Depression and learned behavior

I’m part of a big discussion etc group on GoodReads (I love GoodReads it is my fave). We were talking about Gone Girl and the nature of abusive relationships. The part of the conversation that I was involved in focused on mother-child relationships.

From my own experience, a behavior that you learned – your mother abusing you – makes it more likely that you, as a mother, will abuse your own child. A couple of people vociferously argued against this point. I agree with them, and I disagree with them.

I consider that a lot of my mother’s behavior towards me was abusive. I feel angry that she acted this way towards me. I feel angry that she didn’t care enough about her children – this is my emotional perception – to be more kind, to get help and treatment, to change her behavior, to get herself under control. So, yes,it doesn’t matter what kind of parenting you experienced as a child, you should make every change possible and CHOOSE to be a different person, not to abuse your own children.

But then I think about my relationship with my husband (bear with me; I agree he is not my child). The primary example of marriage that I have is my parents’ marriage, which, while I was growing up, did not seem very happy. I remember a lot of sniping and fight-picking on my mother’s side; I remember feeling sad that no matter what my father did or said, no matter how kind and loving he was, it was not enough for my mother and made her even more angry at him. Tried to load the dishwasher after dinner – yelled at for not doing it correctly. That kind of thing.

And, again, I see my relationship with my husband, and I act the same way that my mother does. I do not want to do it. I want to show love. I want to be a person who loves. But the only model that I have for “how to wife” is not a good one. And I nitpick, and I start arguments about loading the dishwasher.

I know I am mean, I know this is bad behavior. Oh, I know. I acknowledge and apologize and ask forgiveness. But in the moment, I literally do not understand how to act differently. I do not understand what it means to CHOOSE to act differently. I do not understand how to recognize that there IS any other way to act. This is why I am in therapy, and have been for some time.

So I think learned behavior has more of a place in abuse than that discussion partner understands. In those heated moments, you run on instinct, your emotions completely eat your brain, and you ACT. It happens. The words fly out of your mouth at incredible speeds. It is so hard to stop them, and I fail more than I succeed. This is also why I do not want to be a mother. I do not want to submit a child to the awful behavior I know I would exhibit, even if only for a short period of time. I think that what I learned then is too strong, and experimenting on that hypothetical child would be too cruel.

Struggles

I love running. I love being in a race and being faster than other people, beating them, passing them. I love that feeling I get about a mile in when the run suddenly starts to feel great (anaerobic metabolism finally switching over to aerobic metabolism = running feels easier). I love thinking of myself as A Runner.

But sometimes it is almost impossible for me to get out the door. Not just because of snow and cold – I have the clothing and gear to conquer that. My depression can sometimes make sitting in bed and not moving seem like the best possible option for the day, whether I have to study for the NCLEX or go for a training run or get some errands done. On these days I forget that running actually makes my depression feel better, helps me feel more energized and less likely to sleep the day away.

I’ve been going back and forth in 1.5-2 week bursts: I’m on schedule with my running, and then I take five days to sit on the couch all day. Rinse and repeat. Signing up for two long races (halfathon and a Ragnar) has certainly helped with this, but I don’t have it figured out yet.

I felt extra upset at my depression diagnosis on Monday. For my new job as an RN (whee!) I had to supply my future employers – no contract signed yet – with a document from the nurse practitioner who oversees my meds and therapy. This document had to give her opinion on my ability to handle stress. In other words, because I have mental problems, will the stress of being a nurse make me crack and kill a patient?

I got the letter, brought it into the office, and asked to see someone who could explain why I had to do this. I did not get a good answer. It was a whole lot of “This will protect your license.” Okay, how? What is the mechanism by which YOU having this piece of paper protects MY nursing license? “Well, it protects your license.” Round and round in circles we went, my lips getting more and more pursed.

I was so humiliated by this request. Humiliated and frustrated. They didn’t need this letter in order to make disability accommodations – I don’t need any. I don’t have diabetes mellitus, where my coworkers would need to know where the orange juice is kept in case of a hypoglycemic episode. I have Major Depressive Disorder, and now my employer wants – and I quote – “to be involved in [my] ongoing care.” None of your business. Please get your nose out of it. I do not need your help with this.

Hard times

I think I’m losing it.

My nursing class is just 65 people. We have every lecture together, each semester. During spring semester, all our lectures were in the exact same room, too, making the claustrophobia even worse. I’m that close to the same people, all the goddamn time, I’m starting to go insane.

Our summer semester just started and I’ve already alienated three more people, I think.

It’s the group panic attacks that make me turn red. Someone checks email – “hey did everyone else in the world get this exact same email?” No, no we did not. Because the professor was sending you specific, requested feedback on an assignment. But then all 63 other people start to freak the FUCK out. OMG OMG OMG OMG what the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

It’s just maddening. Stop it. Calm down. Take two seconds, engage some part of your brain other than your limbic/lizard brain, and sweet God just calm down.

I do not have patience for this kind of thing. I want to, I should, but it makes me want to punch people in the throat. argggggggh

Drugs for my brain

I’m currently taking 50mg of sertraline (the generic of Zoloft) per day for my depression. 100mg made me sleep 18 hours a day, so I cut the dose and am trying that out.

It’s not working.

I feel alone inside my head all the time. Freki gave me a sad look as I went to work at the restaurant this evening – you know, that puppydog eyes look that dogs know will weaken us – and I was on the verge of tears for HOURS. Max called to see how I was doing while at work, and I went into the bathroom to cry because I thought he was mad at me.

(in case you were wondering, these reactions DO NOT make sense)

I want to back on my citalopram. I loved it, and I want it back. On that drug, I had all of the good and none of the bad – until winter came. Winter is extra bad for me. But it’s summer now, so that gives us some time to experiment.

Braaaaain

Early last year I finally caved and started taking antidepressants. This was an incredibly difficult decision for me. My father is a physician; his general opinion of depression and antidepressants is that the sufferer is either lazy or is not right with God.

Although my brain disagreed with this viewpoint, my gut agreed wholeheartedly. I resisted drugs for a very long time, thinking that maybe, this time, the depression would lift on its own, that I wouldn’t spend months in a deep pit of despair. I worried about fucking up my brain chemistry; my psychologist said, “Honey, your brain chemistry is already fucked up.”

I had another very bad depressive episode in October – Max was out of town, and I took that opportunity to spend the entire week asleep. I woke up to walk the dog, feed the animals, and eat a little bit of food. This depression has lingered for a while, despite upping my citalopram dosage and changing all kinds of things about my life.

I’m switching to generic-zoloft, doing a cross taper. When my psychiatrist first mentioned that I would be tapering off my initial drug, my mouth dropped and I refused; she hurried to assure me that I’d start the new med at the exact same time.

So far…I feel pretty good. I feel lucky that I respond fairly quickly to these drugs; whether that’s real or placebo effect, I don’t care, it works.

I am SO. GLAD. that I decided, or was convinced, to try antidepressants. I was so scared of what would happen, and it’s been nothing but goodness. It’s not perfect yet, we’re obviously still messing with the type and dosage, but I love my drugs.