I won't let you go and I won't let you choke on the noose around your neck
This is the journal from my time immediately after being released from the hospital. It's a bit lengthy, but it's a worthwhile reminder to see how far I've come from bleak to optimistic. And optimism is a big deal for me. Anyway, it's worth reading if you've ever had to deal with manic depression, or just depression.
12/10/2009
My hair is falling out at a much higher rate than normal. This has been going on for about a month, or at least, that's when I started to notice it. I came out of my mania a few days after I arrived at Western State Hospital, and that's when I started to notice that everything pretty much sucked.
It's pretty much sucked ever since, but even within the completely unbelievable run of bad luck that I in my life have experienced, there's been this tiny vein of good luck as well.
For instance, I may have derailed my academic career, lost my job and wound up institutionalized for a month and a half, but I was still lucky. My hospital roommate was of sound mind, compared to everyone else, and my mother was working night and day on my release. That being said, I've since lost my job, lost my free ride to Evergreen State College, and ultimately lost track of the life I was leading. Life is going to change, now.
Damn, I really want a sandwich right now. One of the medications I'm on is a mood stabilizer called Depakote. It increases carb cravings, as well as making my hair fall out. My hair is normally thick and full, and very strong, and it's been falling out and thinning at an increasing rate.
I already feel the burden of depression on my shoulders, but my hair falling out has been a very physical reminder of the fact that life has taken a downturn. It's going to take a lot of work for it to return back to a state where I feel comfortable and happy again.
At Western, there was a woman named Stacy, who had one eyetooth missing. She had short blonde hair, and liked to dress in other people's clothes. She insisted that everyone should be happy because God was looking out for them. She would also stop randomly in front of you while you were walking.
Stacy seemed to have some implicit need to act like everyone's annoying little sister. She seemed especially affronted when I told her not to touch me after she put her arms around me in a hug. It's not that I don't like being hugged, I just don't like being hugged by meth-addicted lunatics who listen avidly to the voices in their heads.
I'm not the church going type. I have no denomination or specific belief in God, except to say that there is a sense of fate, and fate has a habit of being pretty ironic. For instance, I believed that my mother was the mentally ill one, not me, and that I would escape my genetic background unscathed, which, all things considered, was an ill-timed belief.
Manic-depression and ordinary depression are both in my family chart, though so far I'm thinking bipolar is the one that's got me. I'm not chronically depressed, except to say that I do believe I will come out of this on top, somehow. I'm very lucky I have the help of my friends Phil and Celia, or else I'd be stuck here in Ohio with my mother.
My hair is falling out, but I'm flying back to Seattle on Monday. I'm leaving on Sunday to stay overnight with my Uncle David, with whom I have not stayed since I was 14 or so.
God, I really want that sandwich. I rationalize the wanting of that sandwich, because I deserve, nay, I am entitled to not feel guilty about gaining five pounds from eating like shit since I've gotten here.
I've been through enough that vanity is the last thing on my mind. I will eat well when I return to Seattle. This is my rationalization to myself for interrupting this writing assignment, going downstairs and making a sandwich for myself.
Or perhaps I should just sit here and write while I salivate and think to myself about how good that sandwich would taste. But how brief it would be. Better I go downstairs and make myself some macaroni and cheese, but oh wait, high maintenance of opening up another can of corn, yadda yadda.
Well. Sandwich it is, then. I'd drink coke but the caffeine would keep me awake, and oh, we can't have the crazy person failing to get her full night's rest, because that would spell evil manic doom.
I have no idea where I am or who I am right now. But I do know that the depakote makes me crave carbs all the time. I want that sandwich. I keep typing, and that stops me from going downstairs and making that sandwich. Which I will probably do all the same.
I need to put more emphasis on the fact that this assignment is due tomorrow. Let's ease off and make my first assignment not five pages. Watch my resolve crumble as that five minutes of sandwich eating overtakes the five pages I said I would write. I can read that Amado book while I eat.
This is a terrible way to rationalize. I will cook many high maintenance meals. When I have my own kitchen, carbs will be reduced to the their normal background function, and I will have many lovely salads. I'll learn how to cook meat for real, since right now I don't have a clue how to do roasts or steaks. I'll make recipes out of the family cookbook.
Who knows where I'll be or who I'll be come Monday. I'll have myself something nice to eat at Uncle David's. I'll eat well at the airport. I can't wait. Things can only improve. How badly I want to be out of my mother's house, and moving towards having my own bed and my own things back.
Sandwich.
12/11/2009
This is one of those days. Every day here has been one of those days. Every single hour has been stagnant, waiting for the next hour to come. Sitting at my computer, or in front of the television, existing in a void and reeling from the impact of each new bill.
I don't know what my next address is going to be. I don't know how I'm going to contend with these bills, or how I'm going to present my case to DSHS, or what I'm even applying for. I can't put down my mother's address as my own because it's in Ohio, and so I guess I'll just claim that I'm homeless, staying with friends. I don't really know how this is all going to go down.
Sooner or later I'm going to have to get back on my own two feet. I don't know how that's going to happen, but eventually it will. It has to, because I know I'm not depressed enough to let something like this set me back so far. I have assets, I just can't employ them. I feel crippled and disabled by my circumstances more than anything.
My god, this place is insufferably boring. This is the kind of place where people are so bored they actually practice the archaic art of getting to know their neighbours. People sincerely wish me happy holidays and I'm thinking, “I don't know you, don't talk to me.” I am at heart a Seattleight. I have the famous rod up my ass. I am hopelessly elitist and completely ready to defend the city of gray and green, because it is infinitely better than any place I've ever lived, except Vancouver. Vancouver is still the best city in the world to me, but Seattle too is my hometown.
I don't know what lies in store for me. I don't know how I'm going to get back to work, or what kind of work I'll be doing. I'm very tempted to try and jump into being a barista, because despite the risk of caffeine shock, it's the kind of work that I can do. Fast, physical, mindless. I can deal with all of these things. Maybe I'll find some Sprint stores and see how that goes. Cell phones are fun and relatively easy. It's a nice environment, and I wouldn't mind working for Sprint at all. I think they're a fundamentally good company.
What's worst about this feeling of depression is the accompanying feeling of monotony. This town is so small as to not have a bus system, or any other means of transportation asides from a Jesus-jockeying cabbie named Roy.
Roy is from Tennessee, and he very kindly explained to me that the best thing I can do is get close with my creator. Now, I don't participate in one school of belief, but rather suspect that the creator is a little more vague and a lot more random than most churches would have us believe. I also am naturally suspicious of anyone who ascribes too much meaning to the pursuit of the theological.
12/12/09
Our neighbour Mary is over right now. She recently had a transplant and is rail thin, a corpse in loose fitting skin. She was born a few miles away from Vermilion, and hadn't lived anywhere else.
Mary lives across the street with her husband George. She's a tall woman, but she looks skeletal because she spent much of her life suffering from juvenile diabetes. Her face is a skull with skin stretched over it. According to mom, she looks better than she did, but she still looks like death warmed over to me. She has the patois of the rural Ohioan, pronouncing the word "supposed" to with the first syllable removed.
While I was in the hospital, mom called to tell me that Mary had received a pancreas and a kidney from a donor. Apparently she feels much better since the surgery, but to my mind, Mary represents everything about the tireless, hopeless way that the people in this neighbourhood must live. Each contending with their own collection of troubles, little wonder they turn to their church.
I'm trying to fight against the bad luck, but people like Mary seem predestined for it. Her ex- husband was abusive, and through some spectacular injustice, got custody of her autistic son Brandon. Brandon, she tells us, was doing well. He liked the rides at Cedar Point because it was just the right level of stimulation, whereas a grocery store is too big a space for him and he gets lost in himself, touching everything in sight.
Mary has horses, and that seems to be her primary form of entertainment. She and my mother both talk about Seabiscuit, how they love Seabiscuit. I told her about how when dad was alive, we used to go to see the horses run at the track. Horses was something I had in common with my father. It's hard for me to call myself a bad luck kid when Mary tells me the story of the one time she ever bet on a horse. It was in Kentucky, and she'd chosen the underdog horse. The way she told it, the sorry beast bolted out ahead of the crowd, and then had a heart attack and died right there on the track. Her ex-husband laughed and laughed.
Now she's not getting her visits from her son, because her ex is preventing them. She's going to have to go to court. Win some and lose some: she prayed to God for a kidney and two days later, received not only a kidney but a pancreas as well. And yet she can't see her son, because she isn't considered fit to look after him because of her disease. It's like those strange little miracles in Wristcutters: they only happen when you aren't paying attention to them.
I don't know what I'm going to do when I get back to Seattle. Time for some stuffing.
12/13/09
Had one of those screaming fights with mom last night. Over stuffing. Now she's agitating, calling my phone, leaving messages- the way that she does. Uncle David and I commiserated over the fact that we're both long suffering when it comes to my mother. I'm afraid she'll agitate him to the point where he'll get a restraining order. I hope she maintains some semblance of a sense of propriety, but knowing her, that seems unlikely. She'll get along somehow. The dramatics will cease. And if they don't, well, I'm putting all the miles I can between me and her explosive anger. I could never really take all that bullshit.
Anyway. Went to Costco with my aunt and uncle. Had lots of samples. It was weirdly nostalgic, despite the fact that Costco is not a uniquely northwest thing any more. We had the wonderfully cheap lunch, before heading back to the great big house on the marina. I envy my uncle this house, but I know they would be happy with half as much space. Hell, I'd be happy with half as much space. It is useful for guests, and the grand kids do spend some time here as evidenced by the crib and the stack of children's books. This room has all the trappings of well loved grandchildren.
Anyway, exhaustion is creeping up on me. Time to turn the tiny laptop off and set it aside, because I want to be rested tomorrow.
12/14/09
Flying to Dallas. I have these interminable cravings for big carb-filled meals. The medication has stopped my cycle, which is something I want to discuss with the doctor on Wednesday. I don't know if this constant craving for junk food is because of this extended pms, or just a side effect of the medication.
Weight gain is one of the side effects of depakote, and it's something I'll have to be careful about. Right now, I know that eating healthy won't be that difficult with Phil and Celia. I'm not sure if I'll be staying with the McDermotts, or how that's going to pan out. I could ask Josh D (not his real name) if I could stay with him, because I can't afford first/last and deposit on an apartment right now. I hate couch surfing. It feels so incredibly intrusive and claustrophobic, and makes me feel like an incredible burden. I don't know exactly what I'll be needing to ask when it comes to the GAU/GAX application, but I know that somehow I'm going to need emergency funds. Then an apartment, and then a job. I really am at this point willing to do just about anything. It would be nice to get a job at a Trader Joe's somewhere, and I have good customer service skills I could put to use.
List of things I need to do:
-find out about whether I can work with GAX/GAU. I want to be able to work. I have a work ethic.
Descent. Somewhere over Texas. Must pause- will resume on the later flight.
Lied. Did not resume writing on later flight, but rather now, after having gained three hours. It's three am in Cleveland, and while my feet are back on the ground, my brain has not yet landed. Where am I? What am I doing?
Coming back to Seattle has been a lens through which I have been able to focus the misery of...what was the name of that town? Vermilion? Well, it wasn't remotely green whilst I was there. That place was a monument to my mother's depression, to her inability to make coherent and sane decisions. It was ultimately forgettable. Anytown, USA. Well, it turns out that nobody really wants to live in Anytown, USA. Nobody with any imagination, anyway.
I would've continued writing while on the flight, but as I was lucky enough to have two seats to myself on the way to Dallas, I was not so lucky and wound up with a mother and child. Of course, the child was very well behaved and quiet, moderately adorable. The kind of kid my mother would make a big deal over just because she feels she must express her joy at any and all small children she should happen upon.
Anyway. It's past midnight here and past three am east coast time, so I should take a hint and get to sleep. Hopefully I'll sleep right in to the point of arriving at normal wakeup time for the Kaplans. God, I feel like such an intruder here. I know this is temporary. Some philospher or poet said, "everything is temporary." but I was hoping to find rhythm.
I hope that nagging little slit on the left corner of my mouth heals. I'm looking forward to the day when I have my own apartment and can drop sixty dollars on a new bare minerals kit, so that my skin can go back to normal. I hope zinc and selenium work to repair the damage to my hair. I need to let my hair grow awhile before I can deal with it properly.
And so on.
12/15/09
The next morning. It's 1:18 in Ohio, which means I slept a good 11 hours. Sleep is something I enjoy tremendously, and with my so-called condition, means I need to get enough of it. Phil is in the shower. I'm just waiting to wash my hair. I hope that it doesn't get all over the place, which it seems apt to do because of the depakote. I am so looking forward to tomorrow, to getting to talk to my doctor. I hope she actually knows what she's talking about, because if she draws a big huge blank, I'll probably pursue the course of seeing Carol Cordy.
The promise of breakfast, and coffee sounds excellent, so I'm going to hold off on any more writing until I get fed and showered.
Dear Uncle David,
Merry Christmas!
Thank you again for your generosity. This has been a very dark time for me, and I'm still trying to take it in steps. Today I spent with a good friend of mine, and didn't get home until late, which was heartening, and reminds me that I have good friends and good family. This hasn't exactly been the Christmas that I expected, but it does represent a spirit of support, which helps take the edge off.
I also have to tell you that I feel pretty low about asking for money, which was never something I was comfortable with, but that speaks to the reality of the situation. I will let you know when I've got a steady job lined up- although the fact that I'm already thinking about when I'm going to be able to get a job just goes to show I'm getting ahead of myself- I don't yet have welfare, housing or counseling set up yet, though all of those things are in the works.
In any case, I hope to at least accomplish getting some debts squared away. Others may require more work, but I am very very fortunate as to have Phil and Celia's support in navigating the various agencies and resources. As depressed as I feel right now, I do recognize how fortunate I am.
Anyway, I hope you had a lovely Christmas Eve. Please give my love to the family. I will try and keep you updated on my progress.
Lots of love,
Victoria
12/27/2009
I just tried calling Seth. I don't know why I have this incessant need to talk to him. I feel this incessant need to talk to anyone and start justifying my setbacks. I hate this medication, because it's made me gain weight incredibly quickly. I might have headed off this depression had I not gone to Ohio, but now that I'm back I hope I can rely on Seattle's terrain to give me some extra help in exercising. Those hills can be a bitch, but they were helping.
Tomorrow's the doctor. I don't know how this whole assessment thing is going to pan out, since diagnosing a mental illness can't really be done at the drop of a hat.
12/28/09
Pretty much as expected. Nothing new to report except that now we're all discussing the possibility of this being an acute situation, rather than a chronic one. I don't know how to contend with this except to wonder if maybe I don't need to be on medication, or that maybe I don't have an illness. Was it one psychotic breakdown, or a manifestation of something I already had? Well, it was one too many.
I don't really know what to do with myself. I'm still a bundle of nerves and anxiety about everything. I'm still getting hardcore food cravings from the medication, which tell me that I should go and get a glass of water or something. Or I'll simply resist, and get used to that feeling instead.
It's true that there simply isn't much to snack on anyway. Probably a good thing, since dinner is going to be heavy tonight. I hate that I've gained all this weight. I should've been more attentive while I was in Ohio, but in Ohio it didn't really seem to matter. Miserable place. Miserable medication malpractice makes for mighty malnutrition. Alliterative sentences seem like cop outs. I am so..bored. I am even bored enough to turn off my computer and go turn the television on, because there might be something interesting on.
No joy. Hundreds of channels and nothing on. That's exactly how I feel right now.
12/10/2009
My hair is falling out at a much higher rate than normal. This has been going on for about a month, or at least, that's when I started to notice it. I came out of my mania a few days after I arrived at Western State Hospital, and that's when I started to notice that everything pretty much sucked.
It's pretty much sucked ever since, but even within the completely unbelievable run of bad luck that I in my life have experienced, there's been this tiny vein of good luck as well.
For instance, I may have derailed my academic career, lost my job and wound up institutionalized for a month and a half, but I was still lucky. My hospital roommate was of sound mind, compared to everyone else, and my mother was working night and day on my release. That being said, I've since lost my job, lost my free ride to Evergreen State College, and ultimately lost track of the life I was leading. Life is going to change, now.
Damn, I really want a sandwich right now. One of the medications I'm on is a mood stabilizer called Depakote. It increases carb cravings, as well as making my hair fall out. My hair is normally thick and full, and very strong, and it's been falling out and thinning at an increasing rate.
I already feel the burden of depression on my shoulders, but my hair falling out has been a very physical reminder of the fact that life has taken a downturn. It's going to take a lot of work for it to return back to a state where I feel comfortable and happy again.
At Western, there was a woman named Stacy, who had one eyetooth missing. She had short blonde hair, and liked to dress in other people's clothes. She insisted that everyone should be happy because God was looking out for them. She would also stop randomly in front of you while you were walking.
Stacy seemed to have some implicit need to act like everyone's annoying little sister. She seemed especially affronted when I told her not to touch me after she put her arms around me in a hug. It's not that I don't like being hugged, I just don't like being hugged by meth-addicted lunatics who listen avidly to the voices in their heads.
I'm not the church going type. I have no denomination or specific belief in God, except to say that there is a sense of fate, and fate has a habit of being pretty ironic. For instance, I believed that my mother was the mentally ill one, not me, and that I would escape my genetic background unscathed, which, all things considered, was an ill-timed belief.
Manic-depression and ordinary depression are both in my family chart, though so far I'm thinking bipolar is the one that's got me. I'm not chronically depressed, except to say that I do believe I will come out of this on top, somehow. I'm very lucky I have the help of my friends Phil and Celia, or else I'd be stuck here in Ohio with my mother.
My hair is falling out, but I'm flying back to Seattle on Monday. I'm leaving on Sunday to stay overnight with my Uncle David, with whom I have not stayed since I was 14 or so.
God, I really want that sandwich. I rationalize the wanting of that sandwich, because I deserve, nay, I am entitled to not feel guilty about gaining five pounds from eating like shit since I've gotten here.
I've been through enough that vanity is the last thing on my mind. I will eat well when I return to Seattle. This is my rationalization to myself for interrupting this writing assignment, going downstairs and making a sandwich for myself.
Or perhaps I should just sit here and write while I salivate and think to myself about how good that sandwich would taste. But how brief it would be. Better I go downstairs and make myself some macaroni and cheese, but oh wait, high maintenance of opening up another can of corn, yadda yadda.
Well. Sandwich it is, then. I'd drink coke but the caffeine would keep me awake, and oh, we can't have the crazy person failing to get her full night's rest, because that would spell evil manic doom.
I have no idea where I am or who I am right now. But I do know that the depakote makes me crave carbs all the time. I want that sandwich. I keep typing, and that stops me from going downstairs and making that sandwich. Which I will probably do all the same.
I need to put more emphasis on the fact that this assignment is due tomorrow. Let's ease off and make my first assignment not five pages. Watch my resolve crumble as that five minutes of sandwich eating overtakes the five pages I said I would write. I can read that Amado book while I eat.
This is a terrible way to rationalize. I will cook many high maintenance meals. When I have my own kitchen, carbs will be reduced to the their normal background function, and I will have many lovely salads. I'll learn how to cook meat for real, since right now I don't have a clue how to do roasts or steaks. I'll make recipes out of the family cookbook.
Who knows where I'll be or who I'll be come Monday. I'll have myself something nice to eat at Uncle David's. I'll eat well at the airport. I can't wait. Things can only improve. How badly I want to be out of my mother's house, and moving towards having my own bed and my own things back.
Sandwich.
12/11/2009
This is one of those days. Every day here has been one of those days. Every single hour has been stagnant, waiting for the next hour to come. Sitting at my computer, or in front of the television, existing in a void and reeling from the impact of each new bill.
I don't know what my next address is going to be. I don't know how I'm going to contend with these bills, or how I'm going to present my case to DSHS, or what I'm even applying for. I can't put down my mother's address as my own because it's in Ohio, and so I guess I'll just claim that I'm homeless, staying with friends. I don't really know how this is all going to go down.
Sooner or later I'm going to have to get back on my own two feet. I don't know how that's going to happen, but eventually it will. It has to, because I know I'm not depressed enough to let something like this set me back so far. I have assets, I just can't employ them. I feel crippled and disabled by my circumstances more than anything.
My god, this place is insufferably boring. This is the kind of place where people are so bored they actually practice the archaic art of getting to know their neighbours. People sincerely wish me happy holidays and I'm thinking, “I don't know you, don't talk to me.” I am at heart a Seattleight. I have the famous rod up my ass. I am hopelessly elitist and completely ready to defend the city of gray and green, because it is infinitely better than any place I've ever lived, except Vancouver. Vancouver is still the best city in the world to me, but Seattle too is my hometown.
I don't know what lies in store for me. I don't know how I'm going to get back to work, or what kind of work I'll be doing. I'm very tempted to try and jump into being a barista, because despite the risk of caffeine shock, it's the kind of work that I can do. Fast, physical, mindless. I can deal with all of these things. Maybe I'll find some Sprint stores and see how that goes. Cell phones are fun and relatively easy. It's a nice environment, and I wouldn't mind working for Sprint at all. I think they're a fundamentally good company.
What's worst about this feeling of depression is the accompanying feeling of monotony. This town is so small as to not have a bus system, or any other means of transportation asides from a Jesus-jockeying cabbie named Roy.
Roy is from Tennessee, and he very kindly explained to me that the best thing I can do is get close with my creator. Now, I don't participate in one school of belief, but rather suspect that the creator is a little more vague and a lot more random than most churches would have us believe. I also am naturally suspicious of anyone who ascribes too much meaning to the pursuit of the theological.
12/12/09
Our neighbour Mary is over right now. She recently had a transplant and is rail thin, a corpse in loose fitting skin. She was born a few miles away from Vermilion, and hadn't lived anywhere else.
Mary lives across the street with her husband George. She's a tall woman, but she looks skeletal because she spent much of her life suffering from juvenile diabetes. Her face is a skull with skin stretched over it. According to mom, she looks better than she did, but she still looks like death warmed over to me. She has the patois of the rural Ohioan, pronouncing the word "supposed" to with the first syllable removed.
While I was in the hospital, mom called to tell me that Mary had received a pancreas and a kidney from a donor. Apparently she feels much better since the surgery, but to my mind, Mary represents everything about the tireless, hopeless way that the people in this neighbourhood must live. Each contending with their own collection of troubles, little wonder they turn to their church.
I'm trying to fight against the bad luck, but people like Mary seem predestined for it. Her ex- husband was abusive, and through some spectacular injustice, got custody of her autistic son Brandon. Brandon, she tells us, was doing well. He liked the rides at Cedar Point because it was just the right level of stimulation, whereas a grocery store is too big a space for him and he gets lost in himself, touching everything in sight.
Mary has horses, and that seems to be her primary form of entertainment. She and my mother both talk about Seabiscuit, how they love Seabiscuit. I told her about how when dad was alive, we used to go to see the horses run at the track. Horses was something I had in common with my father. It's hard for me to call myself a bad luck kid when Mary tells me the story of the one time she ever bet on a horse. It was in Kentucky, and she'd chosen the underdog horse. The way she told it, the sorry beast bolted out ahead of the crowd, and then had a heart attack and died right there on the track. Her ex-husband laughed and laughed.
Now she's not getting her visits from her son, because her ex is preventing them. She's going to have to go to court. Win some and lose some: she prayed to God for a kidney and two days later, received not only a kidney but a pancreas as well. And yet she can't see her son, because she isn't considered fit to look after him because of her disease. It's like those strange little miracles in Wristcutters: they only happen when you aren't paying attention to them.
I don't know what I'm going to do when I get back to Seattle. Time for some stuffing.
12/13/09
Had one of those screaming fights with mom last night. Over stuffing. Now she's agitating, calling my phone, leaving messages- the way that she does. Uncle David and I commiserated over the fact that we're both long suffering when it comes to my mother. I'm afraid she'll agitate him to the point where he'll get a restraining order. I hope she maintains some semblance of a sense of propriety, but knowing her, that seems unlikely. She'll get along somehow. The dramatics will cease. And if they don't, well, I'm putting all the miles I can between me and her explosive anger. I could never really take all that bullshit.
Anyway. Went to Costco with my aunt and uncle. Had lots of samples. It was weirdly nostalgic, despite the fact that Costco is not a uniquely northwest thing any more. We had the wonderfully cheap lunch, before heading back to the great big house on the marina. I envy my uncle this house, but I know they would be happy with half as much space. Hell, I'd be happy with half as much space. It is useful for guests, and the grand kids do spend some time here as evidenced by the crib and the stack of children's books. This room has all the trappings of well loved grandchildren.
Anyway, exhaustion is creeping up on me. Time to turn the tiny laptop off and set it aside, because I want to be rested tomorrow.
12/14/09
Flying to Dallas. I have these interminable cravings for big carb-filled meals. The medication has stopped my cycle, which is something I want to discuss with the doctor on Wednesday. I don't know if this constant craving for junk food is because of this extended pms, or just a side effect of the medication.
Weight gain is one of the side effects of depakote, and it's something I'll have to be careful about. Right now, I know that eating healthy won't be that difficult with Phil and Celia. I'm not sure if I'll be staying with the McDermotts, or how that's going to pan out. I could ask Josh D (not his real name) if I could stay with him, because I can't afford first/last and deposit on an apartment right now. I hate couch surfing. It feels so incredibly intrusive and claustrophobic, and makes me feel like an incredible burden. I don't know exactly what I'll be needing to ask when it comes to the GAU/GAX application, but I know that somehow I'm going to need emergency funds. Then an apartment, and then a job. I really am at this point willing to do just about anything. It would be nice to get a job at a Trader Joe's somewhere, and I have good customer service skills I could put to use.
List of things I need to do:
-find out about whether I can work with GAX/GAU. I want to be able to work. I have a work ethic.
Descent. Somewhere over Texas. Must pause- will resume on the later flight.
Lied. Did not resume writing on later flight, but rather now, after having gained three hours. It's three am in Cleveland, and while my feet are back on the ground, my brain has not yet landed. Where am I? What am I doing?
Coming back to Seattle has been a lens through which I have been able to focus the misery of...what was the name of that town? Vermilion? Well, it wasn't remotely green whilst I was there. That place was a monument to my mother's depression, to her inability to make coherent and sane decisions. It was ultimately forgettable. Anytown, USA. Well, it turns out that nobody really wants to live in Anytown, USA. Nobody with any imagination, anyway.
I would've continued writing while on the flight, but as I was lucky enough to have two seats to myself on the way to Dallas, I was not so lucky and wound up with a mother and child. Of course, the child was very well behaved and quiet, moderately adorable. The kind of kid my mother would make a big deal over just because she feels she must express her joy at any and all small children she should happen upon.
Anyway. It's past midnight here and past three am east coast time, so I should take a hint and get to sleep. Hopefully I'll sleep right in to the point of arriving at normal wakeup time for the Kaplans. God, I feel like such an intruder here. I know this is temporary. Some philospher or poet said, "everything is temporary." but I was hoping to find rhythm.
I hope that nagging little slit on the left corner of my mouth heals. I'm looking forward to the day when I have my own apartment and can drop sixty dollars on a new bare minerals kit, so that my skin can go back to normal. I hope zinc and selenium work to repair the damage to my hair. I need to let my hair grow awhile before I can deal with it properly.
And so on.
12/15/09
The next morning. It's 1:18 in Ohio, which means I slept a good 11 hours. Sleep is something I enjoy tremendously, and with my so-called condition, means I need to get enough of it. Phil is in the shower. I'm just waiting to wash my hair. I hope that it doesn't get all over the place, which it seems apt to do because of the depakote. I am so looking forward to tomorrow, to getting to talk to my doctor. I hope she actually knows what she's talking about, because if she draws a big huge blank, I'll probably pursue the course of seeing Carol Cordy.
The promise of breakfast, and coffee sounds excellent, so I'm going to hold off on any more writing until I get fed and showered.
Dear Uncle David,
Merry Christmas!
Thank you again for your generosity. This has been a very dark time for me, and I'm still trying to take it in steps. Today I spent with a good friend of mine, and didn't get home until late, which was heartening, and reminds me that I have good friends and good family. This hasn't exactly been the Christmas that I expected, but it does represent a spirit of support, which helps take the edge off.
I also have to tell you that I feel pretty low about asking for money, which was never something I was comfortable with, but that speaks to the reality of the situation. I will let you know when I've got a steady job lined up- although the fact that I'm already thinking about when I'm going to be able to get a job just goes to show I'm getting ahead of myself- I don't yet have welfare, housing or counseling set up yet, though all of those things are in the works.
In any case, I hope to at least accomplish getting some debts squared away. Others may require more work, but I am very very fortunate as to have Phil and Celia's support in navigating the various agencies and resources. As depressed as I feel right now, I do recognize how fortunate I am.
Anyway, I hope you had a lovely Christmas Eve. Please give my love to the family. I will try and keep you updated on my progress.
Lots of love,
Victoria
12/27/2009
I just tried calling Seth. I don't know why I have this incessant need to talk to him. I feel this incessant need to talk to anyone and start justifying my setbacks. I hate this medication, because it's made me gain weight incredibly quickly. I might have headed off this depression had I not gone to Ohio, but now that I'm back I hope I can rely on Seattle's terrain to give me some extra help in exercising. Those hills can be a bitch, but they were helping.
Tomorrow's the doctor. I don't know how this whole assessment thing is going to pan out, since diagnosing a mental illness can't really be done at the drop of a hat.
12/28/09
Pretty much as expected. Nothing new to report except that now we're all discussing the possibility of this being an acute situation, rather than a chronic one. I don't know how to contend with this except to wonder if maybe I don't need to be on medication, or that maybe I don't have an illness. Was it one psychotic breakdown, or a manifestation of something I already had? Well, it was one too many.
I don't really know what to do with myself. I'm still a bundle of nerves and anxiety about everything. I'm still getting hardcore food cravings from the medication, which tell me that I should go and get a glass of water or something. Or I'll simply resist, and get used to that feeling instead.
It's true that there simply isn't much to snack on anyway. Probably a good thing, since dinner is going to be heavy tonight. I hate that I've gained all this weight. I should've been more attentive while I was in Ohio, but in Ohio it didn't really seem to matter. Miserable place. Miserable medication malpractice makes for mighty malnutrition. Alliterative sentences seem like cop outs. I am so..bored. I am even bored enough to turn off my computer and go turn the television on, because there might be something interesting on.
No joy. Hundreds of channels and nothing on. That's exactly how I feel right now.