It's another Therapy Thursday rendition of "deep thoughts by Cassondra." Buckle up, bitches. (I have a few friends that find the term "bitches" to be derogatory and hateful towards women. I really use it as a term of endearment. If you are one of those friends that find it offensive, I apologize for nothing. Write your own damn blog about how much you think it is setting women back in time and causing rap music to talk about their bitches.)
Anyway, as many of you know, cuz I've talked about it openly, as I have most everything else in my life, I have struggled with depression my entire life and have fought taking medication (I may have used too many commas in that last sentence, but right now, I can't be bothered with that.) I have played with being on one kind of anti-depressant, then going off because I hate the side-affects or feeling numb or whatever and then trying another, then giving up, then getting tired of crying all the time and then trying yet another. As it turns out, right now I am on one that seems to be working for me, for the most part. I have a calmness about me that was not present before. The Rug Doctor asked if I was "feeling my feelings." I think Shark Bait can verify I still feel my feelings and I still struggle with depression, but it isn't taking me down like it was before and I can handle most things in stride. I mean, just today, it was reported to me that the remote control to the TV in the break room at work was broken and I calmly handled the situation without telling anyone to go to hell or inserting the broken remote into any open body holes. Wasn't even annoyed. Additionally, I was hit in the face with a ping pong ball and I didn't kill anyone. I mean, the guy that hit me got up and got the hell outta Dodge faster than I have ever seen him move, but I didn't even plan his funeral or anything. All this to say, I think this anti-depressant is likely doing its job.
However, I am still struggling with finding my will to get my life back on track where it needs to be with my weight. I have gained back much of what I had lost and it tears me apart right down to the soul. It's embarrassing, humiliating, discouraging...it makes me feel like a failure. It makes me feel like I let everyone down, mostly myself. Anyway, insert a lot of deep feelings here. A lot of angst. A lot of self-torture (not the cutting kind, because cellulite bleeds really easily and we have white towels) a lot of self-loathing and a lot of dreams that feel so far away. I feel hopeless. Which brings us to today's therapy session.
Today I started out telling the Rug Doctor, who, I have to just mention, has not only been re-adjusting the rug, but her chair is also off-center now and she has re-structured her plant that was encroaching on the couch that I sit on. It's a lot of change. Now, every time I go, I have to settle in and "feel the room out." But I digress. Anyway, I told the Rug Doctor today that it was time to engage in what I'd like to call Therapeutic Hospice (and for anyone that thinks I'm mocking Hospice, I'm not, so get over yourself. I've seen it in action more than once and I would never downplay it's role in the human experience).
The Rug Doctor seemed a little concerned and asked what Therapeutic Hospice was. I said, "Look, we've been going at this a long time. Things aren't getting better. I seem to be incapable of fixing myself. Incapable of reprogramming my negative thoughts. Let's just accept that life is never going to get any better than this, there is no cure and just make me comfortable until I die." She seemed a bit horrified and I could see she was trying to figure out exactly how to address this. I pushed on. I said, "look, just help me find comfort in the fact that this is all there is ever going to be. And, let's find the right drug to make sure I don't feel anything or that I don't care anymore." She considered my plan. She said that she would not be a party to my Therapeutic Hospice. She didn't think I really could either. She didn't think I was ready to accept that. I told her I was tired of fighting and didn't believe, after all this time that it was fixable. Just make me okay with that. And, with the right drugs, who needs to feel anything? Once I wasn't feeling anything, her job was essentially done. She asked where I was going to get these drugs I was seeking. I told her from the Therapeutic Hospice team she was going to assemble for me. When it reached the point I was crapping myself because I didn't care about going to the bathroom on my couch, then I could be passed off to another team member. She asked who was going to pay for this? Insurance or what? I said, "well, if Bernie Sanders gets into office, I'm sure you and other fine citizens will pay for it (for those of you offended by that comment, please, see the doctor, get a cream for that "bern." I've got Trump and Clinton jokes, too, just so you know)."
Anyway, we fully explored my plan for Therapeutic Hospice and we decided (mostly her) that it probably wasn't going to happen and that we would focus on dealing with the negative self-talk. I asked her, "don't you ever get tired of telling me to stop being mean to myself, I mean, really? This isn't the first time we've talked about this." She said it's not an easy or quick process. I've had years of negative re-enforcement, that isn't just undone in a short period. She gave me the analogy of a door-to-door salesperson knocking on my door. I can choose to open that door and acknowledge her presence and then I can decide whether I want to listen to her pitch, tell her to go away, or buy what she has to say. I asked, "what if she's selling ice cream? Then what? She's got me there...Why can't I get someone coming to my door selling a gym membership or something useful? See, it's always the people selling stuff I don't need that come to see me." So, we talked through that. The negative voices aren't going to go away, but how I choose to respond to them is the key. They might not visit as often as I get stronger. Or, the little bastards are going to knock on my door repeatedly. I just hope the freaking Girl Scouts don't gang up on me, because dammit, I do love a Thin Mint.
I finally asked her, "so what do I have to do, listen to some CD with a soothing voice on it saying, 'You are an amazing person. You are lovable. You are going to be successful. You can do it...'" The Rug Doctor told me that depressed people don't really respond well to that approach. I said, "damn right they don't, it pisses them off." She agreed, it does. She said that people like me need reassuring phrases like, "I will not kill anyone today..." That is a more reasonable expectation of something I could embrace and build a foundation on. I told her I can't have that kind of CD found in my car right after the murder, it would be very incriminating. You know, if the positive re-enforcement didn't work. I'm not saying I'm going to kill anyone. I'm medicated. I'm like a baby kitty. Harmless.
So, that's where I'm at. Hopeless with a touch of maybe. I think that is all the progress we can really expect at this point since no one is willing to just make me comfortable until I die.
"I will not kill anyone today....I will not kill anyone today...I will not kill anyone today..." (as long as I don't have to report poop smears in stall #1 one more time...)
Anyway, as many of you know, cuz I've talked about it openly, as I have most everything else in my life, I have struggled with depression my entire life and have fought taking medication (I may have used too many commas in that last sentence, but right now, I can't be bothered with that.) I have played with being on one kind of anti-depressant, then going off because I hate the side-affects or feeling numb or whatever and then trying another, then giving up, then getting tired of crying all the time and then trying yet another. As it turns out, right now I am on one that seems to be working for me, for the most part. I have a calmness about me that was not present before. The Rug Doctor asked if I was "feeling my feelings." I think Shark Bait can verify I still feel my feelings and I still struggle with depression, but it isn't taking me down like it was before and I can handle most things in stride. I mean, just today, it was reported to me that the remote control to the TV in the break room at work was broken and I calmly handled the situation without telling anyone to go to hell or inserting the broken remote into any open body holes. Wasn't even annoyed. Additionally, I was hit in the face with a ping pong ball and I didn't kill anyone. I mean, the guy that hit me got up and got the hell outta Dodge faster than I have ever seen him move, but I didn't even plan his funeral or anything. All this to say, I think this anti-depressant is likely doing its job.
However, I am still struggling with finding my will to get my life back on track where it needs to be with my weight. I have gained back much of what I had lost and it tears me apart right down to the soul. It's embarrassing, humiliating, discouraging...it makes me feel like a failure. It makes me feel like I let everyone down, mostly myself. Anyway, insert a lot of deep feelings here. A lot of angst. A lot of self-torture (not the cutting kind, because cellulite bleeds really easily and we have white towels) a lot of self-loathing and a lot of dreams that feel so far away. I feel hopeless. Which brings us to today's therapy session.
Today I started out telling the Rug Doctor, who, I have to just mention, has not only been re-adjusting the rug, but her chair is also off-center now and she has re-structured her plant that was encroaching on the couch that I sit on. It's a lot of change. Now, every time I go, I have to settle in and "feel the room out." But I digress. Anyway, I told the Rug Doctor today that it was time to engage in what I'd like to call Therapeutic Hospice (and for anyone that thinks I'm mocking Hospice, I'm not, so get over yourself. I've seen it in action more than once and I would never downplay it's role in the human experience).
The Rug Doctor seemed a little concerned and asked what Therapeutic Hospice was. I said, "Look, we've been going at this a long time. Things aren't getting better. I seem to be incapable of fixing myself. Incapable of reprogramming my negative thoughts. Let's just accept that life is never going to get any better than this, there is no cure and just make me comfortable until I die." She seemed a bit horrified and I could see she was trying to figure out exactly how to address this. I pushed on. I said, "look, just help me find comfort in the fact that this is all there is ever going to be. And, let's find the right drug to make sure I don't feel anything or that I don't care anymore." She considered my plan. She said that she would not be a party to my Therapeutic Hospice. She didn't think I really could either. She didn't think I was ready to accept that. I told her I was tired of fighting and didn't believe, after all this time that it was fixable. Just make me okay with that. And, with the right drugs, who needs to feel anything? Once I wasn't feeling anything, her job was essentially done. She asked where I was going to get these drugs I was seeking. I told her from the Therapeutic Hospice team she was going to assemble for me. When it reached the point I was crapping myself because I didn't care about going to the bathroom on my couch, then I could be passed off to another team member. She asked who was going to pay for this? Insurance or what? I said, "well, if Bernie Sanders gets into office, I'm sure you and other fine citizens will pay for it (for those of you offended by that comment, please, see the doctor, get a cream for that "bern." I've got Trump and Clinton jokes, too, just so you know)."
Anyway, we fully explored my plan for Therapeutic Hospice and we decided (mostly her) that it probably wasn't going to happen and that we would focus on dealing with the negative self-talk. I asked her, "don't you ever get tired of telling me to stop being mean to myself, I mean, really? This isn't the first time we've talked about this." She said it's not an easy or quick process. I've had years of negative re-enforcement, that isn't just undone in a short period. She gave me the analogy of a door-to-door salesperson knocking on my door. I can choose to open that door and acknowledge her presence and then I can decide whether I want to listen to her pitch, tell her to go away, or buy what she has to say. I asked, "what if she's selling ice cream? Then what? She's got me there...Why can't I get someone coming to my door selling a gym membership or something useful? See, it's always the people selling stuff I don't need that come to see me." So, we talked through that. The negative voices aren't going to go away, but how I choose to respond to them is the key. They might not visit as often as I get stronger. Or, the little bastards are going to knock on my door repeatedly. I just hope the freaking Girl Scouts don't gang up on me, because dammit, I do love a Thin Mint.
I finally asked her, "so what do I have to do, listen to some CD with a soothing voice on it saying, 'You are an amazing person. You are lovable. You are going to be successful. You can do it...'" The Rug Doctor told me that depressed people don't really respond well to that approach. I said, "damn right they don't, it pisses them off." She agreed, it does. She said that people like me need reassuring phrases like, "I will not kill anyone today..." That is a more reasonable expectation of something I could embrace and build a foundation on. I told her I can't have that kind of CD found in my car right after the murder, it would be very incriminating. You know, if the positive re-enforcement didn't work. I'm not saying I'm going to kill anyone. I'm medicated. I'm like a baby kitty. Harmless.
So, that's where I'm at. Hopeless with a touch of maybe. I think that is all the progress we can really expect at this point since no one is willing to just make me comfortable until I die.
"I will not kill anyone today....I will not kill anyone today...I will not kill anyone today..." (as long as I don't have to report poop smears in stall #1 one more time...)
