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ravenPreviously on Raven's Exciting Life, she was trying very hard not to fall into traffic. I am pleased to report that this did not transpire, that frosty cold weather is very uplifting, so is shepherding your forever directionally-challenged mother around London on one of the last weekends before Christmas, and surprisingly, SSRIs can be kinder and sweeter on your body than they seem to be on TV.
It's funny, the difference a week can make. This time last week I was tending towards the entirely-insane, and thank you, you people who were calming and soothing and threatened to pick me up and carry me to the doctor's themselves. Thank you. Because, I went, and my GP said, well. If they make you feel this bad, and you actually are this ridiculously stubborn and bloody-minded (note: she did not actually say this; she merely looked at me in a resigned sort of a way) then maybe I'd better just come off every drug I was on and we could see how that went. So I went home and didn't take my pills. On Thursday, I went to school. I went to a criminal law class where the main theme was the murders, assaults and rapes that are committed by depressed people, and I was angry, but fine. And on Thursday night![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jacinthsong and I rolled up to OULES on a tipsy cloud of joy. (OULES, for those new to the party - the Oxford amateur drama group that has, in its own special way, eaten me and spat me out in its own, gin-drinking, bad-punning, raucously-singing image.) The Michalemas pantomime was Beauty and the Beast, complete with mysterious men in black and a Belle who engages in genetic engineering on the side and a Beast who was, I believe, supposed to be, er, beastly. Unfortunately it was played by sccye, who was all pretty and furry and said "raaargh!" a lot, which led to the audience all exclaiming "Awww!" whenever he came on, much to his distinct chagrin. In short, it was a delight. And then jacinthsong and I, who are respectfully employed and respectfully postgraduate respectively, did not go to the cast party but went home, ate an entire fruit strudel and went to bed early. Ah, my advancing years.
And so to the weekend, wherein I went to school again, went to London, and met my parents, who are on good form, if mostly looking like surprised deep-sea fishermen at the Christmas lights and people and shoppers and other things one does not generally find in hospitals. (My mother is at it again: on our way out, she asked me, or at least thought to ask me, have you taken the water bottle. Unfortunately, what came out was, "Have you taken the blood?" She later explained it with "It's an important fluid! It's the same thing!" I still think she's working too hard.
And, later, she got lost, she reported. She was supposed to be walking to Euston, and asking policemen and going on abortive detours and at one point, asking what she described as, "A man in a funny costume. A funny hat. And a pipe. He said I should get the number 27 bus."
"Man in a funny hat," I said. "Were you by any chance on Baker Street?"
Apparently my mother is the only person in the world who can ask Sherlock Holmes for directions and still be lost.)
And so we get to Sunday, and there are no traces of either fluoxetine or citalopram left in my body. And my god, I can tell. I have my short-term memory back. I'm not sleeping every hour the universe sends. And, er, I had the usual, er, disagreement with my mother over the weekend ("No, I am not fat. Look, really. I'm not. See, my jeans fit. See, you can put two fingers between the denim and my hips. No, I do not need to 'bring myself in hand!'") and managed not to say, um, I have been on appetite-suppressant drugs for five months, but now I want to eat. I actually do feel fatter, but I suspect that's my body reacting to such horrors as bread and pasta and cheese and lentils and all the other things it ritually disdained for all that time. Mmmm, food. I like it. In short, I am smarter, hungrier and perkier. If I get depressed again, I get depressed again. In the meantime, my braaaain, how I missed you, darling. I am glad, also, to have been spared the discontinuation effects. Long half-life, I guess, or just me being bloody-minded.
(The only side-effect that hasn't vanished has been my Technicolor dreamscape; I might get used to that, in time, complete with melodramatic thrashing about and creaking bedsprings. We shall see.)
And so, and so. In other news, I have a baby-dissertation supervisor - who thinks I have a topic that could actually work and be interesting and topical and other such things - and I have all the homework in the world to be catching up on, but am feeling zen about it, because I can catch up, I will not fail all my exams. Things to do over the next week include said homework, going to a few pro bono meetings and applying for jobs, which will need me to do something about my crazed-dilletante CV, but yes. Am working on all of that. And enjoying being awake, too.
And in yet other news: still haven't started![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide fic. Several pages of Merlin/Arthur pr0n progressing nicely.
edit: Also! Was in London, saw this dress. Fell in love. Do not have money, do need not another dress. But... love. I wish to record my love.
It's funny, the difference a week can make. This time last week I was tending towards the entirely-insane, and thank you, you people who were calming and soothing and threatened to pick me up and carry me to the doctor's themselves. Thank you. Because, I went, and my GP said, well. If they make you feel this bad, and you actually are this ridiculously stubborn and bloody-minded (note: she did not actually say this; she merely looked at me in a resigned sort of a way) then maybe I'd better just come off every drug I was on and we could see how that went. So I went home and didn't take my pills. On Thursday, I went to school. I went to a criminal law class where the main theme was the murders, assaults and rapes that are committed by depressed people, and I was angry, but fine. And on Thursday night
jacinthsong and I rolled up to OULES on a tipsy cloud of joy. (OULES, for those new to the party - the Oxford amateur drama group that has, in its own special way, eaten me and spat me out in its own, gin-drinking, bad-punning, raucously-singing image.) The Michalemas pantomime was Beauty and the Beast, complete with mysterious men in black and a Belle who engages in genetic engineering on the side and a Beast who was, I believe, supposed to be, er, beastly. Unfortunately it was played by sccye, who was all pretty and furry and said "raaargh!" a lot, which led to the audience all exclaiming "Awww!" whenever he came on, much to his distinct chagrin. In short, it was a delight. And then jacinthsong and I, who are respectfully employed and respectfully postgraduate respectively, did not go to the cast party but went home, ate an entire fruit strudel and went to bed early. Ah, my advancing years. And so to the weekend, wherein I went to school again, went to London, and met my parents, who are on good form, if mostly looking like surprised deep-sea fishermen at the Christmas lights and people and shoppers and other things one does not generally find in hospitals. (My mother is at it again: on our way out, she asked me, or at least thought to ask me, have you taken the water bottle. Unfortunately, what came out was, "Have you taken the blood?" She later explained it with "It's an important fluid! It's the same thing!" I still think she's working too hard.
And, later, she got lost, she reported. She was supposed to be walking to Euston, and asking policemen and going on abortive detours and at one point, asking what she described as, "A man in a funny costume. A funny hat. And a pipe. He said I should get the number 27 bus."
"Man in a funny hat," I said. "Were you by any chance on Baker Street?"
Apparently my mother is the only person in the world who can ask Sherlock Holmes for directions and still be lost.)
And so we get to Sunday, and there are no traces of either fluoxetine or citalopram left in my body. And my god, I can tell. I have my short-term memory back. I'm not sleeping every hour the universe sends. And, er, I had the usual, er, disagreement with my mother over the weekend ("No, I am not fat. Look, really. I'm not. See, my jeans fit. See, you can put two fingers between the denim and my hips. No, I do not need to 'bring myself in hand!'") and managed not to say, um, I have been on appetite-suppressant drugs for five months, but now I want to eat. I actually do feel fatter, but I suspect that's my body reacting to such horrors as bread and pasta and cheese and lentils and all the other things it ritually disdained for all that time. Mmmm, food. I like it. In short, I am smarter, hungrier and perkier. If I get depressed again, I get depressed again. In the meantime, my braaaain, how I missed you, darling. I am glad, also, to have been spared the discontinuation effects. Long half-life, I guess, or just me being bloody-minded.
(The only side-effect that hasn't vanished has been my Technicolor dreamscape; I might get used to that, in time, complete with melodramatic thrashing about and creaking bedsprings. We shall see.)
And so, and so. In other news, I have a baby-dissertation supervisor - who thinks I have a topic that could actually work and be interesting and topical and other such things - and I have all the homework in the world to be catching up on, but am feeling zen about it, because I can catch up, I will not fail all my exams. Things to do over the next week include said homework, going to a few pro bono meetings and applying for jobs, which will need me to do something about my crazed-dilletante CV, but yes. Am working on all of that. And enjoying being awake, too.
And in yet other news: still haven't started
yuletide fic. Several pages of Merlin/Arthur pr0n progressing nicely.edit: Also! Was in London, saw this dress. Fell in love. Do not have money, do need not another dress. But... love. I wish to record my love.
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no subject
on 2008-12-08 01:11 am (UTC)&&& Merlin is still amazing.
no subject
on 2008-12-08 05:46 am (UTC)not that i am qualified, at all, but i would suggest continuing any type of cognitive therapy that you have going on. if the medicine is not helping, and you feel better without it, then by god and all means, please do not take it. (as stated, this is what i found when i was on medication: it helped a few things, and hindered/harmed most others.)
but the trend seems to be that talking helps. at any rate, whatever it is that you're doing that's working.. continue it, and notice what you're doing to cope with any shitty situations you may have going on-- or when you have any sort of 'episode,' take a note of what you do to successfully get through it. for a lot of people, it's just a matter of working out some suitable coping mechanism.
as always, good luck, and hope to see you continue to do better. :)
no subject
on 2008-12-08 05:48 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-08 08:02 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-08 11:26 am (UTC)I am glad that coming off the pills have helped; particularly in terms of you eating and sleeping in reasonable measures, all these things are both good and reasonable.
MERLIN/ARTHUR FTW. I watched it this weekend in a room full of geeks who hadn't seen it before; within twenty minutes they had decided that Arthur was indeed Merlin's One True Love. I suspect the vodka and beer helped, but still...
no subject
on 2008-12-08 02:19 pm (UTC)Also - On Thursday, I went to school. I went to a criminal law class where the main theme was the murders, assaults and rapes that are committed by depressed people, and I was angry, but fine. - arg. *cuddles* I would have... yes. Been angry too, I suspect.
no subject
on 2008-12-08 03:59 pm (UTC)Also, oooh, dress. And good luck with the dissertation thing and not, er, killing anyone at your school? *sympathy and BOOZE*
no subject
on 2008-12-08 07:25 pm (UTC)I wish I could talk to your mom, seriously, for ten minutes, about the weight thing. You aren't fat, and even if you were, nagging does not fix it: all it does is screw up body images and dietary choices. I'm sure she's just doing it because she loves you, and wants you to be beautiful as you can be. I'm a mom, I do understand. But she has to let go of that, and soon. *hugs you*
no subject
on 2008-12-08 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-08 07:57 pm (UTC)Bread and pasta and cheese are all good. I rather want pasta with cheese sauce now, which is a shame, since I'm not going to get it. But being able to eat, and enjoy food, is a very very good thing.
Also, you wrote fic. This also is a good thing, and it was good fic. *g*
no subject
on 2008-12-09 04:55 pm (UTC)(Merlin! <3!)
no subject
on 2008-12-09 05:02 pm (UTC)I will definitely bear in mind what you say re: therapy. My Therapist Dude is excellent, and I will try to stick with it.
ps. I believe in commas, I do, I do.
no subject
on 2008-12-09 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-09 05:06 pm (UTC)Coming off pills double-plus good - Merlin SO GREAT. I have two more episodes to see, and then I'm caught up. Oh, I love them.
no subject
on 2008-12-09 11:06 pm (UTC)The depressed-people-commit-crimes thing is a bit of a problem, I must admit. Because it's very good practice for baby lawyers, but it does get very annoying and tedious.
no subject
on 2008-12-09 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-10 02:03 pm (UTC)*hugs right back atcha* My mum's a bit odd on the topic, it must be said. She herself is a perfectly healthy weight for her size, but insists that she isn't, and ought to eat less when she already eats like a bird. I go home in a week - I imagine I'll be cooking for her quite a bit! :)
no subject
on 2008-12-10 02:04 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-10 02:04 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-10 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-11 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-19 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-12-22 03:47 pm (UTC)