Quinn looking frizzy-haired in the park

Uhhh......I'm on drugs but now its different

Earlier today from Facebook:

just learned that a small number of people get a big rush from SSRIs right away. I think I'm one of them. So maybe it's not all in my head! Whee! I've had no caffine today but I'm more hyper than when I did! Of course, hyper for me might be normal for you.

Right now, I seem to be crashing. Maybe I'm just more sensitive to sleep deprivation now? Want nap nap nap, but Quinn, possibly because he woke up so late because he was up in the night (again), isn't napping. Speech therapy in 30-40 min here at home. Must rest rest rest...

Got permission from doctor to try Benadryl for sleepless Quinn. Hope it helps.

I'm still on drugs

OK, I'm going to have to write more about this experience later. It's been about 14 hours and I'm still feeling it. Maybe I'm imagining things or maybe I'm super-sensitive to this stuff.

Should I really be blogging all this? It is by far the most interesting experience I've had in a while.

Feelin' OK.

Let's see if that wakefulness side effect will happen to me...

A Theory on how Sertraline works

Sertraline makes you hyper, lowers the anxiety that you'll mess something up, and makes everything equally interesting so you figure you might as well do the interesting to-do item because it's just as interesting as the other interesting things you might otherwise do. Whee!

UPDATE: I'm feeling more normal now. The tingle is still there, but I have less urge to type "Whee!".

I'm on drugs!

Well. I'm feeling quite a bit different today. I started feeling better last night while playing D&D minis. At first it was very bad. I was in Games of Berkeley, staring at the new minis that had come in, and thinking "This won't give me any pleasure. I might as well not buy them." But then I thought I'd feel stupid hanging out with everyone who was enjoying the new minis if I didn't have any of my own. So I bought some and played a game. I lost, but it was a good game and it got me feeling normal, like myself again. I also had a good conversation with my friend Paul, who was kind enough to check up on me after reading my "blanket of lead" post.

This morning Quinn is going back to school, having recovered sufficiently from his eye boogers (with the help of antibiotic drops) that he should no longer be eye booger contagious. I also took my first half dose (25 mg) of Sertraline, the generic version of Zoloft, this morning. (Holy fucking shit: in 2007, almost 30 million people in the United States were on this drug. That's like 10% of the country.) It may be all in my head, but I'm definitely feeling some effects: there's an overall hyperness and jitteryness (it could be the cup of coffee), a lack of introspection, some slight tingling on the pinky side of my right hand. Rather weird, I must say. I'm certainly not feeling like a blanket of lead or frustrated, which is nice. But I don't think my writing is as good, either. I have the urge to write very simple, straightforward, declarative sentences, devoid of poetic ornamentation. Of course, maybe that will make my writing better.

Not looking forward to the possible negative sexual side effects, but depression has definite negative sexual side effects so I guess that's a risk I'm willing to take. I'm utterly convinced that that previous sentence would have been written better were I not on this drug. This is very strange: it feels like my Internal Monologue is queiter, that I'm more directly connected to the outside world. It feels like I'm out of my head a bit, which is very unusual for me.

Well, the whole point of this is to be able to get more work done, so off I go...

Blanket o' Lead

It seems my rage and anxiety over Quinn's cold and the amount of time I have to spend caring for him has given way to a dull, gray, dead feeling. It's like a blanket of lead has fallen over everything. Quinn wont be able to go to school tomorrow. He's got boogers coming out of his eyes and needs antibiotic drops for 24 hours before he can go back. I'll have to spend most of another day taking care of him. I'm not pissed. I'm just sort of reacting like how I imagine a stupid cow might react: Slowly, not really caring much about anything. It's sort of a hopeless, resigned feeling. Like my body is going into autopilot or semi-hibernation until this shit is over. (But when will that be? Never.) I can feel my reaction time blunting: when my senses receive a new stimulus, my first reaction isn't "What was that?" but more "Oh God, should I even bother?" This really isn't like me. I can still "pass", and with effort carry on phone conversations, do uncomplicated household tasks, do all the Quinn stuff, and fulfill the daily routines of life. But it sort of feels like I'm operating myself by remote control. And that I'm not a particularly fun toy to operate. Again, feelings do come through. But they're strangely muted. It's just too much effort to get worked up about anything.

I'm seeing a doctor tomorrow morning. Or rather, a physician's assistant. Let's see what modern pharmacology has to offer.

Quinn built this all by himself!

Quinn re-enacts a scene from "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing"

In case you're not familiar with the book, in it, the main character, a 9-year-old, thinks she is being unkind to her annoying 2-year-old brother when she gives him a box of tissues for his birthday rather than a real present. But the little boy is delighted and declares the tissues the best present he received!

Depression

This is not a post about the economy.

Being depressed doesn't mean I can't feel pleasure. I seem to be able to feel pleasure and enjoy the things I've always enjoyed. It's just that pleasure has no afterglow: once the positive experience is over, the funk slams down like anvil. ("Funk slams down" sounds like a groovy '70's tune. Trust me: it's not. The only 70's music I'm grooving on right now is Pink Floyd's "The Wall", which cannot be a positive indicator of mental health. Not entirely true: Keith Jarret's solo concerts are also a great comfort and solace.)

Anyway, remedies pharmacological (SSRIs) and logistical (get a nanny so I don't have to deal with him as much) are under consideration.

[end iPhone composed portion of post.]

I didn't realize that being told by my therapist that I was showing signs of depression would have such a big impact on me. It certainly didn't come a surprise: anyone who's read this blog or followed my Facebook updates may be wondering why it's taken me so long to put the obvious label on it. And any of the stressors I've been going through (unemployment, child permanently mentally retarded, purchasing and renovating a home) are on their own enough to drive someone into mental illness. It's not like things suddenly got worse last Thursday when I talked to my therapist. But I certainly feel worse. I feel not like myself. I don't know if its the impact of being told I'm showing signs (albeit mild ones) of a bonna-fide DSM mental illness that is making me feel like crap, or that being told I'm showing symptoms of depression has given me permission to feel as shitty as I've wanted to feel all along.

The thought of spending time with my son makes my chest tighten.

So, what exactly have I been experiencing?

• Pleasureable experiences don't leave any lasting impression on my mood
• I'm easily panicked and overwhelmed by seemingly small tasks that trigger anxiety or insecurity (this has been a problem for me for a long time, but has gotten worse recently).
  
• I find I need my pleasures in a very visceral way, the way I imagine a drug user might need them. I need them to ward off other things.
• I'm very moody and irritable. I'm not used to feelings of rage and helplessness on such a frequent basis.
• Difficulty understanding what my wife says: I'm saying "what?" and "huh?" a lot. It might be an actual hearing problem. But more likely it's just because I'm escaping to alternate imaginary worlds as much as possible in an effort to get some peace, control, and solace. Or maybe it's because I don't particularly want to hear what she's saying, for fear it will be some request involving Quinn or otherwise disturbing me.
  

Of course, a lot of this may simply be sleep deprivation: Quinn has woken up at 3:30 am every night for the past 3 nights or so.

My therapist tells me that anecdotally, about 75% of couples raising a special needs child have one of the parents go into depression some time in the first three years. She also said that it's usually the woman. But I think Sarah is dispositionally unsuited for the role of depressive. Which is not to say that all this isn't incredibly hard for her.

Let's see if I can get some sleep...

UPDATE: No.

Mommy & Quinn at the beach

Ahh, a much needed vacation. A change of context does wonders for the
harried mind.