Today marks Juha and I's fifth anniversary. Married for five years--what a trip! :D (And we've known each other for ten!)

This makes me absurdly happy.

Cymbalta withdrawal (which it seems doctors like to call 'discontinuation syndrome'--way to pussyfoot around the truth) has been unpleasant. Very unpleasant. A brand new sort of hell unpleasant.

I was told to taper off of the pills by extending the time between taking them, even though they're in time-release capsules. I did so, but while not in obvious withdrawal stages I felt pretty gross physically, with lingering nausea and hot flashes and certain food smells/tastes (specifically animal flesh) causing intense nausea. I also found I was grinding my teeth almost all of the time, which put me in pain, and the pain and sensations in my teeth and gums led me to grind my teeth even more. The resultant jaw and gum pain alone was enough to drive me up the wall. Needless to say, this tapering doesn't work very well.

I took my last one sometime on Friday. Sunday, I beleive the withdrawal had started in earnest, with sleepiness made more intense by lack of sleep the night before. I went to bed aching from tired.

Monday, I was fine until shortly after I ate breakfast, when the vertigo and disorientation set in. Every time I'd move my eyes, much less my head, I'd feel a sensation in my head similar to what one feels in one's stomach when in a fast elevator--a lag to catch up to my point of reference, vertigo, and a bit of nausea. It was very intense unless I was lying down. Other than the intermittant nausea, below the neck I felt okay. My appetite had come back for real despite the nausea and I had no issue eating a (homemade) beef burger.

Monday night at bedtime brought racing thoughts, intense anxiety, and tears. I had to take an ibuprofen to reduce the pain in my gums enough so I could sleep. I tried sleeping with my mouth slightly open, which, while a bit unpleasant, kept me from clenching/grinding my teeth while sleeping, which in turn reduced the pain I woke up in.

Tuesday morning brought a slight lessening of the vertigo that increased the longer I was awake. I ended up napping for two more hours two hours after I woke up, and could have slept for more, without the usual grogginess that results from me napping. The mood swings also started in earnest, with gnawing despair about the vertigo, weepiness, anger, feelings of betrayal and abandonment, and loneliness. All of these seemed quite reasonable until I suddenly felt centered again, sometime in the evening. I still faced moodiness at a lower intensity for the rest of the night.

At that point much of my vertigo had lessened to the point I mostly felt weak, achey, and somewhat dizzy, like one does when recovering from a fever. Appetite still normal.

I slept for ten hours and woke up today to more vertigo, which again was somewhat better but still persistant enough to impair my activities. Again I took a nap a couple of hours after rising, and could have slept more. The mood swings persist, not as intense as yesterday but still troublesome, especially in feelings of intense loneliness and abandonment.

On the bright side, my memory has improved from nonexistant to the merely crappy the intense depression took it down to, and my fine motor control has improved immensely. Small victories.

From reading around, it isn't particularly unusual to have unpleasant withdrawals from Cymbalta, although I wasn't warned of any of the effects or of how to deal with them, a fact I resent greatly and will be having strong words with my doctors about. These effects have impaired me physically and at times been utterly frightening to myself and Juha.

I haven't found much information on what helps the withdrawal symptoms. Some people have had the foresight (or who had clued in doctors) to have prescriptions for Xanax. Others have found that antihistamines or motion sickness pills, like Benadryl and Dramamine, have helped with the symptoms. Other than that, people's coping mechanisms have been to hold on, drink lots of water, and pray.

Awesome, huh.

At 4 pm I took a motion sickness pill called Postafen, which is chemically different from Dramamine but is supposed to have similar effects, so I'll see how that works out. It's 4.50 right now and I seem to have less vertigo.

Hopefully the Postafen does work, as the vertigo limits one of the two best system-flushing activities--drinking tons of water and sweating. It's very difficult to work up a sweat when one feels like one will fall right over when one is sitting.


For now, my strategies are:

- Drink lots and lots of water.
- Eat lots of vegetables and whole grains.
- Exercise when I can, as intense as I can safely manage.
- Sleep whenever I feel like it for as long as I'm able.
- Postafen, if it helps, every 12 hours.
- Perhaps some dandelion or liquorice teas, which are supposed to be liver clearing.
- Keep all emotions under suspicion of being withdrawl effects and therefore false, and not act upon them.
- Keep mostly to myself so as to keep fallout from the moodswings from damaging others.
- Do activities that keep my mind busy, are productive or pleasing to me even if they are 'slacking'.

I may be dealing with the withdrawal for anywhere from a week to a month more. Please keep me in your thoughts, if you have them to spare.

Cymbalta withdrawl is a lot worse than I thought it would be.

Possibly due to medication weirdness, possibly something else, I can't stomach meat right now.* I need alternative meal sources aside from bran flakes, fruit, salads, and sandwiches, but I don't have much experience with vegetarian/vegan dishes and my hippie cookbook full of the stuff is heavily soy-based.

I know I have at least one vegetarian friend out there (Hi, Sheepy! I want your risotto recipe! :D) and may have more, or omnivores who know some good vegetarian recipes they can share with me. If you can help, I'd be really grateful.

I do have some cavets:
- I can't buy anything but ingredients for meals at this time--no cookbooks or magazine subscriptions or anything like that.
- No soy protein. It gives me nasty stomach cramps and digestive pain if I eat any at all.
- Nothing particularly processed. Besides that I just can't get here a lot of stuff that's common in North America (for instance), I'm probably sensitive/allergic to it.
- Broccoli and cauliflower taste horrible and bitter to me unless they're drowned in some sort of flavourful sauce, which isn't exactly healthful. I've tried to learn to like them, but my tastebuds simply aren't geared that way.
- Same with cumin, cilantro, coriander, and caraway, although instead of bitter, those taste like soap to me.
- And lingonberries make my throat feel scratchy and swelled.
- There are some things that I simply can't get easily. Artichokes, good avacados, and any fruit or vegetable outside of its natural growing season that doesn't come readily canned. I can get most usual basic ingredients used in European cooking, but outside of that it's a crapshoot.

Other than that, I have no known allergies, sensitivities, or strong dislikes. Dairy is fine, eggs are fine as long as they're well-cooked. I'm very open to trying new foods and cooking techniques, as long as I can get/find a tutorial!

Again, thanks for any help you can give.

---

* I might be able to stomach fish, but I don't know if it'd be a good idea to try anything other than sushi--which is way out of my budget.

I still live!

So, saw a psychiatrist on Wednesday, a Dr. Mansikka. This had me perked up from the beginning, because how could you not be cheerful when you're going to see Doctor Strawberry? He looked the part of kindly psychiatrist too, middle aged, balding, squinty kind brown eyes behind glasses. That's because he was a kindly psychiatrist! He asked lots of questions, explained quite well, elaborated lots, and even though somehow I was only there for 40 minutes I didn't feel rushed through the appointment.

He is for now going with a diagnosis of a borderline case of bipolar II--more toward the cyclothymia end since I can't remember any hypomanic periods (then again, there's a HELL of a lot I can't remember)--prescribed me a mood stablizer, and made me an appointment for next month. Now I'm tapering off Cymbalta (hell yes!) and building up on Lamotrigin. It's a weird one in that the dosage has to be built up over a month from a quite low subclinical dose (25 mg to 50 mg to 100 mg) and further adjusted from there, so it takes time to see effects. I don't care--I'm getting off of Cymbalta! Woot!

Maybe I'll find my short term memory again. :P And hopefully not get the allergic reaction. I wouldn't be concerned at all if this wasn't the same stuff my mom had an allergic reaction to! Then again, she's on Depakote, and that increases the chance.

The little pills are neat in that they can be swallowed, chewed, or dissolved in a tiny bit of water and drank. However, they have this hideous artificial raspberry flavour overlaying but not hiding the bitterness, so I'll be perfectly happy swallowing them whole, even when I'm up to four at a time.

Downside to tapering off and switching is that my bones feel made of leeeeead. However, my brain is showing signs of life and thought with no effort to prod it in that direction on my part (you know, like it's supposed to be), so I'll take it. Just don't make me do anything that requires coordination!

I have mosquito bites on my ass.

Right this moment, I really hate my life.

Ol' MacDonald had a secretmilitarybase,
F-N-O-R-D!
And on this secretmilitarybase he had a [redacted],
F-N-O-R-D!

With a [censored] [censored] here
and a [censored] [censored] there,
here a [censored], there a [censored],
[this line deleted for your protection]!

Ol' MacDonald had a secretmilitarybase,
F-N-O-R-D!

So, I'm staying on Cymbalta for now. It's not the optimal choice (meaning, it's the best of two poor choices) but as the doctor thinks that it's very likely the psychiatrist I'll see in a couple of weeks will rediagnose me and want to change my medication, I decided to go with it. I don't want to spend money until I have to, and as the doctor said, it's better for my body if I'm not yanking my brain chemicals back and forth.

It was my choice, in the end--somewhat disturbingly, the doctor said she had no idea what would be the best option. Well then! I suppose it's most disturbing to me because I don't feel like any sort of expert on anything, even myself, and yet I find myself thrust into situations where I am the most knowledgeable about something (in this case, myself) or most willing to do something about it, so I get to make the decision.

And, well, I don't feel like killing myself. I don't feel like much of anything ELSE, either, but I'm definitely okay with being alive. The doctor kept asking me, "But you feel better, right?" Well, for a somewhat peculiar definition of 'better', yes. I'm not functioning, but neither am I completely crushed. It's only an improvement from certain points of view, but I'll keep for another two weeks.

My side effects did bother her--as well they should. They are getting in the way. She tried to pass off the clumsiness as getting used to how the medication made me feel, and I was like, no. Bollocks. *I* do not have trouble typing, *I* do not suddenly find myself flinching and flailing for no reason and flinging the spatula I was using to the floor. That these are suddenly happening concurrent with me starting Cymbalta IS DEFINITELY OF CONCERN.

I brought up the female troubles I've been having increasing, well, trouble with, and the response to that was the most disappointing. Nothing they can do, gynecologist saw nothing wrong with my bloodwork and the only thing they could do is put me on a particular birth control (which was the first I heard of it), this is all perfectly normal even though it doesn't happen to other women in my family, blah blah blah.

Uh... huh. So growing whiskers across my chin and jaw that are starting to rival that of a 15 year old boy's, having my belly hair spread and my forearm hair darkening, having bloody painful cramps when I ovulate and EXTREMELY bloody-painful-to-the-point-of-nauseating cramps when I menstruate, turning into a sobbing ragebeast twice a month in addition to my other mood shifts, and all of this starting suddenly two years ago and only getting worse are all... normal? Please excuse my doubt.

Obviously, I'll have to do a lot of research on my own and then drop it upon the dear doctor's head to get her to actually admit that something maybe possibly might be wrong.

I am not happy with Cymbalta.

I've been discontent for the past couple of weeks, but it hit me today what a pile of fail this has been. I can write... sort of, if I dredge up the motivation. Same for chores or exercise--they're all about at the same level of motivation needed as for, oh, going to the employment office. I LOATHE going to the employment office, I'm resigned to chores, I like exercising, and I love writing. Huh?

I'm not a morning person at the best of times, but I can usually roll out of bed okay, but now I'm having a lot of trouble waking up and easily sleeping 11 hours a night, more than I did while seriously under.

I have no appetite. Zero. Nada. It's worse than it was before the meds. It doesn't matter if I'm falling-over hungry, the only thing I can muster enough interest for to actually go and make it is coffee.

I'm clumsy as fuck--I drop utensils regularly while cooking and often typing is difficult--I have trouble focusing enough to keep my fingers going on the right keys. The cats winding around my ankles is not just a bother but an active annoyance because I wobble and stumble and come very close to stepping on them. Now, I'm not always the most graceful creature in the universe but I haven't been actively clumsy since early puberty.

I'm forgetful. I didn't realize just how much until I had to literally drag myself out of bed this morning and remembered I forgot my pill last night. I never forget my damn pill for more than an hour or two, but I forgot it entirely last night. That led to me remembering yesterday, when I went shopping. I should have gone on Monday, we're low on toilet paper, but I didn't have any money. Juha gave me some yesterday, I went (forgot the toilet paper, fancy that), and when I went to pay... I had two 20 euro bills in my wallet, instead of just the one he'd given me.

I had entirely forgotten that I had 20 euros left from the last time Juha had given me grocery money. If it'd been 5 that'd be one thing, but I'm broke as fuck, I don't forget 20 goddamned euros. I've never been wealthy enough to actually forget I had that much money.

On the bright side, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow morning to discuss this very medication. Which is full of fail. I'm kind of glad, it costs three times what the cipralex did. If I can get a cheaper medication that ACTUALLY WORKS, I don't care if the side effects are 'gain a billion pounds'. If it actually works, I will be so damn active it won't matter.

I just got an e-mail from a relative who is rather fond of a certain popular 'natural health' doctor. The links she's spammed on have ranged from a bit wild-eyed to a little crazy, but this bit of chicanery has me so mad I'm hopping up and down like some villain out of a fairy tale.

Unfortunately, she's learned the joys of blind carbon copy so I couldn't reply to all with my debunking, but I felt no shame in letting her have it.

This is a good article that somewhat allays the excessive fears about the swine flu. Please read.

The worst consequences of this may be forced vaccinations and possibly even massive shutdowns and quarantine of neighborhoods, cities, etc. rather than deaths from the flu itself.

--[Name Redacted]

Face--->Desk.

No. I'm afraid the worst consequences of a pandemic are *not* forced vaccinations and quarantine, but a large number of people sick and/or dying, services badly disrupted, and civilization stumbling in its footsteps. Also, please keep in mind it would take at least *six months* for any vaccine to be developed for this new variant. Exisiting vaccines will do no good and wouldn't be wasted. Quarantine, should it happen, is *not* going to do much more than inconvience people. I would much rather have some grumblers inconvienced than have *my* immunocompromised mother or best friend fall ill and possibly die due to a disease that could have been prevented with proper measures.

Did you know that the people actually recommended to get any flu vaccine are the old and the immunocompromised, because they are the groups most at risk? When EVERYONE runs out and gets the vaccine hospitals have shortages and not enough vaccine to protect those that need it most. Doesn't exactly sound like a big moneymaker anymore, does it?

It is very true that much of the media are spreading FUD (fear, uncertainity, and doubt) about the swine flu, rather than calm, level-headed facts. HOWEVER, it is not something to be brushed off as hype or conspiracy. Drug companies contaminating vaccines with viruses? *Really?* Even though vaccines hardly make them any money at all, and pharmacutical companies make money hand over fist for *ongoing* treatments? Swine flu developed as a biological weapon? *Really*? Despite the article's claims about how it isn't any more deadly than regular seasonal flus? Despite new variants of flu viruses evolving all by themselves *just fine* before humans even knew what a gene was? If the seasonality of the flu is due to a vitamin D deficiency, why did this flu start in Mexico City--where they get 11 hours of daylight even in *the middle of the winter*?

Yes, there was a previous swine flu. No, it didn't turn into an epidemic. That's the desired outcome when proper measures are taken to prevent epidemics! It would be FAR more worrisome had the measures been taken and the epidemic happened anyway!

It's *silly* to pooh-pooh measures against the current new virus because it hasn't yet turned into an epidemic or pandemic. It's only been a *week* since the news about it started coming out of Mexico. That's about the length of time for the incubation period before a person starts showing symptoms *in the first place*.

The article is definitely right about one thing: Washing hands regularly is *the* number one way to prevent the flu. Any flu. And it doesn't cost anything more than a bit of extra soap.

Don't attribute to malice what can be explained by natural processes. Also don't trust articles that can only link to internal sources (and YouTube, where anyone can upload *anything*) to back up their claims. Until this gentleman can pull up at least three references to each of his claims from peer-reviewed research and/or international media, my prognosis is that he is full of hot air in pursuit of selling supplements.

--Ren, irritated at the talking heads.

Needless to say, if I see any of this nonsense from any of y'all, I'm getting out my beating stick.

If I see anyone talking about or posting this bit of swine flu tripe (*snrrrk*) as factual I will beat the sense back into you.

So colour me irritated with both the breathless media frenzy over the new H1N1 flu everyone is calling the swine flu, and the subsequent bored eyerolling by many in response.

Neither reaction is useful and both are potentially dangerous.

This flu is worrisome because of the particular mutation--it's not just a 'swine flu', but a swine-avian-human hybrid that's spreadable from swine to human and human to human, and that, so far, most deaths have not been of the very young and very old, but those from 20-50, who have strong immune systems (possibly because of cytokine storms--where your white blood cells start attacking your own damaged cells--which is of particular concern in those with strong immune systems).

To quote molez (from here):

The two big changes are

1) This swine flu version seems to be killing people who are do not fit the age normally impacted.
2) 0% of the population have been exposed to this and have had a chance to build up a resistance. This is a marked contrast to regular influenza, which you can assume approximately 90% of the population have significant resistance too.

From Making Light: You don’t need to have everyone sick in order to have a pandemic. Just having 15-40% infected will do nicely. The only question is what the mortality rate among those 15-40% is going to look like.

The media's stupidity is indeed dangerous, because False Rumors Cost Lives. Their overreaction leads to our 'Psh, what-EVER' reactions, which leads to us ignoring the important information with the bad, which leads to us tending to ignore even the simple measures to keep the disease from becoming a pandemic.

An ER doctor weighs in about how bad it could be. Perhaps not that bad. Or perhaps really bad; unlike in 1918, we have very fast, very easy travel. It's hard to say at this point.

What can you do? First, be informed. The CDC has a dedicated swine Flu page listing total number of laboratory confirmed cases (and where), deaths, information, and simple measures to take against the flu.

Making Light has an excellent Flu Redux post on this particular flu and general flu preparation information that can help you weather the illness should you or a loved one fall ill.

Second, be smart about where you get your information and what information you trust. As emphasized in this Making Light post about Tips for an Apocalypse, beware of rumors.

Third, wash your hands. Yes, washing your hands frequently is simple and effective against the flu. It needs to be said again and again because too many people get lax about handwashing. Including myself. Most also don't quite realize how to handwash properly for best effect. Read the post for a full set of tips.


The World Health Organization has raised the pandemic alert to phase 5. If we're smart and careful, it won't get bad. So be smart, be safe, and take warnings and quarantine orders from government agencies seriously. If you should happen to fall ill, do what you can to minimize exposing others to your illness (which you should do regardless of what you have).

I suppose it wouldn't be a bad idea to allow myself a glimmer of hope, as I wrote 2300 words on my little stretching exercise. It's a bit of backstory for a character no one will know about until Audrey and I get Thorns and Blood into readable shape, but that's okay. I wrote.

After a week of dazedness, sleepiness, and inability to think, then another week where I was okay but emotionally shallow and not all there, then a few days of utter apathy, I am now ENERGETIC--to the point where I cleaned the whole house, did three loads of laundry, and made cookies and dinner yesterday, and was very near to getting down on hands and knees and scrubbing the baseboards to rid myself of excess energy.

Kiiind of weird. It was just as bad today a while after I took my pill, to the point where about four hours later I realized my heart was racing somewhat (around 90 beats a minute when I finally measured it--my resting rate is about 75) and I wanted to explode into action, but as I couldn't focus on what I just sat still for a while. It's gone back to normal now and I feel alert, but not oppressively so--if that makes sense.

Oh Cymbalta, you're a trip.

Happily, I feel like writing a little something today, just something light and exploratory to stretch my legs. This is pretty fucking wonderful, let me tell you, because except for one day in March when I touched up the end of the last chapter of ZS I'd been working on, I haven't written since the end of November.

That's why I haven't been so much as breathing a word about it. It's embarrassing, and more than that, it's painful. For a while it was that I didn't have words, then it was that I couldn't access the stories, and then it was... they were there, and I had words, but I didn't have that something. Not inspiration--it was as if I no longer had a voice. I could open up a document and fix things and write a few adequate sentences, but there was nothing in it for me. It was less meaningful than tapping a pencil against my desk. That upset me.

Now, I feel it again, and I'm quite excited to write because I have all these plans, yet... I'm hesitant to so much as mention them, much less plan in detail. I've gotten too wary of my own brain pulling the rug out from under me again. I was once someone pretty reliable, who could set a deadline for herself and could meet it, who could help people like Ellen with contributing content at the last minute or testing. Now... I am a flake.

I hate flakiness. It's one of the few things that will get me really really angry with someone I otherwise adore, and I've tried really hard not to be flaky, myself. However, when Izzy died I lost a lot of myself. I tried so hard to struggle along and keep up with what few responsibilities I did have, and ultimately failed. Admitting that I couldn't and giving up those responsibilities was hell. Finding I often couldn't keep even the simplest of promises because I was too slow, too forgetful, too tired, hurt me badly.

So. I want to say I'm hopeful, but I'm not, exactly. As much as parts of me ache to plot and plan on my big projects, I'm too wary to try it and fall on my face again. I'll do some things to warm up my mental muscles and take it one day at a time, even as frustrating as that is after struggling for so long.

The reason my day has gone and hit the rock bottom of suck:

A box of rotten cat food.

It's more likely than you think.

Amazon has apparently yanked the rankings of many, many books with GLBT content, labelling them as 'adult' regardless of actual sexual content.

Oh Amazon, no.

[EDIT] The new definition of Amazon Rank.

I've never been religious--familial attempts at getting Christianity to stick slid off of me like water from a duck--and my spirituality isn't something easily recognized as such from the outside. However, for all of that, I do enjoy the various Christian holidays. In my family, holidays were a reason to pack up and drive up to Granny's or over to Portland and have a few days of talking with relatives, just being in an unfamiliar but comfortable place, and eating a lot of really delicious food.

Ah, the food. My mother and grandparents and aunts and uncles were all very handy in the kitchen, so any time we'd all get together we'd have a wonderful spread. Sure, we'd have a few things bought from a grocery deli here and there, but for the most part it was home-roasted turkey, homemade rolls, pie from scratch, things like that.

So here I am, thousands of miles from that family and that once-home. Even were I there, it wouldn't be anywhere near the same--most of the cousins are adults, some (but not many) bringing along kids of their own. The grandparents and aunts and uncles are all older and busier and sometimes can't make it. The odd children like myself became odder adults, square pegs for round holes, and rarely do more than drift by every few years, anyhow.

However, the food stayed with me. Every holiday, I get the urge to haunt the kitchen, cover every surface with recipe books and spice jars and odd utensils, and create. The things I rarely bother with because of time or effort suddenly become shining goals. Cinnamon buns. Brownies with ganache frosting. Perfect yeast-raised rolls. I want to make and shape and bake, and then I want to take my confections somewhere, lay them out, watch how fast they disappear, watch people's faces as they eat, and smile.

Sometimes, on special days, that's my spirituality. Feeding people is my something bigger than myself.

I stepped down my dose of cipralex on Monday, from 10mg to 5mg, by cutting the pills in half. It's an inexact science, as for all they have a little divet in them to facilitate the cutting, they always end up lopsided. That's all right, I've been taking the larger half and saving the smaller half, thus hamfistedly making the step down a little less drastic.

Ahem.

Anyhow, that day I did not get more than an hour or two of the dizziness and no nausea. The dizziness had been receeding anyhow but Monday's bout was quite a bit less. I haven't had it since, nor the nausea. I have still bouts of intense drowsiness, but that I can deal with. I can think.

And, you know, nothing has happened to my creativity, my ideas, my ability to develop them. My writing skills currently have a thin layer of rust I'll need to polish away, but they're there. All of those horrible things I feared happening to my ability to create if I took medication never happened--it was the long, slow, painful decline into deeper mental illness that was stealing my mind away piece by piece.

- Vertigo. Quite a lot of vertigo. For a couple of days it kept me at home and sitting down.. It's rather like the lightheadedness from being slightly feverish.
- Nausea. It doesn't generally get worse when I eat something, when I can get around it. It's lasted anywhere from a couple of hours to most of the day.
- Drowsiness. Oooh boy, the drowsiness. I was a yawning, droopy zombie for a couple of days; now I suffer random bouts of drowsiness where I just about yawn my jaw off, but it isn't a constant thing.
- Dazedness. I am so not all here. Focusing is a real bitch, and not entirely possible. I can't hold a story thread in my mind, I can just manage to make simple conversation through text and am rather worse in speech.

I was tired of the side effects a day in, but they are--except for the nausea--getting noticably better.

As for my emotional state, it's mostly just kind of here. I have emotions, but they're fleeting things for the most part; it's like I forget what I was feeling after a few seconds. Very odd.

I have an appointment with the therapist on Monday to discuss... well, things, I suppose. She's putting in to the doctor for me to have referral to a psychiatrist as well, which will apparently take a couple of months.

Hopefully the cymbalta will work for me, or at least be okay for the duration of this batch, as I quite literally can't afford to switch medications before I need to get more--this bunch of 98 pills cost 92 euros, which hurt. If it's not going to work out, I hope I notice before this prescription runs out.

Let's see what my first day with these big-ass, blue-and-yellow, 92-euros-for-98-pills prescription (owwwwww) was like...

- I did get the dizziness side effect, although that's worn off as the evening has gone on. While I had it, it was a feeling my head and body, but not the consuming thing real dizziness is.
- Wheefloaty. I have no brain. Concentrating or following anything is haaard, and I have no attention span.
- Nausea is going to be a side effect, but it isn't too bad. I think it was worst before I had a nap, as the cats kept me up very late last night.
- At first the high feeling was distressing, as it made my head feel way too open and I kept having a rushing sensation in my chest. It's mostly gone away, though.
- Emotions are there but muted by the high/blanked effect.

(As an aside, I wonder how close this is to the highs 'recreational' drugs give. If so... why? I'd rather be depressed than feel like this for fun.)

So far, kind of unpleasant, although the worst of it is gone. I wonder what new and exciting things will happen with my brain tomorrow?

After a really bad weekend, I got an emergency appointment with my doctor and she changed my prescription from cipralex (escitalopram) to cymbalta, 60mg. I'm to taper off on the cipralex while also starting the cymbalta.

I'm glad of the prompt change, as the cipralex has essentially stopped working, but the list of side effects for cymbalta is a little wincey. They're similar to the ones for cipralex, but there's also possibility of weight changes. The warning to see a doctor immediately if mood swings worsen is also a 'yikes', considering one of my biggest problems is, yes, mood swings (low-normal/hostile/depressive/severe depressive). The reviews reporting dizziness and psychadelic-like effects are also more than a little O_o.

All the same, it's worth a go, because for the people it works for, it works really well. I'm still all "Um, family history of bipolar disorder, guys...?" but, eh. We'll see how this goes. Expect a log of my experiences tonight--gods know I'm so chemically sensitive I can expect to feel something from the start.

I'd been pondering giving myself an undercut for... well, since my hair got past my ears, at least. I wasn't sure if I wanted to cut any of it at all, so I held off until last Friday.

Part of the incentive for me was to cut down on the amount I shed. I knew one of the reasons why I kept to short hair for twelve years was because I shed a lot of hair, but I didn't quite remember how bad it was. It's bad. I have hair two to three times as thick as normal, with an equivalent increase in shedding.

The hair thickness was another thing--having hair this thick means that it's extra hard to tie up with the average rubber band, which isn't quite big enough to go around enough times to hold securely. Claws, clips, what-have-you--they're all meant to hold much less hair than I grow.

And, well. Just-past-shoulder-length middle-parted hair is bog standard normal, and y'all know how well I do with being bog standard normal.

So far, I haven't seen any reduction in shedding (sigh). However, the reduced thickness of my hair means it doesn't POOF out at the sides when it's clean; it's actually in the same universe as behaving and falls in discernable waves, rather than a wild mess that might as well be curly for all I can control it. And, well, I can actually tie it up without needing a whip and a chair to help me tame it.

A net win, despite the shedding.


On another note entirely, I continue to be baffled by the obsession of weighing the same as one did when one was in high school. Does it not occur to anyone that a high school student isn't exactly fully grown (well, except for you teeny tiny shorties, heheheh)?

There's a good chance that if I weighed now what I did when I was a healthy 17/18 (145-150 lbs) I'd be emaciated. We're talking sickly, hollow-eyed, and making weight-obsessed people offer me sandwiches and pastries. I was at that point when I was 22--man, it's a miracle I got a job, zombie-waif looking thing that I was. I'm surprised Office Despot didn't worry about me luring the customers back into the furniture section and eating their brains.

Oh, wait, customers? What brains? Hahaha!

(click to embiggen)

This was the scene of my flat early yesterday evening. Due to an unfortunate incident involving James's unknown neurosis about the litter box and the inaccessible corner of the main room behind Juha's desk, we decided it was time to rearrange.

Juha and I's two packed-full bookshelves had moved in when we did almost four years ago. Juha's desk came quite a bit later, and the only place to put it was on the same wall as the bookshelves... where there wasn't quite enough room. We compromised by putting it diagonally across the corner. That corner proved nearly impossible to vacuum and the cords back there became a mess, but other than dust we didn't really have to worry about it much. It took up more floorspace than it should and made unplugging things a pain in the ass, but the thought of unloading those bookshelves just to move them a bit was unbearable.

Yesterday was the last straw, however. After I burst into tears of frustration at the cat and we moved the desk and cleaned the corner, we started unloading the first shelf.

That picture collage shows the contents of one of those shelves.

It took us until nearly 11 pm to get everything unloaded, moved, and then put back in place, but we did it, and it was worth it. We weeded through the shelves and garnered a stack each of books, movies, and games to sell/give away. The organization is considerably less random and a lot cleaner, and those classics we keep meaning to read have gone to live in the wardrobe so we have enough room for the books we actually do read.

To top the day off, Gordon revealed that not only does he know how to open doors, now he can jump high enough to actually do so. This meant that, after blocking certain areas off and making sure anything fragile was well out of reach, we reluctantly allowed the cats the run of the flat while we were asleep.

It was incredibly peaceful.

I guess it was time for them to have a little more freedom. X)

After feeling my mood sink for a couple of days and then today hit the kind of bottom where I stay curled up in my chair all day and don't actually do anything--

After the return of vaguely ideationy-suicidal thoughts--

After watching how my mood falls, falls, falls through irritability and hostility to apathy and inability to do anything over the course of days, then bounces back to normal in the span of hours, wash rinse, repeat over the course of each month--

After not feeling normal for any decent stretch of time since before my birthday--

I've concluded that the medication isn't doing much of anything for me anymore, and that the likelyhood of this actually for-real being 'only' depression is, uh, kind of low.

It seems an e-mail to the therapist and an appointment with the doctor to discuss medication are both in order.

This shit sucks, y'all.

I've come to a conclusion that, when I'm confronted with a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' situation, I may as well go ahead and do--that is, I'll take the 'one may as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb' option rather than take the 'safe' or do-nothing way, and do that thing in the best and most interesting way I'm able.

It's inherent to my personality to do that--I'm difficult, contrary, and stubborn--but with the serious depression a lot of anxiety conditioning came back, and now I have to beat it down and learn how to be fierce again, no hand-wringing over a perceived dilemma. Wussing out is not an option, damn it.

Juha and I have gone past the 'broke' stage to the 'actively hemmoraging money' stage. Pennypinching by his employer has resulted in his work cut by about two hours per day and in January our rent went up again, making it cost 100 euros more than when we moved here.

So I'm sitting here thinking about our budget and how to tighten it, because it could be tightened, but realizing that's only going to make the hole less deep. Me getting the kind of job I'm qualified for (shitty) means KELA not helping us, which means a 100 euro per month debt to them because of that fuckup long ago, which has a good chance of meaning a net gain of jack shit.

And while I'm scared and frustrated I'm not totally panicked because I have this sense of inevitability about this, like, I've spent most of my life in this financial place, being here again is like coming back home. A home with mold and no heat where your parents fight all the time.

It's the place I was terrorized I'd grow up into. I had all these big HOPES and DREAMS that, unlike the usual track record for my family--or at least the women--I'd go into University and do super well and get a Good Job and live comfortably and Do Something Good. What was never defined; my world was painted in broad strokes and I didn't know any but the broadest categories to shoot for.

Insert 30 years of flailing.

And, well, here I am, living halfway around the earth, but it's just the same shit to a different tune now. Back on that same old white trash road of struggling for way too long at work that ruins your body and wears you out too bad to do anything else, just to keep up.

Yeah, I'm bitter and angry. I'm pissed that I got all these cheap promises as I was growing up that I had so much potential, that I could do whatever I wanted--all those little problems about health and mental illness and being 'weird' and everything, those never came up. I felt like I was pretty much promised these big things, and moreso expected to do them no matter what, and now I'm just kind of a freak because I'm not stupid or on drugs or inbred so why am I failing?

Because that's what happens to people like me who came from poor people with drug addictions and mental problems. We're just trash. This is bullshit, I know it, but I can't help say it with a bitter sort of irony and a "Fuck you, world" sneer, because I know that's what a lot of people would think of me. Growing up around people who made sure you knew you were scum because you bought your clothes second hand, and you had to be cheating to get better grades than them because poor people aren't smart, well, in my case it made me a sneering, sarcastic bastard.

Anyway, I'm not just going to curl up and die, but it's going to be a whole pile of pain to deal with and I'm not going to be real tolerant while I am. I'm going to have to find some kind of work that I can actually do and get hired for and that will actually make up the shortfall (Does it require a CV? Fuck off; I have a high school diploma and a head full of words and that's fucking it and I know fancy paper isn't going to make it look better). I'm going to have to do that and come home and make myself write in whatever free time I have. If it gets really bad, I won't have much because I'll have to walk everywhere because even bus pass prices make me cringe.

Comments off because I don't want asspats or vague advice. If it's important enough, you can find my email and talk to me about this that way. Also, just in case anyone has had their brain snatched by aliens and is stupid enough to do this: if any suggestion you might have has anything to do with my cats, do me a favour and punch yourself in the face to save me the trouble.

This is the best thing ever.

And by 'best', I mean two pages of prose so purple it vaults right into the ultraviolet and buuuuuurns. It is the most awful and most hilarious bit of writing I've seen in a while. (via a comment on Making Light's Open Thread 120)

The Virtu, Sarah Monette

Felix is a bastard and Mildmay is the universe's whipping boy in what is really the second half of Melusine.

There's much more to it than that, of course, like the unfolding and twisting of emotions and relationships like the growth of a blackberry bramble, the re-discovery of previously lost companions, and eventually the defeat of a great evil, at a very high cost.

It's a beautiful book--I love Monette's languid style. She takes a long time to get where she's going, but the scenery is more than worth it. She also portrays survivours of abuse in a sensitive, true way that is not at all heavy handed, which I very much appreciate.

Old Man's War
The Ghost Brigades
The Last Colony, John Scalzi

These books have everything I loved about Heinlein's SF novels, but much much better. Scalzi has lots of gosh-wow technology, tightly paced stories with depth built with a few well-chosen words, and believable characters of all kinds, not just red-haired men with slightly different wrappings. These books aren't fluffy, but they're still damned fun.

The Android's Dream

More on the jokes than the OMW books but still plenty of depth in an electric blue candy shell. The fictiony science is strong in oftentimes jaw-droppingly twisted ways. This one was also a wonderful read.