Friday, February 20, 2009

One Year

Well, a year ago, I started again. I had begun my blog in January, emailed Mel at Stirrup Queens to let her know, and promptly felt blocked, not able to write a word. So I started again today, posting their names.

I have over 200 posts now, I think, many of them saying the same thing: It hurts. I hurt. I want my boys back. I can't believe this is my life now. How am I going to get through this. There's been a lot of whining. A lot of incomprehensible exposition. A lot of cursing.

And I sit here, a year later and, to be honest, it's not really where I'd like to be. I thought perhaps I'd be pregnant by now. Or at least trying. I worried how I'd do school pregnant again; I assumed I'd be able to get back to it by now. Get some semblance of me back. And there is, here and there, a bit of me. But this roller coaster doesn't seem to end and there are more days than I'd like to admit that find me curled up and crying, sobbing, angry, lost.

C has taken care of me, more than I him, I think. He has not had the time he's needed to grieve. We need to figure out how to balance it more. I have to trust that it will come, otherwise, we are doomed. I had put on my Hope necklace for a while, but took it off yesterday, or the day before when I came down off the meds high. I have never liked roller coasters.

Thanks for sticking by me, especially now, when I'm having trouble even reading blogs, let alone commenting. You are in my heart and you all have kept me going when I thought I couldn't. When I didn't think anyone could understand, you have. When no one could make anything better, you have abided with me. Held my hand. And that means the world to me.

Thursday, February 19, 2009


I don't know what to do with myself. I have a list, but there's nothing there. I want to write, but nothing comes. I want to read, but can't focus, or it hurts, or I don't want to see. I don't know what I don't want to see, maybe everything hits too close to home.

I think the meds are starting to help, in that I'm less twitchy and weepy. Thoughts are clearer, but not clear. The house is a mess -- am I still that depressed, or just lazy.

The cats flank me. They want to be close. I can't see her, but I'm sure the dog is passed out in her bed. Unconditional affection. Warm. Quiet.

I want to curl up and sleep more. I wonder if I even want another baby. If I'm cut out for it. If I can get through a pregnancy. And school. At the same time? Is it really worth it? The pregnancy and worry, to have a baby?

I can feel tears behind my eyes. Sometimes I recognize myself again. sometimes I wonder who the hell I am and what the hell I'm doing. Spazzing around, teaching, playing with the dog. (Over whose leash I tripped while running last night. I'm fine.) Sometimes it feels like I'm pretending to be me. I still can't see where my life is going.

It's cold out again today. I'd take the dog for a good walk, but the wind is up, too.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

So I lied

Didn't post right away. Big deal, I know. this is gonna be kinda boring, just keeping track of things.

I've been all over the place, emotionally, physically. Since starting the med that looks like ability but with an f instead of the t, I've been feeling a little crazy (so what else is new?) in that I am almost manic in talking, restless, and yet it makes me sleepy. I take it at night, instead of the amb.ien.

Called the dr. last week on Friday with concerns and he called back 35 minutes later. Adjusted the titration, which has helped the talkativeness a little, but I'm still restless and feeling just sad. On Saturday, I presented as part of a group/panel made up of students from a class I took last semester. The prof made a point in including me, and I got lots of good feedback. Attended some good sessions, and enjoyed bonding with my colleagues, overall. I came home feeling high as a kite. We did nothing for V day, which was kind of disappointing, although I didn't initiate anything either, so I shouldn't be too disappointed. And we talked about it, too, so it's all okay.

Changed the titration Saturday night, so I would know what to expect for the conference, and I'm glad I did. It was like it was me, but times 5 or 10. The presentation itself was me, but I was asking questions, and reaching out to people. Maybe it was just me the way I actually am. Not as a DBM. I saw a lot of people I knew and liked, connected with them. Lots of strokes. The department chair and a big shot in the department came to our session. It was good.

There was a great session lead by 5 women (3 of which I am friendly with) about representations of girlhood and woman hood that girls are exposed to. I wound up coming out as infertile (though not as a DBM -- many already knew), and talked about how my identity my entire life, since I was 3 years old putting a doll under my shirt so I could have a baby, has been around mothering. I talked about how there seems to be this privilege or club of those who are pregnant or mothering, and how we often identify ourselves as wives and mothers, then doctoral students. But if you don't have a baby, or one on the way, or don't want a baby, you can't be part of this club among women.

The two women, friends, I was sitting with said at the same moment "you have a dissertation!" We'll see. This is very similar to a project my friend S has worked on, in the psych department, but, well, we'll see. A very interesting outcome of my comment was that a colleague was very friendly with when I was pregnant (she was pg with #4 at the same time) was co-leading the session and reached out to me for the first time since I lost the boys. She said something like 'hell of a year, huh?" Uh, yeah. I'd been trying to reach out to her, but got intercepted, interrupted. All year. Just very interesting.

All is well (or as well as it will get) with my brother. I sent him a very short email saying that I was sorry his feelings were hurt, it wasn't my intention, and that I loved him. Got one back saying that once his feelings were hurt from what was in my document, he decided to just go check out my blog for more references about him. He apologized directly for invading my privacy, and I haven't seen his ISP since. A couple of days ago, he fell and seriously gashed his hand and posted about it on fb. We texted about it, and he was appreciative of my concern. Doesn't he know that I love him and want him to be safe? apparently not, but we were able to be a little more normal. I think the next time we get together, the door will be more open to talking about stuff. Maybe.

I had a dream last night about my sister. I was furious with her over a bunch of things, but I think mostly in the dream it was her wealth, and her choice and her pregnancy. I think the pregnancy is the key thing. But I yelled at her, or rather, read her the riot act. In my dream. I'm not consciously angry with her, though it doesn't surprise me that this came out in a dream. What sucks is that today is Tuesday, and I normally have therapy on Tuesdays, but I'm not seeing my shrink until the 24th because she's away. We'd probably have a ball with this one. Probably angry with her, too, because, with the weather and various screw-ups, I haven't had a lot of therapy lately.

I could use it, too, with the change in meds, and feeling so up and down. I'll likely end up calling Dr. Shrink again. I know this sadness, tiredness is part of the med change, but it's really sucking.

So that's most of what's going on in my life. Having trouble settling in to write. Doing a little collage. There's a lot going on in blogland and I'm so sorry to miss out, to not be there for you. Worries, anniversaries, births. You know who I'm talking about (I'll link later). Some I'm reading, fewer comments, but please know you are in my thoughts, whether it's a feeling or a thought or a day you are writing about. I'm not even really reading, it's so hard to focus on anything. But you are here in my heart. Tears of joy, sadness, and all.

Monday, February 16, 2009


Sorry to be awol lately. I'll probably write a post later today. Getting used to the new meds, C was away at a conference, I participated in one here. Up. Down. Over. Under. Adjust this one, that one.

I'm okay, though I haven't been reading or commenting much. I'm sorry for that, as I think about you all the time. Just working on getting my head together. Even putting words together coherently would be nice. Harder than it sounds though.

See you in DBL soon.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

The irony is that my grandfather was a druggist

Well, that's probably not technically irony (I'm sure C will confirm or correct), but, yes, I have yet another prescription. You know it's not good when your doctor has a serious, thoughtful expression on his face, and let's the appointment run long so we can decide on what to add or whether to just switch to something else. I can't even imagine what he was considering switching me.

In the end, we decided on adding, and he gave me a refill script for the amb.ien, and for the cym.balta. After I asked about possible effects of all the drugs on my liver and kidneys, etc., he gave me a script for bloodwork. He practically used up half a script pad on me.

As I've said, I am doing better, I know I am. I think he even changed my dx from severe to moderate. But not better enough. Especially considering the dosage and medications. And as I drove down to my appointment, I thought, I kind of feel better. And sometimes I wonder if I am, as C has suggested, sometimes resist forward movement. And then I sat down in the doctor's office and burst into tears.

He said that he thinks that the confluence of things like anniversaries and my stupid brother are making this period of grief and depression a little tougher, and he wanted to give me something to help me "get over the hump", just something temporary. Temporary? Maybe three months. Three months?? And that's not even counting the stuff for anxiety and for depression. I can feel my eggs dying off as I type. (My family history does not give me hope for long lasting fertility). I'll be 39 in July.

As he gave me each script and reviewed how to titrate the new one, I kind of shook my head or sighed, or something, and he said, I know, it seems like a lot. This is just to get you through this temporary hump.

Oh, and I screwed up the appointment time. I got this appointment right, but it conflicted with my therapist's regular time. We've had a lot of weather so this was a rescheduled pharm appt, and I thought my therapist was going to away. Mess, mess, mess.

I came home (after a brief stop at Ta.rget) instead of stopping for lunch or going to school, and found dog poop in the hall and the kitchen and a very sorry looking dog. I was only gone 6 hours, same as yesterday, and she was fine.

Dog training was fine, I guess, we have a lot of work to do. As a beagle she is so distracted, by smells... everything, and I was just not feeling it. Burst into tears as soon as we got in the car. Now the dog is sweetly snoring on her bed, and my fast food sits on my nightstand, aging, not well.


Thank you all so much for all your love and comments. I love you, my friends in the computer. I want to write to you all individually to respond, but at this point I hope you'll understand and accept my undying gratitude. I don't know what I would do without you.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009


I'm very up and down these days.

Obviously the thing with my brother has not helped anything. Spent my entire therapy session on why it hurt so much, why it was so frustrating to hope that he could connect with my experience and understand why I've been the way I've been this year. Why I didn't want to hurt him, not purposely. Why I wanted to reconnect with my brother with whom I have not been close since my mom passed away.

Why I feel so frustrated that every conversation we have ends with him bitching about what a terrible family we are, how he is mistreated/not supported/never has been, and we both hang up feeling worse. For years now.

She suggested just sending him a note/email saying that I was sorry he was hurt by what was in my journal, and basically leaving it at that. He was not able to connect with what I wrote beyond what was about him because he's still in pain from his whole life and probably wouldn't be able to hear anything else anyway.

Or something like that.

At any rate, it's another confirmed loss.

I'm not ready to go back to school full time. Or part time, at that. I'm teaching my class, again. This time, co-teaching with a great colleague. Helps. But I'm still not better better. Maybe that's what is making me so sad.

Flashes of last year, olfactory. Weepy again. Angry as hell. Topped out on the Cym.balta. Appointment on Thursday.

I fear what it will take to help me really begin to heal. Function better. I need to be stable before we can even try again -- and off most drugs.

Is it the trauma? Am I just really fucked in the head? Maybe I wasn't trying to convince my brother but myself, that I've been through a lot and that needs to be recognized and dealt with. Or maybe I'm just really fucked up. I just don't know how to process this. Hold on while letting go. Not just expecting the worst.

Accept the pain. Accept the healing, the feeling better. It's okay to feel better, even though it feels so odd.

I almost re-posted that entry I made in May about me/Notme. I took off the Hope necklace. Not feeling it, not yet. And others, are making progress. Friends feeling good, finding their way. Having their little ones. I'm so happy for them. It should give me hope.

But it doesn't.

The Cym gives me enough energy to get up and take care of the dog, and go out to dinner and even try to clean the house some. And then I spend 2 days in bed. Two hours up, three down.

I just don't know how to integrate this into my life. Still. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm pre-disposed to depression, I've dealt with grief before. And I just can't move forward with this.

How did you do it/are you doing it?