Goodness, people seem to blaming me for their free will and personal decisions to begin blogs…
A curse upon a little owl who has poisioned my mind to think that this may actually be a productive use of my time… I’ll get her. Oh yes, I’ll get her…
It was completely unintentional, I assure you.
Someone told me there was a name for this last summer. It’s taken me this long to look it up.
Dysthymia (aka Dysthemia (sp)): Chronic low-level (of lesser intensity) depressive episodes.
American Description:
A) Depressed mood for most of the day, for more days than not, as indicated either by subjective account or observation by others, for at least 2 years. Note: In children and adolescents, mood can be irritable and duration must be at least 1 year.
B) Presence, while depressed, of two (or more) of the following: poor appetite or overeating; insomnia or hypersomnia; low energy or fatigue; low self-esteem: poor concentration or difficulty making decisions; feelings of hopelessness.
C) During the 2-year period (1 year for children or adolescents) of the disturbance, the person has never been without the symptoms in Criteria A and B for more than 2 months at a time.
European Description:
A chronic depression of mood which does not currently fulfil the criteria for recurrent depressive disorder, mild or moderate severity, in terms of either severity or duration of individual episodes, although the criteria for mild depressive episode may have been fulfilled in the past, particularly at the onset of the disorder. (Ed. note: Well, gosh, that makes me feel better already!)
The balance between individual phases of mild depression and intervening periods of comparative normality is very variable. Sufferers usually have periods of days or weeks when they describe themselves as well, but most of the time (often for months at a time) they feel tired and depressed; everything is an effort and nothing is enjoyed. They brood and complain, sleep badly and feel inadequate, but are usually able to cope with the basic demands of everyday life. Dysthymia therefore has much in common with the concepts of depressive neurosis and neurotic depression. If required, age of onset may be specified as early (in late teenage or the twenties) or late.
Me again. Now, I’m not the kind to dash off and self-diagnose. My osteopath has already told me that there are plenty of nice people out there who can help me with my mental and emotional balance just like she’s helping me with my back. (Speaking of which, I’m spending most of today lying on the living room floor working on the laptop because sitting at the desktop is too painful. Back pain is not helping general moodliness.) I’ve just been brushed off by my GP so often now that I don’t know where to go next, really. A close friend worked with an excellent therapist a couple of years ago and has her name and contact info, but as usual, their time requires money.
Or maybe I don’t need to go that route at all. Maybe all I need is a month or so off, and see if that lets my mind unkink a bit. Perhaps life’s tossing me about in an effort to get me to stop for a while and re-evaluate things. I need to rediscover what’s important. What I like, what I dislike. What’s fun, what’s not fun. Having no opinion for so long, just doing things because it’s on my list of things to do, means I really have nothing to compare my current life with any more.
My horoscope for the day:
There is a powerful, abrasive force that is urging you to act, dear Cancer. You will find that someone may be working counter to your aims, and rubbing you the wrong way. Don’t let people outwit you. You have just as much right to express your opinion as anyone else. Use the power of your mind to come out on top of any situation. Freedom is a state of mind. Do something that makes you want to dance.”
Not much makes me want to dance these days. Focusing on the near future, I just have to get through the next three days until the weekend, where I play Star Wars, go to a costume party (and exactly *when* am I going to finish the last 75% of my costume?), see Episode 2, and possibly Fellowship of the Ring again.
If it would just get a little warmer and if the sun came out, it would make dealing with all the overwhelming crap so much easier…
Life never gets any easier.
Why is it that just when things start to go wrong again, everything caves in? I’m now stuck between a rock and a hard place that even rockier and harder than before, right when I’m feeling more fragile than I’ve felt in a couple of months. Every once in a while, I really feel like someone else is captaining the ship of my life, and not only do I have no say in how she’s handled, I’m chained in the hold and can’t even see where we are.
No doubt, years from now, I’ll look back and say wisely, “Ah, yes, the evolution was clear; from point A to point Q there is a definite shift in states of consciousness and the methods of interfacing with reality.” Right now, though, I’m back to feeling panicky, constantly nauseous, and wildly grabbing for any sort of solid achor to cling to.
I feel tossed around, as if there truly is no land anywhere. I feel like the cosmos has a gigantic secret plan and I’m currently the bug heading for that plan’s windshield. What does the world want from me? What’s my thread in that colossal tapestry? What am I, a billiard ball? A superball? A croquet ball that gets whacked with mallets and other balls? A tennis ball, being chewed by the neighbour’s dog?
No the all-at-sea metaphor works better. You get the added bonus of sea-sickness with the forty-foot waves.
Ha! I go away for the weekend, I blog.
Aren’t you lucky.
I am feeling rather flopsy. Flopsy, other than being the brains of the Rabbit Sisters operation, is the word I use to describe that state where your mind is sharp, but your body is oddly, well, floppy. It’s listless, it’s got no power, you can’t hold a pencil and make any sort of marks that resemble adult writing.
I think it’s because I’m not hungry. Not hungry means not eating much. Some fish here. A salad there. No snacking. (This last is very odd, since my mother made those spice cookies which emphatically fail to suck, as well as having a stash of my favourite Peek Freans Bourbon Cremes. I have no idea where she managed to find them.) What I have been craving, however, is hot beverages. Hot beverages usually mean tea and cappuccino.
I see a correlation. Or a cause-effect relationship here. Caffeine. Not enough solid food to balance it. Enough sleep to be coherent, though.
Hmm. Flopsy.
Well, here I am in variably cloudy Oakville, laptop connected to the Net by roaming function. I’m so impressed with myself. For those of you who know the horrible weather record we’ve racked up in our drives to Toronto, know ye this: it actually didn’t rain. Plus we got a spectacular sunset, sandwiched between the lowering evil clouds and the trees. And I saw the crescent moon, behind a veiling of cloud, attended by three stars.
One of my biggest pet peeves: people who say they’ll do something or address a problem, and don’t. Or who take forever to do it. In my books, if you can’t do it, don’t offer, or don’t agree to it in the first place, no matter how cool it is, or how much you need the money, or how much someone needs your help. If it’s not going to get done, don’t say you’re going to do it. It means that (a) you have to be honest with yourself about your time and your abilities, and (b) be honest with others, maybe let them down, but better that then let them down in the long run after a promise they’ve been counting on.
I hate being lied to. I hate being let down. It means that my trust in someone gets eroded bit every time. I know how hard it is to say no to someone (oh yes, I know), but I’d rather be told no and do it myself then be told “sure!” and think that it’s being taken care of, only to find out that I have to stop the rest of my life and address it anyway when someone else has dropped the ball. It’s even worse when it involves someone you trusted deeply. The more it happens, the less you trust. The rust begins to spider its way through the rest of your life, your walls and flying buttresses weaken, and eventually you trust no one and become very bitter.
I’m trying very, very hard to not be bitter.
Vanilla Coke was launched yesterday! The world is a better place!
Star Wars: Episode Two will be released tonight! (I highly doubt it will make the world a better place, but I’ll get two hours of entertainment out of it at least.)
And…
I got a fifty-cent piece from the post office this morning. As change.
Why wasn’t I informed that the mint was reissuing fifty-cent coins? For circulation, not collecting? Apparently they were released this morning, and the post office, being a crown corp, got rolls to start using right away. It’s about the size of a looney, thin like a quarter, and I think it’s in honour of the Queen’s Jubilee since it says 1952-2002 on it and has our national coat of arms on the back with that lovely Latin motto “From sea to shining sea”. Don’t get me wrong; I like the half-dollar idea, always have. I still have a couple from when they dropped them from circulation (about twenty-five years ago now, I think?). A half-dollar makes more sense as a denomination than a nickel, for example. It’s just… well, don’t we have enough coins? We could always drop the nickel, I guess. (Just stand back when the rabid beavers mount a counter-attack…)