Last week the doctor prescribed me antidepressants. The week before I'd been ill. It started with a sudden headache on my birthday, a Saturday, which presented like a migraine – nausea, sensitivity to light, etc. – but it hung around for 12 days in total. I went to the doctor on the Monday, who expressed surprise that I didn't have any pain meds on repeat. I'm not one of these people who guzzle pain meds. If I took a painkiller every time I felt pain I'd be some sort of addict or dead by now. So, the doc gave me Imigran, but it didn't make any difference and the headache lingered on until it went away of its own accord.
But, besides the headache, I got an upset stomach on Tuesday night/ Wednesday morning, and it was so bad I couldn't leave the house, as I had to run to the loo ever few minutes or risk having an accident. I had to call in sick to work, something I really didn't want to do, as I've had a lot of sick days recently, what with one thing or another. I'd had a 1-2-1 with my boss the week before and my attendance was discussed. He's fully aware of my health situation, but he thinks HR may refer me to Occupational Health, even if there's nothing they can do for me. I asked him to look into the possibility of my working from home now and again, which he said he'd do. It would certainly take the pressure off me on the days when I can barely get out of bed or am too dizzy or wobbly to safely drive there. I don't like taking time off work. As a single woman living alone, I am solely responsible for supporting myself. I don't have a safety net to catch me when things get really bad, and I'm worried that I might lose my job if I take too many sick days. In these uncertain times, it's not a risk I want to take. But sometimes I don't have a choice and I was off work for the rest of the week.
On the Sunday I worked myself up into a state. I got a birthday card from my cousin – a week late(!) We used to be close and see each other regularly, but that's changed over the last couple of years. She has her family, a heavy workload and her own health issues to worry about and they keep her pretty busy. I understand that, but I'm an only child and she's the closest thing I have to a sister. My parents are alive, but estranged and, from all accounts, in poor health. I have friends, but I don't want to be a burden to anyone, so I keep my own counsel and when things get really bad I tend to cut myself off from everyone around me. Everyone except my Twitter chums, who are privy to all my woes.
I went to tackle the pile of washing up in the kitchen sink, which had been mounting up since the Wednesday, and I burst into tears. I cried on and off for about an hour, as the realisation of just how alone I am overwhelmed me. I can't remember ever feeling quite so isolated as I did right then. Also, the thought that I might get too sick to work and support myself financially scares me. I don't want to lose my independence or the roof over my head. I like being single and living alone – it's my choice. But sometimes it's a very lonely choice. What will I do if my MS gets so bad that I can't walk, or drive, or my optic neuritis gets so bad that I lose my vision completely? My cousin said I should apply for benefits. I explained that I'm not ill enough yet to quality for benefits, and by the time I am there probably won't be a benefit system any more, the way this Government is going!
I managed to pull myself together – crying isn't something I do very often – but the next day I burst into tears trying to decide whether to have toast or cereal for breakfast. I realised this meant I was properly depressed and it was time to get some help. I was first diagnosed with depression when I was 19, but I've never been medicated for it. I really don't enjoy taking pills unless I absolutely have to, although these days I take meds for dizziness, neuralgia and tension headaches, as well as a cod liver oil capsule to try and boost my Vitamin D intake. I made an appointment to see the doctor, who gave me a depression questionnaire to fill out. You can see it here. I scored 17 out of a possible 27, which wasn't awful, but definitely on the high side. The doc decided to start me on 10mg of citalopram and see how I got on with it. She gave me enough for 3 weeks, then I've to go back and see if there's been any improvement.
I tweeted about it when I got home and several of my Twitter chums contacted me with their own experiences and lots of support. I was told of behavioural changes I should look out for and warned not to stop taking it cold turkey, as it can have adverse side-effects. Twitter is great that way – lots of people ready to give you advice, or a kind word and a virtual hug when you need it. I love Twitter for that.
But there is a part of Twitter I don't like. The people who appear nice on the surface, but if you scratch beneath that surface you find they're not as nice as they'd have you believe. One guy I've followed for over a year has a real problem with anyone taking pills of any kind. He's one of the “I don't even take aspirin” brigade and seems to be completely lacking in empathy. He asked how I was and I gave him an honest answer. I was feeling horrible. “You always feel horrible” was his response, then he said maybe there was a legal happy pill I could take? I replied that I was on citalopram. He replied, “LOL! I've never known anyone take as many drugs as you do! Citalopram? I don't even want to know!!”
That got my back up. I don't want to have to take pills to feel better. I've resisted any kind of mood-enhancers for over 20 years. The fact that I've had to resort to antidepressants really annoys me. But I want to tackle the problem before it becomes a bigger issue. It's not about stigma – I know more people than I care to count who are on antidepressants and I don't think any less of them for it. But I'm the sort of person who likes to sort out my problems by myself. The fact that I feel so helpless and incapable is anathema to me. And this individual's complete lack of understanding or empathy was the last straw for me, so I blocked him. It's been a long time coming and I was relieved when I did it. And so, apparently, was he, as he tweeted “HA! I see Chazzy wots-her-name has blocked both of my accounts. I'm actually relieved. She was dragging me down with her constant misery...”
And he's right, I am miserable. My life has changed so much in the last year, and not for the better. I was looking at last year's diary and 12 shorts months ago I was out nearly every night, going to gigs, the pictures or out to dinner with friends. I was dating guys like it was going out of fashion and I was having lots and lots of fun. I had seemingly endless amounts of energy and, while I had my aches and pains, they didn't stop me enjoying life.
I'm not that person any more though. These days I'm permanently exhausted. I have small pockets of energy that are quickly depleted and if I push myself too hard I pay dearly for it. And my pain levels have increased to an all-time high. My feet hurt every single day. I have hypermobility in my feet, so the ligaments don't hold the bones in place properly and the bones shift out of their proper position. This makes walking very difficult at times, never mind going dancing or to the Zumba classes I used to love. I've lived with it for 12 years, when I sprained my ankle one too many times and my body decided it wasn't going to heal this particular injury. I've been treated by the Biomechanics department at the podiatry clinic, but I fall into their 15% failure rate category. They can't do very much for me, so I live with constant pain in my feet and, because my feet are sore, this has a knock-on effect on my knees and hips, which aggravates my back, which is already weak from a bad fall I had when I was 20 and sore from sitting at a computer 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Then the tension in my neck gives me headaches on an almost daily basis. It seems like a never-ending cycle of pain with very little relief, which is very exhausting.
I know there are people who are much worse off than I am – I do. I have several Twitter friends who live with much greater pain than I do and who are debilitated to a much greater degree than I am, which makes me feel bad for whingeing sometimes. Those are the people are strong, courageous souls, who are first to offer me a virtual hug and a kind word, because they understand first-hand what it's like to live with pain ever single day. I also have RL friends who live with pain or a debilitating condition. My best friend has been medically retired since she was 19 because of her epilepsy. She also has several other conditions, but she goes to the gym every day and looks the picture of health, even though she isn't. As she would say, there isn't a pound of her hanging the right way. But she doesn't let it stop her enjoying life. She also suffers from exhaustion, but she naps during the day to offset it. Without her naps she is more prone to seizures and if she pushes herself too hard she suffers for it in other ways. She also gets chronic headaches, so we have that in common. One of my fave tweeters, @GarethAveyard, tweeted the other day, “There are two old ladies on this bus, having the minor ailment equivalent of a rap-battle.” My friend and I are like that when we get together. We're barely into our 40s :-(
So, this guy annoyed me because he takes his good health for granted and is disdainful of people who need to take medication to get through each day. God forbid he is ever stricken with something that requires daily medication. Perhaps that's what it would take for him, and others like him, to realise how stupid and thoughtless their comments are. Nobody enjoys ill-health – not those who are truly ill. There are plenty of hypochondriacs out there who love to bang on about this ache and that pain, but really ill people, who have long-term chronic conditions, they generally soldier on with little or no complaint. Most only talk about their pain when it's at its worst and they're having a particularly bad day. But they're also the ones who are the first to lend their support to others who are suffering, because they have the empathy and the understanding.
I hope to be one of them some day instead of continuing to be a right misery-guts. I miss my old self. I don't like who I've become, this constant complainer. I miss the flirty, cheeky, fun side of me. It's still there, it's just buried under a mountain of worries at the moment and doesn't get to surface very often. I want the old me back. Perhaps citalopram will help restore me to my former self. I can only hope...
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