Distoomia … Distompico … Dysthymia … Something Like That

Posted by ches@writes4attention.com In: Depression No comments

It’s subjectively official! I’m the most inconsistent blogger ever! Woo-hoo!

Given my previous posts about depression, perhaps someone out there thought I offed myself. While I did indeed research the most lethal trajectory of a bullet through the brain and the minimum distance for a successfully fatal fall, I continue to take all necessary intermediate breaths between my first and my last.

Turns out, I have dysthymia or chronic depression. It’s milder than major depression, but longer in duration. We’re talking a lifetime here. Dysthymia often leads to periods of major depression which is called “double depression.” That’s a bit overkill, don’t you think?

I take fluoxetine now (aka generic Prozac) and it, coupled with ongoing therapy, has made all the difference. If I could marry a drug, it would be fluoxetine. Every night, before I swallow it, I passionately lick that little pill.

No, I don’t. That’s just weird.

Here’s a mood chart that I started on September 26th, 2013:

The significant upticks began around five weeks of medication. It has a cumulative effect. There’s a little dip there at the end, it’s been a hard couple of weeks, but nothing to worry about.

There seem to be two components to this monster: emotional and cognitive. They say depression is caused by a combination of genetic and environmental factors. To the uninitiated, I suppose that translates into “a pussy with mommy/daddy issues,” but it’s so much more complicated that. Those who think that the depressed should just “get over it” should be maimed with a crowbar to the knee and denied crutches. See how they get over that.

(Okay, okay. No, they shouldn’t. Peace and love and all that jazz.)

I go to therapy to work on my cognitive issues — low self-esteem, negative thoughts, general paranoia — but the meds keep the emotional issues at bay. It’s surreal to still think “I suck” while not feeling one way or the other about it.

Alas, I’m tired of talking about depression. I must focus on something I love even more than fluoxetine.

Writing.

Sorry, fluoxetine. We’ll always have Paris.

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