Pearl

vet appointment shelter 3/17/09

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Murphy

triumph

The Deck

We've lived here for over a year, and finally, after several false starts, surprise rainstorms, and moderate procrastination the deck is being stained. It's been a three week process. Tennisfiend has done all the sanding, cleaning, bleaching and prepping, which was not quite the ordeal as our swimming pool in 'Cruces, but plenty of work nonetheless. Last year, we bought some "redwood" stain since it was close to the previous color. We changed our minds after painting the kitchen. Did we want to look out the back door and see ORANGE? Naw. Muted grey. I wonder if the color is too light. E says it's fine and that I'll get used to it.

At Last

Finally felt like doing somethingproductive that I'd been putting off. Sent a bunch of cds to the folks. What a terrible thing depression is, anchoring you to yourself.

I Just Remembered...

I can't believe this. Last night as I was going to bed and pushing out thoughts of, "I've been depressed for years!" and remembering periods of feeling ill; I recalled that I was treated with anti-depressants in my early teens. I even remembered the medication name, Triavil, with blue triangular pills. Holy cow. I hadn't been sleeping and was missing school. I had no energy. I felt sad and took no pleasure in any of the stuff I loved. I was up all night and when I did sleep, I'd sleep until late afternoon. I was in bad shape. I was thirteen.I felt so tired. My folks took me to the doctor (it had been weeks of this) who prescribed meds to "help me sleep."  I had forgotten this entire incident of my life.

Distinctly, I recall my mother telling me that the medication was an antidepressant, but that it was only for sleep. In fact, she emphasized this to me so clearly, that I thought it odd at the time. I was to take the medication every night for several weeks and see the doctor again. Withing six weeks I was weaned off of it and never followed up on the mediction. Huhn. I have a family history of depression, bipolar and schizophrenia on both sides. In retrospect, my mother must have been scared for me and perhaps a bit resistant to the idea that I had depression.

All through school, high school, college, others labled my "problems" as nerves and stress. This does make a certain amount of sense, since I am "high strung" just  like my dad. We are two anxious peas in a pod. I "did too much" or "tried too hard." Shit, I wasn't doing too much, I was frantically fighting off the symptoms of depression (which I never recognized). Nevertheless, I had an intuition that if I stopped, inertia would strand me in bed and I would never be able to shake off the weight holding me there. I felt so unbelievably tired.

Eventually, I'd get a flu or a cold and I would stop and it seemed like my scrabbling was too feeble to push the exhaustion away. My pattern for some twenty years of schooling has been, doing okay, doing okay, anxiety, anxiety, agitated depression and then clinical depression.

Red-haired Boy

Nothing like a reality check before Tyoma's evaluation. Keeping in line with my decision to keep tyoma as active as possible i have been going out with him twice a day. Our morning was outstanding. We started off with a trip to Market Basket. He was jolly and mischievous, taking great pleasure in pushing over cereal boxes and crying "Cutooze!" No fussing or whining for souska. We spent several minutes weighing fruits and veggies, which delights him. We went to Wasserman park afterward. I met another mother with a couple of girls. She was about my age and a pleasure to  chat with. Tyoma liked the younger of her two daughters and even ran up to her and said, "Hi kid!" with the sweetest expression on his face! My heart melted! He walked back to the car holding my hand with no complaints or tears! What a great day! After his afternoon rest, we ran an errand and stopped by Veterans park for ten minutes on the big slide (its the park on YouTube). We'd been there for five minutes when a man drove up with his lumbering red-haired son. The boy clambered on the playset and shouted  "Eeeee-eeee!" startling me. He started to rock and "eee-eee," climbing on top of the play tunnel. I could not hide my shock, but realizing that the child had autism, I tried to be polite and not whisk Tyoma away. The father awkwardly tried to make conversation but I was too distracted by his near teenage son swinging and whooping near my toddler.  Tyoma initially seemed okay, but the kid scared him and he began to cry and shriek.  I had to leave. I pitied the father who had to hustle his son back to the car as Tyoma screamed bloody murder. I felt so conflicted, on one hand, autistic kids need to play and have fun too, but heavens, didn't the father realize that his child would frighten such a young child? I wonder if a  little awkardness and echolalia in a bright book-reading toddler is such a big deal.

Limp as a Noodle...

I had a spark of joy as I played "limp as a noodle, heavy as a truck" with Tyoma. Getting out really helps me to feel better.

Ipswich

Lady Slippers