition but it is obvious that, for what ever reason, her mental health has deteriorated dramatically over the past year. It’s horrifying to watch a person go through that, as a fellow human being and as a fellow mental patient. The greatest fear I’ve had is that she would not survive the ordeal. So many of us don’t.

It’s been doubly horrifying to watch the reaction of the media and general public. People have laughed at Britney Spears, called her names, shamed her- all but spit on her as she walked down the street. Every day I am thankful that I have, with the abundant support of others, been able to treat my illness. I can say with certainty that had I been judged and ridiculed to the degree that Britney Spears has, I would not be alive right now. Let’s be frank shall we? I’d have blown my fucking brains out.

I’ve read a few good articles this morning calling for responsible action on the part of the media and public:

“In the case of Britney Spears, professional ethics also are involved which the media must confront. Roy Peter Clark, vice-president of the Poynter Institute, a leading center of journalism training and ethics, recently wrote. “There is clearly a danger zone, when life and health are at stake, when the best thing the press can do is back off. That time for Spears is probably now.” – Michael J. Fitzpatrick, executive director of the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI )

“The paparazzi are not known for their scruples when it comes to hounding their celebrity quarry. So the resignation of a British photographer from his LA agency in protest at the “aggressive” treatment of Britney Spears is a signal that media harassment of the unravelling celebrity has reached a new and troubling level.

Nick Stern predicted that the pursuit of Ms Spears would end in tragedy as he quit his job at Splash, a Los Angeles-based, British-owned celebrity picture agency, over the tactics employed to feed the media obsession with the troubled pop star.”- Times Online

Sadly, the majority of the coverage seems to have been dictated from a conversation between two terribly insecure 13 year olds. There seems to be so little actual knowledge or understanding about mental illness. There seems to be even less compassion. As a person who periodically finds herself in the midst of her own mental disintegration, I have to say how afraid it makes me that we seem to find the psychological torture of our fellow humans highly entertaining.

I sincerely hope that Britney Spears gets help- voluntary or otherwise. I hope she is able to be healthy again, to care for her little boys, to live a happy and productive life. I hope that we as a society will allow her to do so. I hope that we will learn to treat mental illness as a potentially deadly disease and not a platform upon which we can stand, looking down with vicious judgment and self-gratifying amusement on it’s sufferers.

Several years ago I was having a chat with a family member when they asked me about my decision to stop pursuing a career in music- what made me decide to take a more practical route. I told them that it was a hard choice, but that I’d realized that a) I was an okay musician. Not great, but fair- and that fair wasn’t going to cut it, and b) for a long time I thought, melodramatically, that music defined me as a person, that it was the essence of my being. As I got older I realized that music was something that I loved, loved doing, but that whether I played music as a profession or as a hobby I was not going to let it make me feel defeated or unhappy.

My relative looked me straight in the eye and without any conscious ill-intent said, “Well Amanda, you know Allison Krauss isn’t attractive and she has a career in music.”.

Yesterday, the same relative expressed concern that I might one day feel resentful towards my child, “Because she’s so cute and pretty.”.

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I have trained myself to listen to my inner voice and to what it’s saying to me. After about a decade of of awareness and gentle correction I have learned to pay attention to that voice, to be diligent, and ultimately to be kind to myself in thought and action. It has made a world of difference in the way that I live and the way that I feel about myself.

The greatest gift I’ve received from this practice is the realization that the voice in my head, the one that calls me names, tells me I’m not good enough- the one that is so hard and cruel- it’s not my voice. Those thoughts were placed there by other people and for a long time I let other people control the way I feel about myself.

These days, more often than not, the voice is mine. And it thinks I’m more than just okay.

Last week I was asked by a Real Mental reader to write about my decision to continue taking my antidepressants during my pregnancy. I’ve been reluctant to do so but if there was ever a place where I’m safe to write about these issues, it’s here. (Thank you Leah)

My depression was my main concern when my husband and I first decided to try to have a baby. I did a lot of reading and up to the point that I found out I was pregnant, I still hadn’t made a decision. I knew what my gut was telling me though and that was to stay on my medication.

I had two very distinct opinions from the doctors I saw during the first few weeks of my pregnancy. The first doctor I saw was a GP who I saw for the initial “just to be sure” blood test. When I asked him for his opinion about remaining on my antidepressant he was very firmly against it. I tried explaining some of my history to him but he wasn’t receptive- which was fine, it wasn’t his job to listen to my life story- but it left me feeling guilty and afraid. The most embarrassing part was his subsequent refusal to refill my prescription.

Based on the research I’d done I had a hard time understanding his reaction. There are risks associated with taking antidepressants during pregnancy but that risk is thought to be minimal. After having suffered through years of untreated depression, I knew what the risks would be if I stopped taking my medication.

A week after the initial doctor’s visit, I went to see my OBGYN. When I posed the same question to her she waved her hand at me and said, “Stay on you medication.” I started down my list of questions regarding the risks. She listened for a bit and then stopped me. She told me that there were risks no matter which decision I made but that she highly recommended that I continue to treat my depression.

That’s exactly what I did. I had plenty of fears about the possibility that the antidepressants might harm my baby, but I was more afraid of what might happen to both of us if I stopped taking them. I was afraid that halfway through the pregnancy I would end up a non-functioning, emotionally irrational, suicidal wreck. My fears were based on hard won experience.

I was also terrified that if I allowed myself to regress to this state I would not be able to care for my child once she was born. In retrospect I think that my decision to stay mentally healthy was most heavily influenced by my instinct to stay healthy for my baby.

It was a difficult decision but I am infinitely grateful that I chose to continue to treat my illness during my pregnancy. My baby is healthy and happy. Thankfully, I am in pretty good shape as well and am able to be an attentive and nurturing mother. I’ve said it before and it is worth repeating- I shudder to think where I’d be if I had made the decision to stop treating my illness.

It was the best decision for me, but I would never assume that it is the best decision for everyone suffering from depression. I think that I had to follow my instincts and not let guilt or social pressure influence me as I weighed my options. I had to stick to the facts.

For more information from actual professionals do a quick web-search on the topic. There is a plethora of helpful information out there.

I recently received a request to share the story of how I was diagnosed with ADD. I was supposed to write about it last week but I completely forgot. I didn’t even realize that Friday had come and gone until Saturday evening and that, my friends, is a great example of the disorder and the effect is has on my life.

I have never been able to focus and since I was a child I’ve had the attention span of a gnat. I was a terrible student and spent most of my time in class daydreaming and staring out of the window. I used to get in trouble for this on a weekly basis and my progress reports almost always read, “Doesn’t pay attention in class.”. My parents attributed this behavior to me being a right- brained individual and felt that I lacked self-discipline. I was grounded, literally, from the 4^th through the 10^th grades because of my poor grades and seeming lack of concern about things I needed to get done.

The subject of Attention Deficit Disorder did not come to my attention until I was well into my 20’s. I was asked by numerous friends and acquaintances if I thought I might suffer from the disorder but I always said no. I could sit through a whole movie or concert if I wanted to- and I thought that fact was an indicator that when I suffered from all of the other symptoms of ADD, it was a reflection of my flawed character. I didn’t know enough about the disorder to ask for help and as a result I spent a lot of years thinking that I was a complete failure- a fundamentally hopeless human being.

About two years ago a therapist I was seeing demanded, despite my protestation, that I take a test to determine whether or not I suffered from ADD. I was stunned when, after the two weeks it took me to finish the three page test and the additional two weeks it took for me to remember to return it to the therapist, that not only did I have ADD but boy howdy did I have ADD.

Here is a basic rundown of my symptoms:

I need constant stimulation. Without it I become severely depressed. I suffer from chronic fatigue. I am always mentally exhausted. If I’m not being mentally engaged or stimulated it is almost impossible for me to stay awake. It often takes me a ridiculous amount of time to complete simple tasks. If I’m in the middle of a project and get distracted by the smallest thing it’s extremely difficult for me to get back on track. For instance, say I need to pay the gas bill. I’ll say to myself, “You need to go pay the gas bill.”, and then a song I love will come on the radio and the next thing I know it’s a week later and I haven’t payed the gas bill. A side-effect of this symptom is extreme anxiety, for obvious reasons. I lack focus. If you are talking to me I will only hear about 35% of what you are saying. I am often grouchy and short-tempered with people when they request that I do something, especially if that something needs to be done in an efficient manner. I can not follow instructions. I will eventually get things done but it will take great effort and lack attention to detail. I have extreme difficulty keeping up with things- keys, important papers, appointment times and dates, etc. Writing things down does not help, because even if I remember to read the “note on the fridge” the information will be gone the minute I am distracted by something else.

Once I knew that I suffered from ADD my entire perspective on life changed. I understood why I had such a hard time with daily living and why things were often so unmanageable. I realized that I was not a bad person, not a lazy person, but a person suffering from a serious disorder that effected every aspect of my life.

After making the diagnosis my therapist referred me to a physician who specialized in ADD and depression. He prescribed Adderall and kept a very close eye on me for a few months after I started taking it. It’s effect on me was immediate. After about a week I felt a million times better- more alert and aware. After a month or so I was able to focus, complete tasks in a reasonable amount of time, keep up with things and engage in entire conversations with others. I still needed stimulation but did not go insane without it. I had the mental and physical energy I needed to get things done. Life became manageable and enjoyable.

I did experience some pretty intense side effects from the medication as my body adapted to it and as my doctor and I adjusted my dosage to fit my needs. One side effect was rapid, almost scary weight loss. This was fine for me because I had weight to spare, but I had to be diligent about my eating and make sure that I was getting the proper amount of calories and nutrition. I would advise that anyone with an eating disorder or an already very thin person to be extremely careful and work closely with a doctor when taking Adderall.

Another side effect that I experienced during the first few weeks was irritability- more so than usual. It was as if someone flipped on a light switch in my head which was wonderful but very overwhelming. It was suddenly very easy for me to be overstimulated and I had to learn to deal with all of the information that I was receiving. Also, I became acutely aware of my surroundings and of how much ground I had to cover to get my life in order.

That being said, Adderall has worked miracles for me. After my body and psyche adjusted to the medication, I became an infinitely more productive, relaxed, and joyful person.

Last week, after having been off of it for almost a year for my child’s sake, I started taking my medication again. It was an excruciating decision because it meant that I would have to stop breastfeeding mt daughter. For the past six months or so I haven’t been doing well at all. I’m so glad that I followed my doctor’s recommendation to stay on my anti-depressant while I was pregnant because if I hadn’t I don’t know where I’d be mentally. After a lot of tears I finally started taking Adderall again and I already feel a lot better. My daughter needs a mom who is mentally and emotionally present especially now that she is more aware of her surroundings. And I need to feel happy again.

So that’s my story. It took me two hours to finish this post, which may sound like a long time to most people, but for me it’s awesome. A week ago I would have started, been distracted by something shiny, and never finished. I love a good follow-through.

When I found out that I was pregnant with Maggie it was like having an out-of-body experience. I’d been told, because of issues with my lady bits, that I’d likely not be able to conceive and so I’d convinced myself that having a child was not in the cards for me. Scott and I had stopped officially trying and were seriously looking into adoption when I took the test and holy shit! I passed!

Two years prior I’d been diagnosed with Adult Attention Deficit Disorder and had started a medication regime that changed my entire life. For the first time I was able to think. Really think. I was able to complete tasks, focus, pay attention, and I acquired an actual working memory. And, after several months, my depression all but disappeared. My fatigue was a non-issue. It was like I’d been possessed by a functional human being. It was awesome.

Of course when I found out that I was pregnant I gladly dropped my ADD medication. Soon thereafter life became very blurry and hazy- once again my own version of “normal”. For the past eleven months I’ve giddily anticipated the day when I could start taking my medication again, and yesterday I finally went to the doctor to get my prescription.

My prescription is sitting in a bag on the floor beside me untouched. In order to get back my happy, I have to stop breast-feeding Maggie.

I just can’t bring myself to take the first pill.

It’s been almost eleven years since I went to rehab. I spent six of the longest months of my life there trying to build myself back into a human being. It was the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done, the most painful, and by far the most frightening. It was something I did out of necessity not virtue, a decision that thankfully changed the course of my life.

I started drinking and using drugs for one reason. Drugs and alcohol allowed me a brief reprieve from what had been a lifetime of pain and confusion. What I felt when I got high was relief, a literal opiate wave numbing my psyche, a sense of peace, the ability to relax and breathe. For all the anguish I’d experienced since I was a child, I’d finally found a cure. A cure.

But those moments were fleeting and the more I used the more I needed until I was using just to exist, just so that I could get up and walk around from time to time, so that I could pretend to exist among the god damned normal people. My cure had turned into a means of staying one step ahead of the pain, which lurked around ever corner, always waiting, and I knew that if it ever caught up with me it would end me, tear me limb from limb. I used and drank and ran until the drugs and the alcohol just stopped working.

After several months of weeping and screaming and shaking treatment became a safe harbor, a place where I could sift through the wreckage of what had been my life. Once I was able to comprehend feelings and words and regained some semblance of a thought process I realized that I had suffered all my life from depression. I was crazy, maybe, but my illness had a name.

A kind doctor diagnosed me and spent countless hours listening as I talked about things I’d never talked about before, and eventually convinced me that I was not a terrible person. It took some doing. Very slowly, I started getting better. Once I began treating my depression, my need to otherwise medicate became much less of an issue.

Here’s the thing: Even though the abuse of drugs and alcohol almost ruined my life, I know that it also saved my life. That’s a hard thing for people to understand. Drug abuse and alcoholism is often seen as a weakness or an indulgence but I’m living proof that they are sometimes neither. Sometimes self-medicating is all a person has left and that is a terrible and horrifying thing- salvation via destruction. The selling of one’s soul for just a few moments peace.

Whenever I encounter an obvious drug user and they ask me for money I always give it to them. I know how bad, God have mercy, it hurts to run out of your medication.