Roadblocks in Self-Improvement

Have you ever had those days when it seems you can’t do anything, right?
If you can recall from my previous post, I challenged myself to read an hour a day. I was doing well, but something happened that shook me to my core. It’s going to seem insignificant, but this brought upon a short bout of depression and pain. Okay, okay, I’ll get on with it. So I run a mobile service with my husband. I am mainly in charge of the customer service, administrative, and media side of our business. Now and then, I have encounters with what seems like complicated math. If there is anything that stresses me out is performing correct calculations on the spot.
For the most part, I would say that I’m an intelligent person. However, this subject has been a struggle my entire life. I can even recall the exact moment in primary school when I decided to give up and concentrate on other things. We were covering how to count currency. I had a nickel and dime in front of me. My teacher noticed that I was staring at the coins and not writing down the sum. She asked me if there was a problem. I asked, “why does the dime have a greater value if it’s smaller, and the coins are made of the same material?” I don’t remember if she addressed this, so I moved on. My relationship with math converted from struggle to complete disinterest. I continued to excel in reading and writing. I was very protective of my work when my classmates would try to cheat off my tests. However, my moral code went out the window when there was a scheduled arithmetic exam. I didn’t even care if I cheated off a good math student. This was my mode of operation until I entered university, where the stakes were higher. I could no longer be passive. I spent many hours in the learning center undergoing one on one sessions with student tutors. Have you ever traveled to a foreign country where you didn’t know the language? Imagine someone giving you intricate information on the spot, and it sounds jumbled and indistinct. I would ask my tutors to repeat things several times because it made absolutely no sense in my brain. Once I graduated, I shoved out all my newfound math knowledge because I truly believed I would never use it again. Well, you never know when you will need it again.
I was so anxious when I had to step away from the client to have my husband help me. My mind began to race with self-deprecating thoughts. I’m so stupid. How can I run a business? That customer must think the same. My husband must be so tired of me. I’m so useless.
I began to sob when we drove away. It’s funny how a small moment can reveal your deepest insecurities. I wallowed in that feeling for a few days. My husband then shared a hard truth with me. He said that I don’t use skills until it’s absolutely necessary. Leave it to that man to show me, tough love.
Here’s the thing about committing to self-improvement. You have to be completely honest with yourself. It helps to have someone call out your bullshit. Truthfully, it results in sometimes feeling like a complete loser. It can be overwhelming when you take inventory of all the things that need to change.
I eventually told myself that I don’t have to remain this way. I can do something about it. That brings me to my next challenge. I will be practicing math on the daily for this coming month. I usually do weekly challenges, but this one has to go deeper. I think waking up early, meditating, and the like are important. They can build discipline, but there wasn’t a direct consequence if I skipped a day. Please share resources for teaching basic math to adults. I am not particularly great at percentages or fractions and beyond. As Michael Scott would say, “Catch ya on the flippity flip.”

When you quit anti-depressants cold turkey

Hello friends,

I wanted to add family but I’m not sure if I have let any of them know that I began a blog.

I took a break because I did a couple of terribly foolish thing over the holidays. One of them is quitting anti-depressants cold turkey. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought this would be a good idea. I’m also sure that I’m not the only one who thought they would be invincible to withdrawal effects from SSRI’s(selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors). My specific anti-depressant was Lexapro.

I have had some form of depression for as long as I could remember. It began when I was molested as a young child which led to a rapid weight gain. It worsened after suffering from spiritual abuse from an evangelical church I attended for 13 years (more on this later).

Anti-depressants weren’t my first route. I tried changing my diet, meditation, exercise and taking supplements along with therapy. These things were great when I was in a clearer state of mind but these tools went out the window when I would hit a depressive episode. Guilt would settle in when I could not keep my mental health in check.

I have been given a prescription for Prozac in the past from my GP. I kept that little slip of paper in my purse until it became nothing more than a crumpled illegible note. This led me to look into integrative healthcare which was pretty interesting. Extensive bloodwork was done that showed I was lacking in many essential vitamins and high cortisol levels. Unfortunately, this facility didn’t work for me because I never had a consistent doctor. Well, to be honest, I was paired with nurse practitioners. I’m not saying they weren’t capable but I felt I had to start from ground zero during every visit.

In 2016 I moved from Texas to Colorado. It was my first time living in another state and it wasn’t easy. If you suffer from mental illness and have to make a big move, please build a support network as soon as you can. Moving to a place where you don’t have family and friends is difficult.

Initially, I loved the idea of being in a place where I didn’t know anyone. But that feeling soon passed and I fell into a deep depressive episode. Most people would never know I dealt with depression because I have learned how to hide most internal struggles. However, I would burst into tears the moment I got into my car after a long workday. I eventually found a new doctor who was also an osteopath and she was amazing. Additionally, there was also a social worker on staff that would become my therapist. A few months later my doctor finally got to see the full scope of me at one of my lowest points and then that is when she really suggested I consider medication. I am usually wary of doctors prescribing anti-depression medication but I was open to it because she was in contact with my therapist.

This is when the Lexapro began. I still felt like my old shitty self for a few weeks. Then one day I realized I was not having the usual dark terrible thoughts. I had to sit back and recall the last time I had a crying session in the closet or shower. I thought to myself, “Is  this how normal people feel?” Yes, I know that “normal” is relative but when you have deep bouts of hopelessness you do tend to wonder how it must be like to have your emotions somewhat under control.

So, if I was doing well why did I decide to quit Lexapro? Well back in March of 2018, I decided to quit my job. Which meant that I no longer had insurance. My doctor set me up with 3 more months of medication until I found another healthcare provider. I looked into other facilities meant for individuals who were also uninsured and would work on a sliding scale. That was when I met another issue. My income was too high to qualify.

That is when I decided to just stop taking my medication. What’s the worst that could happen? Well, I’ll tell you. I had ongoing dizziness unlike I had ever felt before. I explained to my husband that it was like my head and chest were pulsating and leaving before my body had time to follow. I also had difficulty communicating along with slurring which made most daily activities burdensome. Another symptom was constant fatigue. One of my favorite activities is cleaning (yes cleaning) and it took me 3 hours to finish my kitchen.  The most troublesome symptom for myself is the combination of strong emotions.

So, one night my cat had vomited in my bedroom and my husband walked in on me having an intense conversation with my pet. I was so upset for some reason and I began to laugh and cry simultaneously while I assured my spouse that I was okay. I vomited shortly after due to dizziness. I tried to self-medicate by smoking cannabis(thank you Colorado) high in sativa to achieve a head high that would lift my spirits. Thanks to Netflix’s “Explained” who knows what is actually in my pot.

Shortly afterward one of our clients called asking for an address to send a payment. I began to recite it but was promptly interrupted by my husband because I was giving the wrong address. I tried to correct myself but could not stop the giggles and then began to choke on my spit. I chucked the phone and took off to the restroom. I could hear him apologize to the client.

After all this nonsense I finally connected with a psychotherapist that works for a non-profit that is connected to my church. I was about to insert a disclaimer because I’m not a traditional believer. Anyhow I called and explained what was happening to me. She said, “so you must be suffering?” I chuckled because no further explanation was needed. She then gave me instructions on incorporating 5-hydroxytryptophan, tyrosine along with fish oil and a multivitamin. I still felt dizzy but I improved a great deal.

Now it’s February and sometimes I miss Lexapro. I wonder sometimes if that was the real me. The person who is slow to act and quick to think. Calm and collected. Perhaps even zen-like. But I don’t know what the long term effects would’ve been. I was just ready for another way.

I’m not sure what is wrong…

I was born and raised in a small border town in south Texas. I am a child of immigrant parents from Mexico that taught that hard work is the answer to most if not all hardships.

I never quite understood why I was such a melancholic child. I often resented my parents for having to greet family members with a hug and kiss. It never felt natural. I was called “mal educada” a “grosera” when I refused.

Envy was a constant emotion I grappled with when I saw my classmates happily enjoying their childhood and existing with ease. That was never a feeling I experienced for much of my life. In high school, I shared with a classmate that I always wondered how other people seemed to be so carefree. I asked if he ever experienced deep sadness on a constant basis and he said not really. Funny how I used to think that contentment was a strange thing.

Depression was never a topic of conversation growing up. I was very withdrawn and rarely spoke to my family. I even recall a moment when my father lashed out in frustration about how quiet I was and how I didn’t care to ever share with him. It was a very odd situation because I never believed my father cared to interact with me. I concluded that depression was an American problem.

Once, I accepted the possibility that I might be suffering from depression I decided it might be a good idea to share with others what I had been feeling. Some of the responses I received made me regret sharing in the first place. I had an acquaintance that was diagnosed with clinical depression. I explained some of my symptoms and I was told that everyone gets sad but depression is a whole other level. I disengaged immediately because it seemed like I had something to prove. By this point I had been told to just stop being sad, get over it, you’re making too big of a deal about what you’re feeling. I was involved in an evangelical Christian church for many years and I was convinced that I had a spirit in me that must be cast out and broken off of me. Soon after I experienced another depressive episode and I was told I had opened the door once again to said spirit. (More on this at another time).

A few people commented to me that I couldn’t be terribly depressed because I have managed to graduate from university and have always been able to hold down a job. What most people didn’t know is that failing school or being fired was not an option. I would be letting down my parents and not upholding the principle of a strong work ethic. It seemed that in the end, I was at fault for not being in control of my emotions and that I simply needed to decide to be better. I told myself that I was fine and I could change my life.

One night I was awake at 4am sobbing to Susan Boyle’s rendition of “I dreamed a dream” from Les Miserable. Even though I find this event a bit comical it was a defining moment for me that something was wrong. By this time I had met with my third therapist who worked closely with my doctor and it was suggested that I should give Lexapro a try.  I told my parents what my doctor had said and they were not quite supportive in the beginning. My partner didn’t really seem supportive either. It was then I decided that I needed to stop listening to the people who didn’t actually understand my emotional state of mind.

After 3 or so weeks of being on my new medication, I had a realization. I had not been retreating to my car or my shower for my daily crying sessions. I was not arguing with my husband as often as I had. I sat there in astonishment wondering if this was what it was like to feel normal. I know most people say that there is no such thing as “normal” but when you’ve lived in deep despair since you were a small child you have to wonder how other people function.  I’m not saying that I experienced elation. I just felt less overwhelmed and reactive.

So to all the other Latinx out there. I understand what it’s like to be part of a culture that invalidates mental illness but I want to let you know that I see you. Trust yourself.

 

Edith