Monday, 13 August 2012
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
So I can definitely say that coming off of Wellbutrin was an epic failure, well not epic... just a failure. For the most part it has been just... eh... I have been having a bit of a rough go of it as of late. I really do not know if it is due to the lack of mood enhancers or if it is due to the fact that I really have been feeling so sick for the majority of the time. For example, I was in Tuscany and I was too sick to leave the villa on most days. So instead of going to Rome and Florence, I sat inside and watched Under the Tuscan Sun. Wellbutrin or not, that is just sad boarding on the mildly pathetic, and a hard pill to swallow for even the cheeriest of people. So no big deal, I allowed myself to be annoyed about it and I moved on. It really wasn't so bad, I still got to go to Italy, spend time with some family, and eat great food. I was slightly sad but I still looked at my life as pretty great.
It was not until I was watching a Real-Life Documentary that I realized that coming off the mood enhancer ride was probably not a smart idea. And by Real-Life Documentary I mean Reality Television. And by reality television I mean the high-brow and intellectually stimulating world of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
Okay, let's start with first and most obvious indicator that I was not okay, I was actually watching RHOBH. That alone should have made me run screaming to the medicine cabinet. But reality TV, I am sorry I mean Real-Life Documentary TV, is a slippery slope. It starts innocently enough with Extreme Home Makeover and the occasional Dancing with the Stars; and before you know it you are eagerly watching a drunk Snooki running through the streets of Florence in the middle of the afternoon. Even a month later, I am still trying to figure out which one of us is worse; me the slightly perverse watcher of "How to Make an Ass of Yourself 101" or the one actually making an ass of themselves for a paycheck. That being said, I am elated that there was never a film crew following me around in my early to mid-twenties. I would have a lot of explaining to do to my parents, and even worse to my future children. Extremely hard to deny it you were anything but a perfect angel when there is recorded proof. I do know that reality TV is loved by millions, so I did not judge myself so harshly for actually watching it. It was only when RHOBH (yeah, we have that type of relationship, made me cry, that I realized that I was "not in a good place". It was not even a good solid reality TV crying moment. It was when one of the Wives's kids moved to Houston for the summer. That's it. There was not a spiral of thought that went into something deeper, like the fact that I have not seen my family in ages. It was just that I was genuinely sad for a "Real Housewife of Beverly Hills". And not even for a good reason, her daughter was going on vacation...for the summer .... and that's it. And that is a problem.
I would like to say that crying for the Wives was the only indicator that I have been having a hard time of it sans Wellbutrin. But it is not, and it actually is a nice segue into a rant that I have been meaning to have for a very long time. People that are sick and that are struggling with ill health should not be forced to look like they are struggling with ill health. When it is a huge effort to get yourself out of bed in the morning, you should not be forced to look in the mirror and have a tired/exhausted/bloated/pale/asymmetrical face stare back at you. One days that I am really feeling terrible, I avoid mirrors all together, 'cause odds are good I ain't gonna like what I see. (Who looks good with the flu? MS is like flu, except it is the gift only that keeps on giving...and giving...) So I petition this to the Greater Power that Governs us all, "If you are going to make me feel terrible all/most of the time, could you please at least let me look like Gisele Bundchen, or at the very least her "ugly" twin. Is that really too much to ask? This is second only to asking to no longer feeling terrible all the time. That is definitely my numero uno request; but if you can't, do you think that the all-knowing, all-powerful deity, could make me a little more Bundchen and a little less Sloth from the Goonies. Although, I do like Baby Ruths...
I am not a terribly superficial person and I fully believe that judging people on their looks is one of the worst ideas ever. But the other day, when the Subway Guy asked me what job I had that made me always look so tired, and I could only smile and say, "No job. I have Multiple Sclerosis." All the while wondering: "How many freaking days has he thought that? It must have been a lot if it got to the point that he actually said it to me. I bet he never would have said that to Gisele. It is like putting Baby in corner, it is just not something anybody does. It is really getting to the point that I do not want to leave the house without my "I HAVE MS" sandwich board and orange bell. I have also considered carrying a picture of me from my early twenties so I can say, "See my husband didn't just marry me for my personality." Not that I care, that much...well maybe I care a little...
It has been a rough fall. I knew that I needed help, so hello Wellbutrin my old friend... I am proud that I tried, sad that I failed, and glad that I admitted defeat before it got worse than it did.
Saturday, 3 September 2011
“Honey, did you take out the trash?”
Monday, 29 August 2011
Thursday, 18 August 2011
I had my first episode of Optic Neuritis when I was 21, even though I was not diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis until I was 28. I do not know if I am the odd man out, but I was thrilled to finally be diagnosed. For seven years, I held the belief that I was just a lazy hypochondriac. But it wasn't all in my head, it was my head. It defined so much of my 20's without me even knowing for sure it was there, that this belongs with the rest of writing. I wrote this on the eve of my 30th birthday.
Ode to my 20’s
With you I graduated from college and I finally started learning.
With you I have changed my name and I changed my life.
Together we watched two wars begin and worried as loved ones went off to fight.
Together we watched my hopes and dreams shift to something brighter than I could have ever imagined.
You helped me find friends for life and friends that I will remember for a lifetime.
You helped me no longer worry about my weight; but the weight of my words.
We have seen some of the world, watched as it shrank and we began to dream of seeing more.
I have had a living thing depend on me for everything. She may have four legs but she will always be my first baby.
I have felt true loss; only to realize that it helped me become truly found.
You cured my fear of flying by making me live overseas for five years.
You cured my fear of needles by making me give myself a shot every other day.
You brought me sickness; but more importantly you brought me answers.
You brought me heartbreak; but more importantly you brought me someone to steal my heart.
So my dear sweet 20’s the time has come for us to part; as we have grown together and grown apart. It is time for you find that new special someone out there to take on this wild ride; but please think of me as fondly as I will think of you. So thank you, for I would not be the person I am today without you…