Half the drama, twice the risk
I have a bit of a sunburn on my face. This takes a certain amount of effort when you are an accountant who works indoors in a place and time where the sun never gets brighter than a 40 watt light bulb. But I noticed this morning that I couldn't quite remember the last time I showered was. (Saturday? It's Wednesday.) This is a call for help. An olfactory rather than auditory one, I'll grant you, but it's an early warning sign that the Big D is stalking me.
I view Depression a bit like cancer without the drama. Depression is actually quite a lot more likely to kill me than cancer in terms of death rates for 47 year old women, though.
So when I notice the Black Dog is after me I mobilize my defenses, the same way as I'd find an oncologist and submit to radiation therapy and drugs.
Which brings me to the sunburn. I walked down to the Y at lunch-time and did my body pump class, then went across the street to a spa and asked if their tanning booth was available. It not only was, but they're decommissioning it and not keeping records anymore and they just let me go in for the maximum time for free. (This is due to a new tax on tanning booths, by the way. Congress put so much red tape on people who sell tanning services that they decided just to stop having it/charging for it. The tanning booth is for sale.)
Nothing boosts my mood like 15 minutes in the bright light of a tanning booth. I didn't even have my iPod with me and I thought I'd be bored, but I just blissed out for fifteen minutes. I'm going to miss this tanning booth within walking distance! I only tan maybe three times a year, but it's always for medicinal purposes.
Which brings me to drugs. I doubled my citalopram prescription. When I was at CVS waiting in line to pick it up (my doctor was leaving it to me what level I wanted to be at, so I had a script already) I noticed that other people in line were also getting the same drug. (Katie, this is what you are missing: long lines of people grasping for their anti-depressants to be able to stand another northern winter.)
Then I came home and made myself get in the shower. Four days is ridiculous.
I can't let this thing get a toehold on me. Shit, I hate that it's still stalking me.
I view Depression a bit like cancer without the drama. Depression is actually quite a lot more likely to kill me than cancer in terms of death rates for 47 year old women, though.
So when I notice the Black Dog is after me I mobilize my defenses, the same way as I'd find an oncologist and submit to radiation therapy and drugs.
Which brings me to the sunburn. I walked down to the Y at lunch-time and did my body pump class, then went across the street to a spa and asked if their tanning booth was available. It not only was, but they're decommissioning it and not keeping records anymore and they just let me go in for the maximum time for free. (This is due to a new tax on tanning booths, by the way. Congress put so much red tape on people who sell tanning services that they decided just to stop having it/charging for it. The tanning booth is for sale.)
Nothing boosts my mood like 15 minutes in the bright light of a tanning booth. I didn't even have my iPod with me and I thought I'd be bored, but I just blissed out for fifteen minutes. I'm going to miss this tanning booth within walking distance! I only tan maybe three times a year, but it's always for medicinal purposes.
Which brings me to drugs. I doubled my citalopram prescription. When I was at CVS waiting in line to pick it up (my doctor was leaving it to me what level I wanted to be at, so I had a script already) I noticed that other people in line were also getting the same drug. (Katie, this is what you are missing: long lines of people grasping for their anti-depressants to be able to stand another northern winter.)
Then I came home and made myself get in the shower. Four days is ridiculous.
I can't let this thing get a toehold on me. Shit, I hate that it's still stalking me.