[+] Eugene at Paradoxy linked this personality test thingy, whereupon I found out that I am a Reserved Inventor. w00t.

[+] According to my pencilling professor, I need to work on my drawing skills. According to my painting professor, Professor #1's out of his mind and I need to show him the stuff I did for painting class. Who should I believe, I wonder?

Frankly it probably has a lot to do with the way the projects for each class worked. For the pencilling class it was all pencil and ink work with pretty straightforward project mandates. Do this, this way, in two weeks. With the painting projects I felt like I had more creative agency; I was working with paint and color and mixed media and all sorts of new and interesting things, and my technical skill wasn't as important as my ability to get the story across. I enjoyed the projects more because I was more interested in them, and thus, they tended not to suck as much as the boilerplate just-meet-the-critera-dammit stuff I turned in for pencilling.

[+] Spring quarter classes start tomorrow. Oddly, this is the second quarter I've been at AIUA that I've had all female teachers. Given that I'm majoring in a department with only one female teacher, it's sort of impressive.

[+] I have made a promise to myself that I will NOT crush madly on one of my classmates. I mostly expect to break this within two weeks, maximum, because it's sort of a stupid promise to make anyway. After all, if I had any control in the matter it wouldn't be a problem in the first place.

[+] I talked about my meds with my shrink at my last appointment, and told him about a growing suspicion I had that they were flattening my creative drive.

Lexapro (and SSRIs in general) have a really short half-life; it doesn't remain in your system for more than about twenty-six hours or so. I'd noticed before that if I accidentally missed a dose, I would crash into a sobby depressed puddle approximately a day and a half later.

I'd also noticed over the past quarter that I did my best work after about one a.m. through about eight in the morning. I pulled seven allnighters because I couldn't get the work done any other time, and then just slept during the day between classes. If I tried working during the day, I just couldn't find the motivation to get the creative work done. This is relevant because I also take my pill at night, usually before I sleep, so I don't have to deal with it making me nauseous. So in other words, one a.m. was just about when the Lexapro was beginning to fade from my system.

Based on just my knowledge of my own mental states, I'd figured that Lexapro does, in fact, cushion my depressive lows, but on the flip side it also damps my natural highs. It had an overall numbing effect, which was probably helpful during that initial re-coming-out shit with my parents but isn't quite so beneficial in the long run.

My guess, then, is that the Lexapro was interfering with all the complex motivations and emotions that go into my creative state. I need to be able to feel my own emotions to be able to work effectively.

So the compromise now is that I'm on a half dose of the Lexapro for a trial run, to see if the effect is ameliorated, and if it seems to be lingering on, perhaps a switch to yet another antidepressant. I'd thought about Wellbutrin, since I know a couple of creative-type friends that have had decent experiences with it, but since I also have a particular insomniac disorder and one of bupropion's main side effects is insomnia, that might have to be defaulted. The doctor suggested Effexor or Cymbalta as possible replacements; I still need to do my research on those.

So far, on just a few day's lowered dose, I've noticed a greater variation in my moods. Granted, it's not necessarily the best time to measure the effect since I'm also on my period at the moment, so chemicals are swirling about madly at any rate. I have been drawing more lately, and feeling more creative, but I think it's too early to tell whether it's wishful thinking or not.

Labels: art, medication, school

Mom still hates Teh Gay and wants me to "reconsider" and "not pigeonhole [my]self." (Only she is allowed to do that, apparently.)

She now blames and hates my college and doesn't really like Maureen much either. I have come to the conclusion that my love for something is inversely proportional for her love for it.

She pulled out the "maybe [I] just haven't met the right man yet" line. I have to wonder how many men I would have to meet before she would concede that there isn't a right one. She also did the whole "you'll trust those... women on the Internet over your own parents?" routine. I thought about asking her why she trusts what James Dobson or some other straight man says about my sexual orientation over what I say about it.

At that point, though, I'd sort of stopped responding. She doesn't want answers; to her, they're rhetorical questions. I'm not supposed to actually disagree with the implicit sentiments.

The whole conversation started when she asked how I was doing on the meds and asked me if I thought I was happier, and I tried to explain that it was really being in the closet that does me in mentally. Mom didn't like my characterization of it that way, preferring the idea that Teh Gay was responsible for my depression instead of her reaction to it, and it kind of went downhill from there.

Also, she asked me to get rid of the LEZ shirt. I didn't respond, and currently, I have not thrown it out. Frankly, it's a freaking t-shirt, and I've worn in public maybe three times; mostly I sleep in it because it's a comfortable shirt. She's taken it to symbolize my entire "rebellion," and tossing it would be implicitly conceding that there is something shameful about what it represents.

Mom wishes I could go to the ex-gay-proponent dude I talked to on the phone. I can only thank God he lives in a different state, and that she doesn't find one of those Exodus boot camps, one of which is located in our state.

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I still hate taking medication. Lexapro is having just about the same effect Zoloft did, minus the weird heart palpitations. In particular, it makes me nauseous while I'm driving, which is bad. If I have to try one more SSRI I'm going to actually go nuts.

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I miss having a real journal and website. One of these days I may set up a (better-protected, with better pseudonyms, unlinked to my site) journal somewhere.

Labels: medication, Teh Gay

Well, this will probably be my last real Internet access until I get back to school-- I brought Hans back to Broceliande yesterday and I'm supposed to head back to Terabil tomorrow, weather permitting (and believe me, I'm hoping it rains). My computer is staying packed in its box until I leave for school because my mom gives me the evil eye whenever I so much as approach the computer, and has begun to refer to the Internet as a "cesspool of filth and smut." I might possibly be able to hop online and check email if she's out running errands or whatever during the day, but don't count on it.

Anyway, as things stand now:

[+] I hate the pills and told the psych during our last (extremely banal) session that if they were still having the same side effects (nausea, emotional deadness, etc.) by Christmas I was quitting and trying something non-pharmaceutical for once.

[+] My mom seems to believe that the psych is no longer needed now that I'm on meds and presumably "taken care of," and didn't attend the session she was supposed to. So much for her willingness to change.

[+] I still don't know if they ever informed my brother, who is now at college, of the proceedings. I'm of half a mind to tell him myself. Oh well.

[+] Terabil sucks.

Labels: family, home, medication

I think what bothered me most about the psych appointment was how fast he was to prescribe antidepressants.

My mom maintains that Zoloft made me "happy" and "sweet" and "positive," and there is very little I can say to the contrary that will convince her otherwise because the points at which I started and stopped taking them were so tied to events. I keep trying to explain that what made my mood lift was not having to lie and hide anymore, but she persists in thinking that it was the Z because it's a simpler explanation that suggests a simple solution to this time.

I also tried to explain to the doctor that I didn't like being on the meds, that besides the physical side effects they made me feel emotionally numb. Sure I couldn't feel bad enough to want to hurt myself, but I couldn't really feel good either. I couldn't really feel much at all; I sort of wandered around feeling detached all the time. Even when I did feel angry or happy it was like I was sitting back watching someone else feel something. I ended up what Hans calls "Cardboard (me)". Now I've been on Lexapro a grand total of two days, and not only is it already making me nauseous and giving me headaches, it's already deadening my moods and generally making me feel even worse.

Seriously, these things fuck around with your BRAIN. Who the hell knows what kind of long-term effect that'll have? It's already been noticed anecdotally, and I can corroborate this from experience, that SSRIs can be habit-forming. That bothered me enough to want to get off the Zoloft in the first place.

And I felt BETTER once it was out of my system. I could feel HAPPY again. I could feel sad too, but anything was better than feeling nothing at all.

I already know that when I go back to the psych and mention that it's having the same effects, side and main, he'll probably feed me some line of crap about "adjusting the dosage" and "allowing up to eight weeks for it to take effect." I feel like he's just throwing pills at the problem and hoping it'll work without him having to put forth too much effort.

You know what I think would work? I think that someone actually bothering to LISTEN to me about my own fucking life once in a while would be nice, and it wouldn't require cramming me full of ersatz serotonin for the comfort of everyone else.

Labels: depression, family, medication