It's embarrassing how long it's been since I've posted an update here. It's also alarming that it hasn't felt even a fraction of time has passed. This is likely partly due because I fell into a state where I felt intrinsically disassociated with everything, most frustrating of all - my writing too.
There was the loss of my best friends mom that reawakened some feelings of my own grief for the loss of my own. Despite attempting to continue with improving hiring an editor, the state never really improved. Sure there were days peppered in that felt better than others, but the feeling never lasted.
Soon, the anniversary of my moms passing came and went. Then the anniversary for the accident in Egypt. And of course Christmas, then my birthday. I became more and more emotionally detached. No emotional reaction in either direction to any of those events. Numb. Running on auto-pilot somewhere close to empty.
The planning of the big trip earlier this year gave me something to focus on, a distraction. But the excitement wasn't at the level it should have been for embarking on a 5 week trip to Europe with my best friend. It wasn't until returning home from that non-stop whirlwind of a trip, where we traipsed through Paris-Italy-Austria-Ireland-Scotland-England, and falling almost immediately back into that disengaged state, that I knew that something wasn't right. I was in SCOTLAND for crying out loud, surely the residual excitement from finally setting foot on the 'mother land' should last longer than a couple days?
During my next doctor's appointment, my doctor asked me how I had been, about how my P.T.S.D. symptoms were. This time, I was honest with him. There was no desire to do much of anything. I could pass a whole evening sitting on my couch in silence, without turning on a TV or computer, or tending to anything else. Just sitting, alone, until daylight faded forcing me to get up and turn a light on. Or the days I'd be struck with random tears - walking down the street, or in the mall. But not feeling emotions that would stir that physical reaction. The social butterfly I used to be, from cruise ship days, and event planner of various groups of friends back in the day - had disappeared. I essentially alienated myself.
The worst in all of that, was that it actually PAINED me to not be writing. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to open a word document to get cracking. I didn't open Tumble Into Me since April 4th of last year - the day I sent it to the editor. It's like I stepped off the bus at the wrong spot and the world is just spinning by. I don't even think I read a complete novel in that time. So, unsurprisingly, my doctor put me back on medication for symptoms of PTSD and those similar to SAD. It's been about a month and I think things are getting a bit better. How can I tell? I have opened multiple WIPs and taken a gander, even dallied in a little editing. And I'm also back to reading. I take these all as mini triumphs. I still spend a lot of time alone. Despite invites to get out and socialized. I'll get there I hope. One day at a time.
I encourage anyone struggling with depression and/or P.T.S.D. to let your doctor help. Be honest to yourself, and about your symptoms. It's much harder to deal with them if you're hiding them. I was in denial, having been off medication for P.T.S.D. for 3-4 years, convincing myself that this too shall pass. A year and a half of coasting through life, barely participating IN life, meant I had to admit to myself that it wasn't passing. Not on my own anyway.
I'll post later this week about the recent writing related tasks I've been tackling. In the meantime, I'm going to curl up with a book. Cheers until next time, Amy.
There was the loss of my best friends mom that reawakened some feelings of my own grief for the loss of my own. Despite attempting to continue with improving hiring an editor, the state never really improved. Sure there were days peppered in that felt better than others, but the feeling never lasted.
Soon, the anniversary of my moms passing came and went. Then the anniversary for the accident in Egypt. And of course Christmas, then my birthday. I became more and more emotionally detached. No emotional reaction in either direction to any of those events. Numb. Running on auto-pilot somewhere close to empty.
The planning of the big trip earlier this year gave me something to focus on, a distraction. But the excitement wasn't at the level it should have been for embarking on a 5 week trip to Europe with my best friend. It wasn't until returning home from that non-stop whirlwind of a trip, where we traipsed through Paris-Italy-Austria-Ireland-Scotland-England, and falling almost immediately back into that disengaged state, that I knew that something wasn't right. I was in SCOTLAND for crying out loud, surely the residual excitement from finally setting foot on the 'mother land' should last longer than a couple days?
During my next doctor's appointment, my doctor asked me how I had been, about how my P.T.S.D. symptoms were. This time, I was honest with him. There was no desire to do much of anything. I could pass a whole evening sitting on my couch in silence, without turning on a TV or computer, or tending to anything else. Just sitting, alone, until daylight faded forcing me to get up and turn a light on. Or the days I'd be struck with random tears - walking down the street, or in the mall. But not feeling emotions that would stir that physical reaction. The social butterfly I used to be, from cruise ship days, and event planner of various groups of friends back in the day - had disappeared. I essentially alienated myself.
The worst in all of that, was that it actually PAINED me to not be writing. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to open a word document to get cracking. I didn't open Tumble Into Me since April 4th of last year - the day I sent it to the editor. It's like I stepped off the bus at the wrong spot and the world is just spinning by. I don't even think I read a complete novel in that time. So, unsurprisingly, my doctor put me back on medication for symptoms of PTSD and those similar to SAD. It's been about a month and I think things are getting a bit better. How can I tell? I have opened multiple WIPs and taken a gander, even dallied in a little editing. And I'm also back to reading. I take these all as mini triumphs. I still spend a lot of time alone. Despite invites to get out and socialized. I'll get there I hope. One day at a time.
I encourage anyone struggling with depression and/or P.T.S.D. to let your doctor help. Be honest to yourself, and about your symptoms. It's much harder to deal with them if you're hiding them. I was in denial, having been off medication for P.T.S.D. for 3-4 years, convincing myself that this too shall pass. A year and a half of coasting through life, barely participating IN life, meant I had to admit to myself that it wasn't passing. Not on my own anyway.
I'll post later this week about the recent writing related tasks I've been tackling. In the meantime, I'm going to curl up with a book. Cheers until next time, Amy.
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