I don't even know where to begin.

So I'm just gonna start. Grab a cuppa and sit down.


A decision has been made, and it was not an easy one.

I'm back on the meds. Day Four.

Remember how happy I was to be off of them? Yeah. Well. You regular readers know it's been a long time comin'. Let me share some highlights of the days leading up to this decision.

Thursday night I went to the library with the Apes for a Thomas the Tank Engine story event. While I was there, I thought I recognized one of the dads on the other side of the room. Back in college I had this boyfriend Rick, and Rick and I used to hang out with some of his fraternity brothers (one of whom was the guy I saw) and their girlfriends.

There were several of us established couples who'd been together a long time, and of our group of friends, only Rick and I and one other couple did not end up getting married. Suffice it to say that I spent a lot of time with him at his fraternity house, which was a smaller fraternity compared to say, the Betas or Sig Eps or Pikes or whatever, and everyone knew everyone. It was a great close knit group.

Anyway, seeing this former member of the group I hung out with every day for three years made me a little nostalgic. It wasn't that I missed my former boyfriend (I hate using the term "ex" when it was such an amicable parting), or even the people because I know it probably would be really weird to hang out with them now, but I missed that time in my life, and I hadn't thought about it for a really long time.

I missed wondering what my life would be like at 30-something (I used to watch 30-Something!) and of course at that time I believed it would be with Rick, but life is what it is and we both ended up very suitably matched with different people, and I am extremely happy that he and I have remained good friends. He reads this blog, in fact. Hi Rick!

So that was Thursday.

Friday I was still feeling just bleh. I tried to do some things, thinking that I could psych myself out of it. Maybe I just felt like shit because I felt like I looked like shit, so I'd make myself less physically gross. I'll do myself up pretty and shave and put makeup on and maybe even put product in my hair. Nope, that didn't work. I even tried cleaning, thinking maybe I just feel like shit because my house looked like shit. Somebody shoot me if I ever get that idea again.

Fast forward to Saturday.

Beeb has just gotten glasses. She looks soooo cute in them, and she loves them. When they came in, she couldn't wait to get them, so I went and picked them up Wednesday while she was at school, thinking that it would be good for her to have them right away, and if she needed them adjusted we could pop in for 30 seconds on Saturday morning and that'd be fine.

We arrived at about 9:25 and signed in. I even wrote "just needs an adjustment" on the sign-in sheet next to Beeb's name thinking it might speed things along. Nope. Meanwhile, the kids are climbing the walls of this office, running in circles, bickering with each other and whining about how long it was taking.

Oh, and I forgot - pointing and staring at the people with patches on their eyes and asking me why that person has no eye and, when I tried to ignore them to save myself from embarassment, fighting over the potential explanations ("Maybe her eye fell out!" "No, STUPID, your eye can't fall out!" "Yes, it can! I saw it on Ren and Stimpy, right, Mom?" "Is that TRUE, Mom??").

Great. Now everyone knows I let my kids watch Ren and Stimpy. Fortunately, judging by the predominant representation of octogenarians in the waiting room, they probably have no idea what Ren and Stimpy is or why a normal mother might object to it.

Sometimes the office people take pity on the mother with three unruly children and they try to get us out of there as quickly as possible. It works all the time at the pediatrician's. But apparently not here, not today.

Just then, the classic Simon and Garfunkel song "I Am A Rock" came on the Generic Doctor's Office Muzak station. And for some reason, the song just really got to me. Yeah, I'm an island all right. I'm like the one in Lord of the Flies with little boys running around filthy and fighting each other and chasing wild boars and fashioning weapons out of twigs and rocks.

And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.

That's called foreshadowing, kids. Stay with me.

The elderly couple ahead of us FINALLY understood what their insurance would cover (of course, after listening to the tech spend 30 minutes explaining it, I'm sure Pie could probably break it down for them too), and Beeb got her glasses fixed. We had to take the elevator to get back to the car, so we were standing by the buttons and I told Pie he could push the down button.

Now, how it works with my boys is that one of them pushes the button outside the elevator and the other pushes the number of the floor inside the elevator (I came up with that all by myself - feel free to use it with your kids). So that would mean that once we were inside the elevator, everyone would know it would be Tito's turn to push the button.

Except Beeb. Beeb decided that it was unfair to her and so SHE pushed the button for the ground floor. Tito SHRIEKED the most ear piercing indescribable shriek (like a Zamboni running over a tricycle and dragging it, or some kind of metal scraaaaaaaaaaping on more metal is the closest I can get to what it sounded like) and I effing LOST it.

"HOW OLD ARE YOU, BEEB???!! SERIOUSLY!!!! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?? I SWEAR TO GOD YOU GUYS CAN NOT GIVE ME 30 SECONDS' WORTH OF FREAKIN PEACE ON AN ELEVATOR RIDE DOWN THREE FREAKIN FLOORS!!!!!!!"

Nobody said a word the entire way home, and when we got back it was 10:30. I told the Apes, You guys know where the food is. I'm going to go lie down in my room. Don't bother me unless there's blood or fire. I wanted to be a Simon and Garfunkel Rock where I touch no one and no one touches me.
And I laid there the entire day. Literally.

Now, I don't throw the word "literally" around (and people that do really bother me, but they don't literally "bug the crap outta me", because that's just gross. See?), but in this instance, the word "literally" is appropriate.

I felt the physical feelings that one would associate with a fever or flu, and yet I knew I wasn't sick. It was exactly like that commercial for some pharmaceutical that says "Where does depression hurt? Everywhere." while showing a woman walking away from a bed where a man is lying awake, staring sadly.

I felt like my arms and legs were made of cement and I couldn't move them. I was completely immobilized. Nothing sounded good, nothing sounded fun, I couldn't create a happy thought in my brain without instantly creating some form of polar opposite negativity simultaneously. My head sounded like it was trying to tune into an AM radio station and all I could get was static and the sounds of the different stations trying to compete with each other for ownership of that particular airwave.

My parents called and I opened up to them about how I was feeling, and they were, as always, more understanding than I thought they would be. I told them that I was thinking about going back on the meds but how I really didn't want to go back on them for exactly the same reasons that some people who clearly need them don't want to take them either - I didn't want to NEED them.

R came home from work and I told him about the day and, y'all, I just love that man. He gets it. He tagged in, made dinner and put the kids to bed. I know that I am probably not an easy person to love. I do think I'm a terrific person to know. I'm hilarious. I would be friends with me. I should love hanging out with myself.

But it's really only recently that I've started talking to people (my vast readership included) about what I call The Sad Me. But I don't want you to confuse The Sad Me with My Dark Side, cuz I actually kinda like that part of me, my Inner BadAss. She's a hoot.

So that night I decided that I would start meds the next day. And I did.

And I even went to my new knitting class and enjoyed it. Learned several things, in fact. And I'm not the greenest knitter in the class, which is comforting.

Sunday night, however, I didn't sleep at all, and I'll use this word again - LITERALLY.

At about 3:30am, after I'd watched informercials for The Magic Bullet on two different channels (these are the times when I wish I had cable), I just started to sob uncontrollably. I didn't want to wake R up. He needed to sleep. I laid there wishing I had a Middle of the Night Friend that I could call, but I don't. I think I'm a few other people's Middle of the Night Friend, and I am happy to be that for other people, but I just was overcome by the sense that I had absolutely no one I could call and cry to at that moment who would understand. The thought did enter my head to call my parents, but what parent doesn't instantly panic when they get a phone call from their daughter at 3:30am? I didn't want to do that to them.

If there had been a 24-hour inpatient facility I could think of anywhere within driving distance (and if I could have somehow arranged child care), I would have packed a bag, driven however many miles, and checked myself in.

It was THAT BAD.

Monday, I called my therapist, whose name, coincidentally, is Penny. I haven't been to talk to her since I started blogging. Blogging is waaaay cheaper. (Now don't you feel used? Sorry.)

And I wanted to blog during this whole time, but none of the things I normally like to do sounded like fun to me. I tried to work on my knitting project for my class and I kept knitting my stitches really tight so I quit. I knew I was still in the middle of a dark cloud and I thought I could write about it better when I was on the other side of it.

Y'know what helps when your therapist can't fit you in until four weeks from now? Get a great haircut, and watch Dr. Katz. I love that show.

So here we are, Day Four back on Wellbutrin XL. I'll probably never sleep again, but I did manage to give up caffeine with the exception of the occasional cup of hot tea, so I'm hoping that this side effect will subside eventually. And it's not like I was sleeping much before anyway.

If you've made it through to the end of this post, you may now apply to be my Middle of the Night Friend. There will be a talent competition, an interview, and a written essay which must contain appropriate usage of the word "literally".

And, in the event of a tie, the winner will be selected by either a swimsuit competition or a shoot-out. Perhaps I'll toss a coin.

Or perhaps a shoot-out in swimsuits. Yes. That's it.