I Monday Need Tuesday A Wednesday Break Thursday From Friday Myself

saturation point. n. 1. Chemistry The point at which a substance will receive no more of another substance in solution. 2. The point at which no more can be absorbed or assimilated.

This is what MS does to me. It makes me reach my saturation point way sooner than I once did. The point at which fatigue evolves into pain because no matter how many hours I sleep they’re still not enough. The point at which I can’t stand hearing my friends talk because everything they say seems trivial and shallow compared to what’s going on in my mind. The point at which just the thought of typing a few words here drains me. Continue reading

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Downward

Tomorrow it’ll be two months since I started taking fluoxetine. I’m hoping I can catch my psychiatrist on the phone because things aren’t looking good. I’ve been feeling more and more down, and I haven’t been able to do much because I’m always so tired and when weekends come I just sleep.

As usual with depression it is hard for me to identify the feelings that are bringing me down because everything feels so mashed up inside my head. Thoughts become intricate and confusing, vision narrows, breath seems to become shorter. I cry a lot. Fatigue worsens. I forget to take my daily injection. And when my mom called last night a little tipsy from dinner and making up silly jokes, I didn’t feel like laughing. And believe me, my 67-year-old mom is the funniest sweetest thing when she drinks just a few drops of red wine and immediately starts acting like a silly drunk lady. But I’m just so out of tune.

I’m writing because I’m trying to break things down so I can make sense in case my psychiatrist wants to see me. So what is really squeezing my lungs, heart and guts and making me just want to cry?

Uselessness. Suddenly I look back and everything I did this year seems worthless. What am I going to take from my post-grad? Not a new job, by the look of it. This blog? What’s the point? Everything I read? I’m not becoming healthier or saner just because I know a lot about neurology and psychiatry. And what about next year? I’ve been thinking about projects. I want to write a book that I’ve been carrying with me since last year. And I want to write another book to raise awareness for MS. But even if I get them published, will they reach anyone? Will they make a difference? I also want to start taking my master’s in September. But I’m not sure I will be able to survive such a busy schedule, so why do I even bother? And I want to do some volunteering, but will I add anything to anyone’s life? Because, you see, I’ve been feeling. . .

. . . Unable to connect with people. Classes ended, and I will still see my class mates at least once more and we’re all friends on Facebook and all that. But in the end of the day, years will pass and no one will stay. Everyone will go about their businesses and I will be just another forgettable person they once knew briefly. Everything moves so fast and is so ephemeral. Yesterday I was thinking about relationships and unfaithfulness, and it made me so sad to realize we treat most people like objects. We come in, just take and take and take, never give anything, we play and leave the toy there. And I’m one of those people in need of so much more. Human touch. Human warmth. Deepness. Safety. Little details. But I don’t trust anyone. I’m disillusioned. And I don’t go out much because. . .

. . . MS is preventing me from being so much more. I go to work everyday and it takes all my spoons. I feel miserable because my life has become just work. I miss going out after work for a coffee or maybe dinner with my closest friends. I miss them, miss their support, miss our jokes, and I miss being there for them as well, being the loving and caring friend I suppose I used to be. But I just don’t have the energy. I sleep 9 hours on weekdays and 12 on weekends. If I don’t, I don’t function well enough in the real world. But that doesn’t leave much room for anything else, does it? And I never thought my life would become so… sterile.

I’m in the middle of the tunnel. I feel I’ve been swallowed by this darkness I didn’t see coming. I think I kept myself so busy this year in order to mask all this darkness. I feel like these two.

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Black Friday – as in sad and depressed

I really don’t know what Prozac is doing, but I cried more times this week than in the entire year.

First, I went to the hospital on Monday, only to find out that I won’t start Tysabri until January. Since mid-September I know I need a more aggressive drug than Copaxone. That’s three and a half months waiting, worrying about possible side effects and living with that little anxiety that the unknown always seems to bring.

Tuesday I received a phone call. In August I had applied for the Believe and Achieve Project, a project created by the European MS Platform aiming to give employment opportunities to MSers under 35. The position they had in Portugal had everything to do with my project in college, so I applied. I didn’t think they would call me for an interview because they would probably pick other MSers who were unemployed, which is not my case, but they did, the interview went really really well and I hoped I would have a chance. But on Tuesday they called telling me that, while I was perfect for the job and they really liked me, they ended up choosing someone who, due to limitations, would probably never get a job anymore if they didn’t give him/her that opportunity.

Now I want to make things clear. I’m happy for the person who got the job because everyone deserves a chance regardless of their limitations. But I’m confused. I have rejection issues and I think I’ve always been rejected because I’m not good enough. This was the first time I was rejected because I was too good. Fear of rejection just got worse for me. And that sense of non belonging I’ve been living with all my life was highlighted once more. I don’t feel well enough for many things, but I’m too well for others. I’m in this limbo, disconnected. Where do I belong? Some people say that the more rejections the easier it gets. But it’s not getting easier for me. I just feel like not trying anymore. That’s probably what separates the depressed and the non-depressed. Helplessness.

Then the nightmares started. I dreamed doctors told me my mother only had a week to live and I didn’t even have a chance to think about what that meant because I mobilized all my energies into trying to make that week the most comfortable it could be for my mom. Then I dreamed that I was sitting on a wall and I suddenly lost consciousness for just a second. When I regained consciousness, I was falling. And finally I dreamed I found out some nasty secrets about this guy I fancy. It’s funny because every time I see him again after some time, I get bad dreams. Last month after I saw him I dreamed my father and stepmother were getting divorced. Today was about dirty secrets. Either case, they were dreams about loss.

There’s also a funny thing that happens when people like me. Officially I won’t be filling my new job position until next year, but I’ve been in training. I ended up getting along well with one of the people I’ve been working with. Today he left for three weeks away on vacation but he left me some books of his. And while it’s great to have new stories to read, I can’t help but to feel that it’s a burden when someone likes me and cares about me.

And you’re gonna have to pardon my French now, but I think I’m seriously

fucked

up.

Fractures

How did this happen? People so far away from what brought them together, people so heavily undermined by work, distance, relationships, that they can’t find the time to tell each other how much they miss each other, how much they enjoy each other’s company.

What happened? When did I get so sick that I can’t bear the thought of stepping out of my apartment to meet someone? When did this become so permanent and self-aware that I’d rather avoid people than keep telling them how life has become for me? When did I become so disconnected it doesn’t even hurt anymore?