2 posts tagged “depression”
My doctor called yesterday with the results from my exciting night at the sleep clinic, and, man, did he have some disturbing/not-at-all surprising news for me. According to my data, I have "severe" sleep problems, to which I say, "DUH." I don't have sleep apnea, which I figured, since I don't snore, making me an excellent travel companion; remember that should you plan any trips to Belize or Honduras in the near future. Anyway, my doctor threw so many numbers my way and I couldn't write them down fast enough; I did, though, manage to retain a couple fun facts:
- My sleep is highly fragmented. I averaged 19 arousals per hour, with 241 total brief arousals.
- I woke up several other times, too -- about 300 times in all over the course of the night.
- It took me 119 minutes to fall into REM sleep; 61:40 is the normal amount of time to get to this stage of sleep.
- I spent about 13 minutes in REM sleep. The norrmal time for adults is 90 to 120 minutes.
After quickly sharing my data, my doctor concluded, "Well, it's no wonder that you feel tired all the time -- you're not sleeping!"
Shit. You don't say.
Doctor Obvious said I need to go in for a follow-up with the sleep doctor; the earliest I can get in is three days before I move back to Florida, in mid-October. The cause of my insomnia could be the particular prescription drug(s) I'm taking or possibly my depression. Hmm, that's just great...I can't sleep because I'm depressed, and yet, I'm depressed because I can't sleep.
I'm trying to get my antidepressants changed (I'm taking 20mg of Lexapro daily); my best friend, my therapist, and now my PCP have suggested a change and I'm starting to think they're right. I'm not really feeling "better" after taking it for six weeks -- if anything, I'm just really numb. The other night, Barbara Walters had a tear-jerker interview with Terri Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter's widow. I couldn't cry. Keep in mind that, previously, I have cried during the Olympics, basketball games, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and countless other really pathetic things. After a really fun sushi dinner with friends the other night, the first thing I thought when we parted ways was, "God, it was nice to feel something." It was brief and I've been so deflated lately -- I'd like to figure out how to hang on to that non-deflated (I guess that would be inflated) feeling.
I'm finishing up my coffee here and getting ready to take my dog Foxy (also known as my foxy dog) down to the farmer's market for some more coffee. Foxy loves going down there because she gets a ton of attention (she's pretty cute) and I love going there because it's something to do. Weekends stress me out. I know that's antithesis to the purpose of The Weekend, but holy crap, what am I supposed to do with myself from 5pm on Friday until 7am on Monday? I miss being in college because at least then I had homework to occupy my time. Now, I have what? Fixing my bike? Going to the gym for a couple hours? Killing time until Monday?
My therapist (yeah, that's right; that's the kind of person I am -- might as well lay it all out there) said that it's important that I plan things. I'm digging out of a deep depression right now and trying to get over my insomnia; two weeks ago I decided that I need a big life change, and so I'm moving back to Florida from Montana. Anyway, so I think I may cook dinner with some of my friends tonight. That would be good for me. I've kind of pulled away from them in the last few weeks because I've been so down. I need to "get over myself", as much as I loathe that phrase. I especially liked the episode of The Sopranos where Edie Falco's character said "what does that even mean?" when her son said the phrase to her. The Sopranos is the perfect television show.
So, anyway, I used to blog regularly on Blogger, but I haven't since I moved back to Montana in April. I can't write when I'm depressed, which I realize means that I can never be A Serious Writer (what would Hemingway be without depression?). But I need to start writing again and I need to get over this hole that I'm in. I've just got to suck it up and Do It. My deepest apologies for me feeling sorry for myself. If you don't like it, don't read it. It's just that easy. Keep in mind that I am trying to make a concerted effort, though, not to be Debbie Downer.
