Why I don't keep a mood journal

One of the most common pieces of advice I hear for dealing with depression is to keep a daily mood journal. Mood journals (or diaries) are supposed to help you keep track of your mood changes and how they relate to what's going on in your life. It can help you find patterns that will allow you to make changes that may help keep your depressive episodes to a minimum. At the very least, it can help you understand your moods and your disorder better. Sounds like a really helpful therapeutic tool, doesn't it? I'm sure it is, but I won't do it.

Much like my aversion to therapy, my decision not to keep a mood journal is mostly another example of my stubbornness and unwillingness to face my disorder head-on. Yes, I acknowledge that I'm depressed and possibly even bipolar. Yes, I take my medication every day. Yes, I write about things related to my illness. Yes, I identify my depressive episodes and try to let my loved ones know that it's not them, it's me. But to make time every day to describe and analyze my mood is just too much. When I'm not having a depressive episode, I want to allow myself to pretend that I'm not sick.  I don't want to deal with my depression. I don't want to acknowledge it. And I sure as hell don't want to write about it. I don't want to live my life thinking, "today is a good day because I'm not depressed." I want to live my life thinking, "I've made a good life for myself. I love my life." Period. I want to consider my good days the "normal" ones and only think about my depression when I'm in the thick of it. The bottom line: I don't want to live my life as a Depressed Person. I want to life my life as a Person, who happens to suffer from depression.

I understand that some people don't have the luxury of ignoring their depression. I feel very fortunate that medication has worked so well for me and that my depressive episodes are now few and far between. I don't know if it will always be this way, but I am determined to take advantage of the benefits while they last. It may not be the best long-term approach to dealing with my illness, but it helps me feel normal, and isn't that all we want? To feel like everyone else? So, today I am not having a Good Day. I am having a Normal Day, and it's fantastic.

Sometimes Mind-Over-Matter is a real pain in the ass

In the past month it has become increasingly difficult for me to have an orgasm, and I don't know why. As someone who has historically had a remarkably easy time coming, this is very troubling for me. Is there something about my sex life that has become progressively unfulfilling? Certainly not. I'm having the best sex of my life with my current partners, and my weekend in Vegas was full of mind-blowing sexual encounters. But, even with all of this great sex, I've only been able to reach orgasm about 50% of the time. Masturbation has been equally as difficult, and adding a vibrator only increases the likelihood of an orgasm by a small amount. So, what's happening? Is it my anti-depressant? Many anti-depressants are known to have a negative affect on arousal and the ability to reach orgasm, but Wellbutrin - the medication I'm taking - has actually been found to have the opposite effect. When I started taking the medication, my orgasms came even easier and were more intense than ever. Besides, I've been taking this medication for over a year now and it's unlikely that it would have taken this long for this kind of side effect to develop. What, then?

One possibility is that I'm simply getting older. I'll be 38 soon, and while society still treats me like a young(ish), vivacious woman, the rules of biology still apply. Study after study has found that, as a woman ages, sexual function decreases. We don't get as aroused. We don't get as wet. We don't reach orgasm as often. These changes can start in a woman's late thirties, or sometimes even as early as their late twenties. This seems to conflict with the popular idea that women reach their sexual peak in their thirties, but that misunderstood legend could spur an entire article all on its own. Since about the age of 35 I have feared the effect aging may have on my sex life, but it still feels too soon for this to explain what's currently happening (or not happening). On to the next theory...

About a year ago, I was having a conversation with a friend about my sexual partners that touched on this very subject. "I can't figure it out. All the sex I'm having is so good, but why do I come every time with Guy A and B, but hardly ever with Guy C? I don't even really like Guy A as a person, and don't have much in common with Guy B, but Guy C is just as amazing outside of the bedroom as he is inside of it."

"I think you may have just answered your own question," was his response. "Is it possible that the very reason you come so easily with Guy A and B is that you don't really like them that much? They pose no emotional threat. But Guy C could actually turn into something real, and that's probably still very scary to you after your last relationship. Your heart isn't ready to open itself up to that possibility again, and it's affecting the way the rest of your body responds."

Fuck him for being so right on the money. I love that guy.

So, is that it? Is this still happening? Is my increasingly emotional and loving relationship with my partners - one, in particular - killing my sexual enjoyment? Isn't this the exact opposite of how women's sex drive's are supposed to work?

Fuck, I need therapy. Big time.
And no, I'm probably still not going to go get it.

Safe

How would you feel if someone you were dating told you they think you are "safe"? Your first instinct might be to feel slightly insulted. I'm more exciting than "safe," aren't I? Safe is boring. But you'd be wrong. Safe is not boring. Safe is beautiful. Providing safety to someone you love is one of the most precious gifts you can give them. Safety doesn't mean a lack of excitement. It doesn't mean a lack of adventure and spontaneity. And it most certainly does not mean a lack of passion.

Tell your partner 5 things you like about them.

We were playing a game. It was a list of questions designed for a research study that were intended to bring people closer together. We'd had a night full of adventure, and giggling, and amazing sex. Really, really amazing sex. We were exhausted, but not yet ready to go to sleep. Going to sleep would mean that our beautiful night was over, and neither of us were ready for that. If we could have stopped time, I think we would have. But, since we couldn't stop time and were too drained to make love again, this game would have to do. Besides, it wasn't often we pulled our lips apart long enough to have real conversations. We have so much more to learn about each other.

Tell your partner 5 things you like about them.

I started with something superficial. "You're incredibly handsome."  It was easier that way. Maybe I could ease into the deeper stuff. "You're an amazing lover. The best I've ever had," I continued. "You're kind-hearted..." I paused. Were there more easy answers? Would I be doing the question a disservice if I didn't reveal something more profound? "You're a positive force in my life." I felt bashful the moment I said it. "Ugh, I sound like such a hippie."

"No, I like it." He assured me with a genuine smile. "What's number 5?"

I knew what I wanted to say next, but this one felt even cheesier than the last. And more vulnerable. I hesitated and wondered if I should try to come up with something else. Something safer. Oh, the irony..."You make me feel safe."

He was silent. I wondered if I should explain, but I thought he must already get it. He knows I'm afraid. He knows I'm broken. He knows that my heart works really hard to protect itself, even when I don't want it to.

Finally, he spoke. "That makes me really happy to hear that."

He pulled me closer to him and held me tightly. Yes, he does know. He knows that, to me, safety isn't about not taking risks. On the contrary, it's only when I feel completely safe that I can take risks. I suppose that doesn't make a lot of sense. Is it really taking a risk if you already feel safe? In my case, yes. Falling in love again is an enormous risk. It's terrifying to imagine someone to having that much power over me again. The last time I truly fell in love, it almost killed me. Literally. Why would I ever put myself in that position again? What could possibly be worth risking that kind of pain?

We all know the answer to that question. Television shows and movies tell us the answer all the time: Love. Love is worth the risk. It's cheesy. Really, really cheesy. But just because it's cheesy doesn't mean it's not true. I'm so tired of the numbness. I'm tired of having to use drugs to access even a tiny portion of my real emotions. I want to take risks, I really do. I even tried to force it a few times. He seems like a nice guy, I should try falling in love with him. I even told some of them that I loved them, but it wasn't true. I wanted to love them. I wanted to be able to love them. I just couldn't.

Until now. I felt it the first night we made love. That safety. That trust. That wonderful feeling of letting down my guard. I suppose that's why I try to see him so often. I want to feel that safety. It's like a drug. It frees me.

So that's what being safe is to me. It's freedom. It's trust. And it's the most amazing feeling I've felt in a long, long time.

Self-Diagnosis

Many of the books and articles I read about depression also address bipolar disorder. Although I have not been diagnosed as bipolar, I read these sections to get a better understanding of a disease that is closely related to mine. Recently, however, I have begun to suspect that the information may apply to me more than I thought. As I've learned more about my disease, I have identified several periods of my youth that were affected by depression. These trips down memory lane have also revealed behavior that could be described as mild manic episodes. Most of these episodes were short-lived, such as a sudden, burning desire to rearrange all of the furniture in my house or staying up for 3 days straight for no reason and without the assistance of any drugs. Others may have been slightly longer, such as a period in my late twenties and early thirties when I became obsessed with filling every free moment in my calendar, often creating parties and events myself just to make sure I always had something to do. These episodes never raised any red flags because they weren't severe enough to be harmful. I usually felt happy and excited about life during them, and was often quite productive. In fact, the feelings of boldness and invincibility that come with these manic episodes may have been responsible for my entry into the world of burlesque. And I got all of this without the more severe symptoms such as paranoia and delusions.

There were some downsides, however. While I can't identify any specific occurrences, I'm quite sure that I did experience some of the irritability and anger that comes with a manic episode. Additionally, experiencing manic episodes - no matter how mild - probably made my lows feel much lower. It can also be very confusing to go from a state of mania - however mild - directly into a state of extreme depression. I believe this may be what happened in my early thirties when, after several years of stuffing my calendar with events, parties, and other social engagements, I began to feel worn out from my busy calendar. I suddenly wanted nothing to do with my social circle, and I wasn't sure why. In my search for an explanation, I nitpicked small reasons for not wanting to be around my friends, and even placed blame on a few individuals that probably didn't deserve it. The confusion of my dramatic change in perspective led to extreme loneliness, pushing me even lower into my depressive episode. 

Of course, all of this may be a little bit of hypochondria. It's common for people reading about a certain disease to believe they have it themselves. Just ask any med student. I also sometimes worry that I attribute too many of life's normal ups and downs to mood disorders, which may prevent me from addressing specific problems. These are all things that a qualified professional could help me hash out, but I am still resisting this method of treatment out of sheer laziness. At the moment, I don't feel that these issues are drastically affecting my life, so I am content to leave them unaddressed while continuing to be aware of them. It may not be the healthiest approach, but it'll do for now.

If It's Not One Thing, It's Another

Sleep is very important to me. I don't necessarily need a full 8 hours, but if I don't sleep well I can't concentrate, feel ill, and am just generally in a bad mood. An ex and I used to fight all the time because his snoring kept me awake at night, and he couldn't understand why I didn't want to spend the night with him. I need good sleep.

That's why it's so frustrating when something I need to stay mentally healthy - such as my anti-depressant - negatively affects my sleep. I saw my doctor a few weeks ago about my foot injury, and mentioned to her that I've been experiencing an excessive amount of depressive episodes lately with no identifiable trigger. She suggested that, for the depressing winter months, I increase my medication slightly. So I did. 

After about a week or two of my increased dosage, I started to notice changes. Unfortunately, they were not good ones. My anxiety levels had increased significantly. I began to worry. About anything. I fixated on small issues and turned them into big ones. I felt like none of my friends wanted to be around me. I suspected that the men I was dating were no longer interested. When I started to develop real feelings for one of them - something that deserves an entire post on its own - I went into a panic. Quite literally. The moment I sent the message suggesting we talk about our relationship, my chest tightened. My heart raced. My breathing grew faster. I'd already worried that I was pestering him with too many texts and invitations to spend time together. And now I was certain that I was about to scare him off completely. What was I doing? This was way too fast. I clearly wasn't ready for this. 

At first, I didn't attribute these feelings to my medication. Given my troubled relationship history, it wasn't surprising that the possibility of creating a real connection with someone  new would cause some apprehension. But an actual panic attack? Maybe I was even more fucked up than I realized. It wasn't until my anxiety started to affect my sleep that I realized what was happening. My dreams were riddled with anxiety. I dreamed of fights with people close to me. I dreamed of missed connections, constantly trying to find someone, knowing they were just around the corner the whole time.  I even dreamed that my house was built on a cloud, and every time I went outside I risked falling to my death. Ridiculous, I know, but the anxiety that lingered after I awoke was very real. I didn't feel rested and ready to take on a new day, I felt stressed and haggard. The one thing that should have given me complete relief from the stress I was experiencing in my waking hours was actually making me feel worse.

After five straight nights of anxiety dreams, I had an epiphany. This was all very familiar: the anxiety dreams, the relationship panic, the fixation on small problems. These were all things I experienced when I first started taking my medication. Anxiety is a common response to Wellbutrin, so it makes sense that an increased dosage might have a period of adjustment where I would experience some unwanted side effects. After some thought, I decided that the slight relief in depressive episodes wasn't worth the stress I was experiencing. Today I went back to my lower dosage. Just knowing that there's relief on the way - that I'm not completely broken and unable to handle my life - has already provided me some comfort. 

I'm not sure how long it will take for my mood to level out, but I sure hope it does before I have that relationship talk...

Guess I wasn’t ready to remove the protective case

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

It was the summer of 2014, and moments before this we'd been chatting about some reservations I'd had about a new relationship due to trauma from a past one. K's clever response to the change of subject was so accurate it stung. Maybe it was too soon.

IT'S BEEN OVER A YEAR. WHEN THE FUCK WILL IT FEEL SAFE TO FEEL FEELINGS AGAIN?

Will it ever?

I want to learn from my mistakes, but I don't want this period of my life to define me forever. I don't want to let that person continue to destroy my life long after he's been pushed out of it. I don't want to think of myself as a victim or a survivor. I just want it to be a distant memory. But, obviously, it isn't that distant. It's still there, bubbling under the surface, just waiting for something to trigger it. Or is it actually looking for something to trigger it?

Feelings

He was supposed to be just another conquest. Well, maybe more than that. A new friend. With Benefits. I didn't expect to feel things. But I did. Right away. And it scared me a little, but mostly it felt good. So. Fucking. Good. I'm not referring to the sex, although that was nice. The real pleasure was the overwhelming affection I felt when I looked into his eyes. Let me repeat that with the appropriate emphasis:

The real pleasure was the overwhelming affection I felt when I looked into his eyes. 

If you've been paying attention, you know that looking into someone's eyes is extremely difficult for me. It's a vulnerable act that I thought would only feel safe after I'd been seeing someone for a long time and had built up to a very high level of trust. But it had happened right away. It had happened the very first time we'd had sex. Most of that night was a blur: The drunken makeouts. Inviting him back to my tent. The awkward undressing in a cramped space. The eagerness to feel him inside of me. Naked, sweaty bodies entwined and moving together. It was all going according to plan. But then, it happened. I opened my eyes, and his were there, staring back at me. And it didn't scare me. It didn't make me feel vulnerable. It excited me. It impassioned me. It made the entire act feel much less superficial than anything I'd felt in far too long.

I tried not to read too much into it, but every time I closed my eyes I pictured him on top of me, looking into my eyes. I tried to focus on other flirtations, but it was mostly just a distraction from him. Not that I thought he would mind spending more time together. It felt like we were on the same page, but I was nervous about jumping in too deep, too quickly. It had been a long time since I'd felt this spark of excitement over a new lover, and it made me nervous. It made me feel out of control. I feared that the hearts in my eyes would prevent me from seeing the warning signs of another troubled relationship. Of course, I had no reason to believe that this would go sour, but, then again, I didn't think that about the last guy, either. I was - am - determined not to let history repeat itself.

It wasn't long, however, before I started to see red flags. A drunken miscommunication brought back memories of being constantly mistrusted and called a liar, and sent me out to a lonely street corner, crying and doubting myself while others partied inside. Another night, a surprisingly negative reaction to a change in plans reminded me of the grief my inflexible ex had given me any time I complained of being too sick or tired (conditions I would later realize were symptoms of my deep state of depression) to go out. The flashback made me nauseous and shaky. I spent most of the rest of that night in silence, blinking back tears, because I didn't want the new guy to think I was overreacting. 

The relationship didn't even last a month. Each time we saw each other, I identified more red flags. I still don't know if these were true warning signs or just my frightened psyche looking for reasons to get out. It probably doesn't matter. Either he wasn't good for me, or I wasn't ready for him. I'm glad I got out early, before it did any real damage to either of us.

So, what now? It's been 6 months since that relationship, and I haven't felt anything even close to that spark. I've gone on plenty of dates. I've made some great new friends. I've had lots of great sex. But there's always this emotional distance. Actually, I'd describe it more as emotional dullness. The feelings of affection are there, they're just markedly muted. As frightened as I am at the possibility of creating an intense, potentially volatile connection, I miss the spark. I miss looking into someone's eyes and feeling a rush of affection. I miss eagerly checking my calendar to figure out when I can see him again. I miss lovey dovey texts to say we're thinking of each other. I miss all of that gooey new relationship energy that makes everyone around us roll their eyes and say, "get a room."

Sometimes I feel like I'm broken. Like, maybe somewhere between the bad relationships, depression, and medication, I've lost the ability to make a real connection with another person. And I don't know if I can be fixed. On bad days, I am certain it can't, and if I think about it too much I end up in tears. On good days, I am hopeful, but still not necessarily optimistic. The rest of the time, I just try not to think about it. I try to enjoy my friendships and relationships for what they are, and not wish they were something more. It doesn't always work, but I figure that with time it'll come much easier.

Won't it?

Respect, and Balancing My Demons Within My Relationships

As a rule, relationships - regardless of whether they include a sexual or romantic element - shouldn't be work. Yes, they can go through periods of struggle, and if the relationship is worth it, you work it out. But if a relationship feels like work on a more regular basis, something is wrong. There comes a point where the benefits of having this person in your life no longer outweigh the toll it takes on your self image. That may sound dramatic, but the way people treat us and respond to us does affect how we see ourselves. You may write off a friend who frequently drops plans as a bit flaky, but there is a part of you that wonders why you are not important enough to spend time with. Or maybe you have one of those sexual friendships that run hot and cold without any identifiable triggers, and you assume the person just has a lot going on in their life. But you can't help wondering why you don't deserve the same respect outside of the bedroom that you get in it. And, if you took the sexual element out of the relationship, would the other person come around at all?

Maybe I already have a low self image. I certainly haven't been happy with who I am at several points in my life, and conditions such as depression do cause you to ruminate on the more negative aspects of yourself and your life. A careless act on the part of a friend or loved one can take on more meaning than was intended, especially when compiled with a history of similarly careless or disrespectful behavior. Perhaps a "normal" person can shrug these insignificant moments off, but it's not always that simple for a depressive.

I try so hard not to let other people's behavior affect or bother me. I want to be easygoing and understanding. I know that my depression inflates things, and I don't want my mood disorder to affect my relationships. I don't want my friends to feel like they have to walk on eggshells around me. I want to be an effortless presence in the lives of my friends. I want to be easy. Maybe this is because I want the same kind of people in my life. I spend so much effort fighting myself for respect and value that I don't have much energy left to do the same in my relationships. There are times in my life where that fight is so arduous that I don't have energy left for relationships at all.

There has to be a balance in there somewhere. Respect is the foundation of any relationship, whether it's platonic, sexual, or romantic, and when it's not there it can cause more damage than people realize. I don't want my friends to kowtow to the overreactive nature of my disease, but people should pay more attention to what their actions (or non-actions) say to the people in their lives.

I'll end this post by saying that I know I'm guilty of this behavior. I know I've left people hanging because I didn't feel like saying no. I know I've been careless with my relationships in the past. Hopefully, my recent reflections and struggles will improve my behavior and my relationships. And maybe, after reading this, some of you will take a moment of reflection to improve your own. Or - as in the case of my current struggle - to decide that certain relationships just aren't worth the effort anymore.