Showing posts with label Twitter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Twitter. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 31, 2015

From dogs to depression and back again

Sometimes a thought runs through my head like an errant squirrel which tumbles me back through a couple of decades or more of memories which, quite frankly, are too painful to spend too much time thinking about.  It’s not that I’m denying my past; it’s more that I’m preserving my present.

For example, yesterday a friend Tweeted something about the dog down the street from her who howls every time it hears a siren.  That small comment catapulted me back to childhood and our Shetland Sheepdog, Trevor, who would howl for the same reason.  He also "sang" along to Happy Birthday whenever it was sung.  He loved to be brushed.  He did tricks.  He was as sweet as he could be.  And just thinking about him brought back all kinds of other stuff, too, so my brain said, "ENOUGH!" and shut the door soundly in the face of those memories.

When memories hit me in such a way I start feeling kind of hollow inside, like something very large is missing from me.  My heart beats faster and I can feel the cadence of it in my throat.  Thump, thump!  Thump, thump!  Thump, thump!  The pit of my stomach turns to acid.  My throat gets tight.  I feel like I’m having trouble breathing.  I become hypersensitive not just emotionally, but all over; I can sometimes feel my elbows.  (That sounds silly, but it’s true.)  Once these reactions start, if I let them go on I’m going to (without fail) have a little bit of a breakdown.  Said breakdown could be as small as a few stray tears squeezing themselves from the corners of my eyes to as large as a full-scale anxiety attack including walls closing in and running to the nearest open, outdoor space so I can breathe.  Therefore, if I tamp down on some of the most painful memories of the past, I have a better present. 

I guess you could call it self-preservation.

And really, most days I get along just fine.  But when I feel the emotions ratcheting up again, and I find that things (memories, feelings, those errant squirrel thoughts) are cropping up more and more often, I typically find it better for not only myself, but for those around me, to go back on an antidepressant.  It’s been a while now since I the last time I took such medication on any kind of regular basis, but I’m thinking it’s probably a good idea to start down that road again.  Of researching someone to talk to and possibly getting myself headed back toward emotional well-being.  I know I’m stronger, and really, I think I’m mostly doing OK, but the signs are there.  I know if I let things go it will just get worse and it will be harder to find my center again.

I must say here that I know there are people out there who are completely and totally against any kind of help in this regard.  They are against the therapists, psychologists, psychiatrists; against the mood-boosting medications which guard against depression (mild to severe).  In my opinion these tend to be the same folks who are against medications in general, really.  I am not one of them.  I believe in getting the help you need, however that may look.  I believe that you can live a happy and productive life, but I also believe that sometimes you may need a little extra help to get you there.  And that’s OK.

TTFN
JMS

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

I'm a recovering Facebook addict

Hello.  My name is Jennifer and I have been Facebook free for almost two full months (since January 17th) and, though I would very much like to say I don’t miss it, I must admit that I do.  Miss it.  Often.  Frequently. (“’Orphan’ as in a person with no parents or ‘often’ frequently?” Bonus points anyone?)

I miss so very many people!  I miss being able to keep in touch with family out of state.  I miss being able to use more than 140 characters.  I miss the enjoyment it brought me, seeing other peoples’ pictures, sharing in their joys, their sorrows.  Cheering people on, or up.

I don’t miss the politics, the nastiness, the speed at which rumors spread (so & so is dead!  Oh, my gosh!) only to find out through the smallest amount of sleuthing that said rumor is a hoax.  I don’t miss people “friending” me who I don't know from Adam.  I don’t miss all the inappropriate things, comments, pictures, and hey-look-at-me-selfies.  I don’t miss people (for whatever reason: religion, personal beliefs, sexual orientation, skin color) being persecuted or verbally bashed or simply hated.  What have we become? 

I want to feel like I still have friends, even if I don’t see them every day.  Because I’m interested in what interests them.  What makes them happy.

This whole giving up Facebook thing is much harder than I thought it would be. 

And yet…

Sometimes – for extended stretches – I don’t think about it at all.  So I ask myself, often and frequently, “Would I go back?”  It’s not like a drug addiction, right?  Or an alcohol addiction.  Those unfortunate addictions are not even in the same ballpark…are they?  It’s not like giving up cigarettes, either.  Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.  Still want one almost every day.

So, would I go back?  Maybe.  Someday.  If “they” banned politics and mean people and selfishness and toxicity and narcissism and inequality and hate.  Those are the reasons I left. 

And yeah, like I said, I miss parts of it.  I miss those I love, or like an awful lot, or even am vaguely interested in.  But I don’t miss the rest.  Come see me on Twitter, OK?  It’s not my drug of choice, but it’s a non-narcotic form of Social Media that I can handle.  Mostly.  (Twitter: @jshell73 #offonatangent)

TTFN
JMS