It's Thursday 12/1/11 and I have recovered from a depression.
I woke up yesterday feeling more or less OK. But as the day progressed I began to feel more depressed. I didn't recognize it at first. I almost never get depressed for any reason. But a sense of despair and lethargy slowly settled upon me as the day progressed.
My day started out in a mundane way as usual. I woke up and shaved and showered. I went to therapy at 11:00AM as usual. I was unusually groggy. I think I may have taken too much sleep medication the night before. I felt like I was dragging my feet but my wife and I managed to get into the car early to drive me to therapy.
Psychoanalysis was pretty boring, I guess. I spent the entire time talking about the effects of the Interferon and in particular how it had affected me the previous Monday. My wife tends to approach my struggles with a "can do" attitude. In other words, what can we do at the moment to solve the problem at hand. She doesn't listen well but that's her way. I appreciate her concern and involvement in my tribulations.
My therapist focus on coping mechanisms, instead. Like how can I handle problems when they arise rather than trying to solve them. In this respect she is the adult part of my psyche whereas my wife is the parent. I am the helpless child in this picture that completes a Freudian circle. I'm not sure how much of the adult and parent actually sinks into me. I still feel like a victim to my Hepatitis therapy. This is a role I detest but one I probably need to learn to tolerate as the year progresses.
I was quiet and moody when my wife picked me up from therapy. I was at a loss for words and there ensued some moments of awkward silence. I always feel like I need to fill empty spaces with talk even if it is banal. But I was lost in thought as I so often become thinking about the ramifications of my Hepatitis therapy. And so we proceeded home.
Gym was scheduled for 3:00PM yesterday so I had some hours to kill. I tried listing to music but it was strangely unsatisfying. I tinkered with my latest art piece but soon lost interest. I drifted into a place where nothing seemed to exist. A place devoid of activity and thought and of any sort of motivation to do anything at all. A complete lethargy.
This actually became physically painful for me. I was restless and uncomfortable in my own skin. I was crawling with a creepy sense of undesired inattention to anything in life. The pain became so real I soon came to the realization that I could not drag myself to gym. I sent a text to my trainer and told her, very shortly before I was due to arrive, that I had a "relapse" and would not be able to attend gym. I said I would be in touch today to see if she had a time to meet, anyway.
I abused Vicodin yesterday. I ground up three tablets in the mortor and drank them down before dinner. I rushed in a high from it albeit not as intensely as I do when I do the same with Percacet. It helped shake my depression and improved my mood. But it was not enough. Some hours after dinner I did the same with two more Vicodin tablets. I calmed me down and I was able to finally shake the depression entirely. Needless to say this is not a viable long-term strategy for dealing with what certainly become more frequent depressions as the Hepatitis therapy progresses.
I got a note from my attorney asking me for time this week to provide a deposition. I scheduled it for between 2:30 and 4:00 on tomorrow, Friday. So I have had to reschedule gym again this week. I'll be meeting with my trainer at 5:00PM on Friday. I feel stronger and don't exect to have a mood swing during it. Fortunately.
So now it's 2:30 and gym starts at 3:30 for me today. I feel like I can attend. I plan to do so. The depression has lifted.
* * * * * * * * * *
[It's Friday, December 2, 2011 as I write the following.]
I made it to and through gym today. It turned out to be more difficult than I expected. At one point I felt like giving up. I told my trainer that my illness was preventing me from progressing or at least performing my regular routine. A funny thing happened then. Despite her cheerful and lucky-may-go attitude she took me to the side. She looked at me with the most intense attitude I have seen in anyone for a long time, not to mention her. She told me in not uncertain terms that it was important for me to keep my strength up. That I must must not let myself get weak That It would be a big mistake for me to give up. I was shocked and taken aback by her intensity. Gym then progressed as usual and all was forgotten about this incident.
But it stayed with me. I understand something about my illness that I had hitherto not been aware of. It is important to not let myself become a victim to it. I must fight. I must fight on all fronts, not just gym. I must be strong and not give in to hopelessness. I will fight it. I will not allow myself to become an invalid. However hard that might be for me at times I will plow on and fight this thing. My trainer put this into focus for me and I thank her privately for it.
I became very angry with my wife when I returned home from gym. She had spent the day in bed watching television. The apartment was dark and from all to be seen no effort was underway to prepare my dinner for the evening. She came out briefly and mentioned that she was not very good at "stick-to-it-ness." At first I was angry that my dinner was not underway but managed to scrape together some leftovers for myself. Probably not 500 calories but food nevertheless.
This incident brought into focus something I had forgotten. I will need to take charge of my illness and not rely on others. As my trainer pointed out, I must be the one who does not give in. From now on I must be the one who takes care of myself. I must be the one who ensures that I eat correctly and takes my medicine as prescribed. Although my wife will help me at times (for which I am grateful) the bottom line is that the ultimate responsibility lies with me.
I spent the evening angry and seething on the sofa while my wife watched television in the bedroom. She knew something was wrong with me but did not intrude. I was angry. I was worried about our finances. I was in a rage about everything I could be in a rage about. I did not listen to music. I could not think of anything that would not aggravate me further. I finally took a Valium that cooled my jets. By 9:00PM she was asleep in the bedroom and I sneaked into quietly go to bed. By 10:00 I was asleep with another Valium under my belt.
The Interferon s beginning to screw with my emotions. I find myself in uncontrollable bouts of sadness and crying and alternately furious rages and anger. I find in increasing difficult to control these bouts of emotion. I wonder how long it will be before the Interferon takes me over completely and what will happen next.
I woke up yesterday feeling more or less OK. But as the day progressed I began to feel more depressed. I didn't recognize it at first. I almost never get depressed for any reason. But a sense of despair and lethargy slowly settled upon me as the day progressed.
My day started out in a mundane way as usual. I woke up and shaved and showered. I went to therapy at 11:00AM as usual. I was unusually groggy. I think I may have taken too much sleep medication the night before. I felt like I was dragging my feet but my wife and I managed to get into the car early to drive me to therapy.
Psychoanalysis was pretty boring, I guess. I spent the entire time talking about the effects of the Interferon and in particular how it had affected me the previous Monday. My wife tends to approach my struggles with a "can do" attitude. In other words, what can we do at the moment to solve the problem at hand. She doesn't listen well but that's her way. I appreciate her concern and involvement in my tribulations.
My therapist focus on coping mechanisms, instead. Like how can I handle problems when they arise rather than trying to solve them. In this respect she is the adult part of my psyche whereas my wife is the parent. I am the helpless child in this picture that completes a Freudian circle. I'm not sure how much of the adult and parent actually sinks into me. I still feel like a victim to my Hepatitis therapy. This is a role I detest but one I probably need to learn to tolerate as the year progresses.
I was quiet and moody when my wife picked me up from therapy. I was at a loss for words and there ensued some moments of awkward silence. I always feel like I need to fill empty spaces with talk even if it is banal. But I was lost in thought as I so often become thinking about the ramifications of my Hepatitis therapy. And so we proceeded home.
Gym was scheduled for 3:00PM yesterday so I had some hours to kill. I tried listing to music but it was strangely unsatisfying. I tinkered with my latest art piece but soon lost interest. I drifted into a place where nothing seemed to exist. A place devoid of activity and thought and of any sort of motivation to do anything at all. A complete lethargy.
This actually became physically painful for me. I was restless and uncomfortable in my own skin. I was crawling with a creepy sense of undesired inattention to anything in life. The pain became so real I soon came to the realization that I could not drag myself to gym. I sent a text to my trainer and told her, very shortly before I was due to arrive, that I had a "relapse" and would not be able to attend gym. I said I would be in touch today to see if she had a time to meet, anyway.
I abused Vicodin yesterday. I ground up three tablets in the mortor and drank them down before dinner. I rushed in a high from it albeit not as intensely as I do when I do the same with Percacet. It helped shake my depression and improved my mood. But it was not enough. Some hours after dinner I did the same with two more Vicodin tablets. I calmed me down and I was able to finally shake the depression entirely. Needless to say this is not a viable long-term strategy for dealing with what certainly become more frequent depressions as the Hepatitis therapy progresses.
I got a note from my attorney asking me for time this week to provide a deposition. I scheduled it for between 2:30 and 4:00 on tomorrow, Friday. So I have had to reschedule gym again this week. I'll be meeting with my trainer at 5:00PM on Friday. I feel stronger and don't exect to have a mood swing during it. Fortunately.
So now it's 2:30 and gym starts at 3:30 for me today. I feel like I can attend. I plan to do so. The depression has lifted.
* * * * * * * * * *
[It's Friday, December 2, 2011 as I write the following.]
I made it to and through gym today. It turned out to be more difficult than I expected. At one point I felt like giving up. I told my trainer that my illness was preventing me from progressing or at least performing my regular routine. A funny thing happened then. Despite her cheerful and lucky-may-go attitude she took me to the side. She looked at me with the most intense attitude I have seen in anyone for a long time, not to mention her. She told me in not uncertain terms that it was important for me to keep my strength up. That I must must not let myself get weak That It would be a big mistake for me to give up. I was shocked and taken aback by her intensity. Gym then progressed as usual and all was forgotten about this incident.
But it stayed with me. I understand something about my illness that I had hitherto not been aware of. It is important to not let myself become a victim to it. I must fight. I must fight on all fronts, not just gym. I must be strong and not give in to hopelessness. I will fight it. I will not allow myself to become an invalid. However hard that might be for me at times I will plow on and fight this thing. My trainer put this into focus for me and I thank her privately for it.
I became very angry with my wife when I returned home from gym. She had spent the day in bed watching television. The apartment was dark and from all to be seen no effort was underway to prepare my dinner for the evening. She came out briefly and mentioned that she was not very good at "stick-to-it-ness." At first I was angry that my dinner was not underway but managed to scrape together some leftovers for myself. Probably not 500 calories but food nevertheless.
This incident brought into focus something I had forgotten. I will need to take charge of my illness and not rely on others. As my trainer pointed out, I must be the one who does not give in. From now on I must be the one who takes care of myself. I must be the one who ensures that I eat correctly and takes my medicine as prescribed. Although my wife will help me at times (for which I am grateful) the bottom line is that the ultimate responsibility lies with me.
I spent the evening angry and seething on the sofa while my wife watched television in the bedroom. She knew something was wrong with me but did not intrude. I was angry. I was worried about our finances. I was in a rage about everything I could be in a rage about. I did not listen to music. I could not think of anything that would not aggravate me further. I finally took a Valium that cooled my jets. By 9:00PM she was asleep in the bedroom and I sneaked into quietly go to bed. By 10:00 I was asleep with another Valium under my belt.
The Interferon s beginning to screw with my emotions. I find myself in uncontrollable bouts of sadness and crying and alternately furious rages and anger. I find in increasing difficult to control these bouts of emotion. I wonder how long it will be before the Interferon takes me over completely and what will happen next.
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