To Medicate or Not to medicate...

...that is the question!

I am an adventurous soul at heart. Trying new things excite me. The outside sources and the journey to these new experiences scare me half to death. I try to make my weekends with my boys fun and exciting. I want them to experience the world. My anxiety and depression sometimes hold me back.

I have been giving medication and therapy a lot of thought. Some may say that I have not given it enough thought or given it too much thought because I have not really done anything about it. But I have given it enough though that I signed up for health insurance. I had been without health insurance for about a year and a half now. Lets pick up where I last left off in regards to my mental health.

Quick recap, when I was 23 I tried to tell the doctor I was depressed and he told me I was just suffering from displacement or something like that. For a couple of years I was genuinely happy. I had a career I loved and didn't mind working 50 hour weeks. I was so satisfied with life that I decided to have my second child because I felt that I had my depression under control. I worked my way up through a company and was making sufficient money to raise 2 children. I saved up all my vacation days to cover the cost of my benefits while I was on maternity leave. My very first week on maternity leave the company goes under and I am left without a job to return to. It gave me a reason to forcibly become a stay at home but not having a partner that was capable of stepping up to the plate and providing for his family made me bitter. I am grateful that his parents were kind enough to support us but they had already done it for 2 years with our first born. I didn't want to go back to that.

 Right before having my second child I had accepted the fact that I would be the main bread winner in the family. I was so in love with this man that I had no shame being fully employed and he only being partially employed. But I thought the loss of income would have inspired him to take the reins and find better employment. That didn't happen. Instead he managed to convince me to move back in with his parents in another city with the illusion that he had a great job lined up for him.

My depression swallowed me whole. I wanted to find a job where I was making the same amount as I was making before and all that was available were minimum wage jobs that wanted 10 plus year experience. I ended up going back to school to better my chances at finding a better job.

Going back to school sent me back on my road to seeking help. I went to the nearest clinic and admitted to the federally funded doctor that I suffer from anxiety. I was afraid that this doctor would say the same as the last and I didn't want to feel judged or called a liar. I didn't want to be told that I simply didn't know how to "deal with change." My fear of being judged has held me back from many things, including getting help from a doctor. Having mistrust and paranoia towards doctors should probably be a major sign that there is something seriously wrong with me. I literally just came to that conclusion. There is something seriously wrong with me. I like to believe that doctors take their oaths seriously but to me they are still human. They are still capable to judge. I am afraid of being judged. Even though I know everyone does it. Bottom line, I only fessed up to the anxiety and was prescribed Buspirone.

 In the middle of my second semester I was called in for an interview I had applied to 4 months back. I put my education on hold to rejoin the workforce at a decent wage. I made up the salary by always working overtime. Like I always do.

I may have rambled on but I feel like the back story is pertinent to my mental health situation. Bare with me I am getting to the point.

I started this post like a year ago. I do have the health insurance but I don't have the time to go see a doctor. I am still debating wether or not I should seek treatment for my depression. Part of me believes in this fairy tail that some magical concoction of pills will give me the will to do everything I ever wanted to do without this overwhelming fear. The other part believes it to be ludicrous. 

Manic episode or conquering of resistance?

I started reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield today. It is a book that was highly recommended by a coworker who has a similar literary palate as mine. Just a couple of pages in and the book quickly resonated with me. I could tell why he suggested it.

 I consider myself a writer but one who definitely battles with resistance. I want to say that there is a correlation between reading the book and me being inspired to write again. I was only 30% into he book when my phone died. Hipster would say “If you had a normal book you wouldn’t have this problem.”

Since I have none of my notes to reference back to, I have to rely on my short term memory which I recently discovered is terrible. There is a line in the book that says “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” I know I have read this before because I have mentioned it once or twice in my writing. I know for a fact I didn’t come up with it. I did start to wonder, “Was it Steven Pressfield who was quoted saying that when I first read it or heard it?” Did Pressfield say it first? This brought me back to another thing I heard before and I paraphrase, “There is no more original thought left in the world. All that is written is just recycled words and ideas that someone has already come up with.”  I don’t know where I heard this before. I have a tendency of not paying much attention to the creator of art. I much rather just enjoy the work than worry about the credit.

So for some reason as I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, I started thinking about Brene Brown and her Ted Talk on vulnerability. The sheer mention of the word “vulnerability” makes me emotional. Vulnerability to me is my nemesis. There is nothing more vulnerable to me than being seen crying in public. I HATE IT!!!! I know people don’t know how to react when they see someone crying, much less not knowing why. I know it’s awkward and uncomfortable. I loathe being pitied. I don’t handle consolation very well.  But when I am thinking about something very dear to my heart I simply can’t control myself, much less talk about it. Lately I have been embracing vulnerability more and more but it still scares me half to death to share things. I find myself worrying about how the other person is judging me. They may very well be not but then again they very well may be.

Lately I have been very open about my manic depression. I feel comfortable talking about it out loud but then my illness is seen as a form of resistance according to Pressfield. That makes me feel like shit. He practically says that illnesses like social anxiety are made up by editors. He does say that anxiety and depression may be real. But he only said “may”. It sounded like I am making an excuse with my manic depression. I am not sure about that part of the book.

So here I am. Not knowing what came first, the chicken or the egg. Did the book inspire me to start writing again or did my mania make me do it? All I know is that a million thoughts started popping up like annoying ads. The last thing I want to do is over analyze  and read into things that are not really there. A part of me still wants to keep living in the illusion that I created. Like I have not learned my lesson of getting attached to the idea of what could be. So I’ll continue living in my mind. The book says that fear and doubt are allies and good things when it comes to art and writing….but I disagreed with that too.

Typography Thursday: Art of Conversation

I follow this great site called Brain Pickings. They wrote this great piece about Barbara Walters. This article touched my soul in so many ways.

I have always felt that I lacked social skills, specifically in the art of conversation. I have never been one for group discussions. One on one interaction is what I excel at. I pride myself in being a great listener but sometimes I feel martyred when I am just "the listener." Barbara made a great point by saying "...when a conversation becomes a monologue, poked along with tiny cattle-prod questions, it isn't a conversation any more. It is a strained, manipulative game, tiring and perhaps even lonely."

Whoa! Barbara hit it right on the nail. At the end of certain monologues I feel extremely exhausted and all I was doing was listening! Obviously I was exhausted because I was an attentive listener and I was trying to form an opinion the whole time, only it was in my head. But Barbara is right. Those conversations are simply not conversations.

 However, they are necessary evils. Sometimes a friend just needs to vent, without judgement, without opinions. Individuals resolve problems when they speak their issues out loud. No one wants to look like the crazy person and talk to themselves. Except for myself, I talk to myself ALL the time. Especially at work. I am sure everyone thinks I am flying over the cuckoo's nest. But for those who are not as brave as I am, I will always be the person to stand next to you lending her ear. Barbara's words inspired me to make my first graphic since December 5th 2013!

This article also affected me by bringing up memories of my dad. I remember being around 8 or 9 and watching 20/20 with my dad. It's a delightful memory. I can even see us shouting out to the TV, " Hugh Downs and Barbara Walter, this is 20/20!"

I love when happy vivid memories are sparked in me.

The Loss of my Father to GBM: Part One

This might as well be the hardest post to start. It has been a good 5 months.

 For three months I was on auto pilot. It was my full intention to write about my family's journey through out the process but I just couldn't handle it  all. Taking care of a love one with an illness is the toughest thing a human doing can do. Being a caregiver to someone with GBM is soul sucking.

I know it's not easy to write about grief. Yet I am a bit hard on myself for not writing about it sooner. In November of last year I mentioned that my dad had an undesirable MRI scan result.

That news turned my life upside down, down upside, sideways and everything in between. I feel like I need to work my way up to the moment I actually lost my father to understand where my feelings stand. I will begin from that day I got the news of the MRI.

November 20, 2013 (exactly 8 months ago!)

I called my parents late that night to confirm with them that the kids and I were heading to Miami from Orlando for Thanksgiving break. My dad usually answers phone calls right away unless he is in the shower. So I didn't give it much thought. All of Thursday passed and I still didn't get a phone call returned. I didn't really give it much thought however until I tried to call again on Friday. First I called my mom's phone, no answer. Then I called, my dad's phone and still no answer. So I called my dad's phone again and my brother Carlos answered. I found it strange that he would answer my dad' phone. But that's as much thought as I put into it. I spoke to my brother and I spoke to my mom and I spoke to my dad. Although I spoke to all three it was by far the shortest conversation. I called later that night and I mentioned to my mom that it was odd that everyone spoke to me for like 2 seconds and they didn't even want to tell me where they were.

I'll never forget the words my mom said to me next, "We didn't want to tell you because we knew you were going to be driving down with the kids by yourself and we didn't want to worry you." Of course this is the translated version since she said it to me in Spanish. My heart sank right there. I mean, when you start with "we didn't want to worry you" all a human can do is WORRY.

That's when she told me that my dad had an MRI on Tuesday the 19th of November because he kept forgetting things and repeating himself. The MRI revealed a mass in the middle of his brain (the corpus collosum to be specific). They were instructed to admit him to the hospital on Wednesday (the day I tried calling them) to have a biopsy done. His doctor explained that they would have to really be aggressive to get him admitted since he never had headaches nor dizziness.

My dad could no longer be left alone. So when they took him to triage my other brother Beto wanted to go with him. My brother was instructed to stay outside. My brother was worried that my dad was going to say he was perfectly fine and feeling great. My dad walked out and asked "Beto, these people are asking me why I am here, why  am I here again?". That's when my brother was asked in and my dad was admitted.

Obviously this was told  to me on the phone. I tried to keep it together on the phone, but when I hung up I broke down! My hubby and I were going through something and we weren't even talking. I felt so alone so I ran to my in-laws and just broke down. At the end of my breakdown I felt like I overreacted since a biopsy hadn't even been done yet. But since the MRI read malignant and the size of 5 cm sounded disturbing to me, I knew...I just knew the reality of the situation.

Needless to say, I was filled with many emotions. Hope, however, was the least, since the last time I was hopeful when it came to cancer was when my nephew was diagnosed in 2007. He passed away a year after his diagnosis. So let's say I don't fuck with cancer. You say cancer to me and I am scared shitless. I was already angry at my hubby and now I had something else to be angry about.

As you can tell, I skipped the denial stage and jumped to the anger and bargaining in one straight swoop. 

So I drove down to Miami on Saturday morning never imaging that it would be the last time I would reside in Orlando. Never imaging how much my life and that of my entire family, would change drastically.

In the next couple of posts you will see that the longest stage was the depression. But we all knew that would happen with me.

Realizing I am no longer 19

The end of my 20's is approaching fast. This past weekend was like a slap to the face. A slap that made me realized I an not 19...I am 29.

First, I thought it was a great idea to orchestrate a happy hour to be able to bond with my coworkers. In all honesty it was a great idea. Everyone had fun. I got to see certain people let lose while others opened up. All in all, it was a great bonding experience. I was even proud of myself for being able to out drink certain characters.

The problem arose when I thought that I could continue with the drinking the next day. I had to work on a Saturday; which after a night or drinking, was not half bad.
Sign number one that I am getting "too old for this" revealed itself when I decided to take a nap after I got home from running a few errands. I knew I needed a recharge before Saturday night began.

Another night of drinking commenced at a friend's house. It entailed a few shenanigans like the drawing of a phallus on a dozing friend and the infamous drunk dialing to an ex. It was all fun and games until I realized I was way over my limit. I don't even know what happened. I have always been able to control my inebriation. However, that raspberry vodka has a way of sneaking up on you until it is too late!

I got sick that very night. I have no idea at what time I feel asleep but I know I was up at 8:00 in the morning, somehow still drunk and still sick.I couldn't remember where I had placed my glasses so I wore my friends.  I could not hydrate myself because even water would not stay down that morning. In laments terms, I woke up feeling like shit!

It was not until like 5:00 p.m. when I was finally able to keep some food in my stomach.

I guess since I woke up so early on Sunday and felt like I was still drunk, that my hangover did not hit me until Monday! I didn't know that was even possible. But there I was Monday morning with a raging headache realizing...So this is what the end of your 20's feel like... shame and regret.

Not really, but it was a funny and melodramatic way to end this post.

Revelations of One Day

Quick updates:

I have postponed my 21 Days Straight Challange. I wish I can say it was due to the fact that I had emergency surgery on March 28 to remove my gall bladder, but I had already willfully failed by March 15 because my Minecraft craft (hehe the repetition always makes me laugh..like RomCom Con, Happy Endings reference) consumed me for 3 days and I didn't go to the gym although I did remain active. Walking for 5 hours at a convention is a workout!

You are probably still wondering about the surgery. Even if you are not I will explain further anyway!
My son's fun exciting spring break was a bit foiled by my hospitalization. My "contributor" (who STILL has YET to post ANYTHING) and I had many fun activities planned for the kiddos. An accumulation of many unfortunate events occurred.  Some even on her part; wouldn't it be awesome if she posted about her side of the events! HINT HINT, wink wink, nudge, Morris code, smoke signals. 

The rainbow during the rain: I got my parents and one out of two brother's come visit me with his whole family utilizing my second brother's car. Ergo, my other brother did his part too =)

Now that we are all caught up I can start with my true purpose of this post; my revelations.

1) I only seem to dream when I am sleep deprived and extremely exhausted when I knock out.
2) I seem to be at my most productive, creative and ambitious when I dream
3) I just realized that there may be a confounding variable in my previous assumption: I may just very be having another manic episode. Are vivid realistic dreams a symptom of mania? Note to self: Google that.
4) Studying in a group may not be efficient (time management wise) but it sure is effective and mostly rewarding.
5) Being in my study group will always yield a proportion of half the time studying and half the time A.D.D.ing (yes, I use a noun as a present participle, I even like using it as a verb. After-after thought: I had to Google "present participle" too) with a standard deviation of .10
6) I have a hypothesis that states neediness and independence are not on the same spectrum but in fact are on two different spectrums. Meaning, I don't believe that becoming more independent will make you less needy. One factor will either make you more independent but not necessarily less needy.
7) 5 hour energy drinks are not ALWAYS effective.
8) You accept stranger's flaws but you should adore your true friends/soul mate's flaws. Ted Mosby knows a lot about the latter; then again he has spent over 8 years trying to find his children's mother.
9) Life is all about perspective and my change irradically sporadically (I seriously thought the opposite of radically was the former).
10) I lose my patience with my kids more than I like and I always regret it but in the heat of the moment my reaction is ALWAYS faster than my thought process.
11) I am almost positive my children will grow up never doubting if they're loved , if I support them, if they're awesome, if they're important, if they're appreciated.
12) I do however think that what they think makes me awesome will then be interpreted as "crazy" when they get older and develop their cognitive abilities.
13) Opposites may attract but they also create too much friction (Insert Sheldon Cooper's correction here).
14) For a person that is not really a Big Bang Theory fan I always find myself thinking "how would Sheldon Cooper respond to that?"
15) Telling my hubby he's not affectionate enough does not yield the results I desire.
16) I compensate for my hubby's lack of affection toward me by being overly affectionate towards him.
17) I will graduate with my A.S. with enough credits to have obtained a B.S/B.A.
18) My bumpy start with college 10 years ago have developed me to be a better learner.
19) I truly believe things happen for a reason but not necessarily are predestined.
20) These were too many revelations for one day.

The last one may or may not have been a revelation as much as an after though. I really wanted to end on an even number.