Exhaustion sets in.

Things I am thankful for tonight:
 1. The fact that I apparently missed an entire season (season 7) of the X Files. I am now watching said missed episodes. Amazing.
 I could go on at length about the impact that this show had on my life, but I won't. For now, I will just say, that Mulder's trio of obsessions (porn, basketball, aliens) make for one of the most compelling characters in TV history.

 2. Heavy rainfall. It rained while I was at work today, and I had my umbrella ready for my walk home, but the rain had let up. The air was thick and heavy. There were a few sprinkles that kissed my cheeks, but it seemed less like rain and more like the atmosphere was sweating. I came home to an over-excited dog, ready to go for a walk. By the time I changed clothes, used the bathroom, got the dog ready, and headed upstairs it was pouring outside. My umbrella is small-ish, and I was almost immediately soaked from ankles to knees. Candy's first inclination was to turn around and go back inside. I can't say I blame her, but this was not an option. My baby is a princess, and she has been known to go in the house in lieu of walking in the rain. Not acceptable. So I marched her down the street, stopping every few feet so she could shake her fur out. She finally did her business and we hurried back inside. While Candy was decidedly nonplussed by the whole event, I was thrilled. The rain had cleared out the dense air and left in its place cool puddles and a slight breeze. Invigorating.

 3. Perspective. I have two stories I would like to relate about perspective. A few things that have been rattling in my head of late. The first is just sort of an interesting anecdote.
 I was listening to NPR the other day and they had a journalist on talking about interviewing Buzz Aldrin. Apparently, the first thing Aldrin said to him was "don't ask me what is was like to walk on the moon. Everyone asks me that." The journalist then asked him what he had never been asked, what he wanted to answer. "No one ever asked me how I felt about walking on the moon." When the journalist expressed confusion (given Aldrin's previous statement), he elaborated by telling this story.
 After the successful return from the moon, the three Apollo 11 astronauts were put into quarantine for a month in a small airstream trailer. About halfway through, they were given the film footage of the moon landing. They watched the reactions of people all around the world: Rio de Janiero, London, Washington, D.C., Tokyo, everywhere. They watched as people laughed, cried, hugged each other, expressed elation and fear, and watched the world change. At some point, Neil Armstrong leaned over to Buzz Aldrin and said,
 "Buzz! We missed it!"
 Aldrin realized that he was right. That the whole world had shared a moment; 5 billion people came together to watch what was one of the most important moments of the 20th century. But not them. It was their moment, but they weren't part of it.
 I thought about that story for a long time after I heard it. I don't know why it struck me so. I guess I never really thought of it that way.
 My other perspective story has more to do with basic human narcissism. We all think that our problems are greater than others. Our pain somehow trumps everyone else's. There is usually some snap back to reality. I had a quick one about 2 months ago.
 I have been on anti-depressants for almost 15 years. Until recently I had been seeing a psychiatrist in order to have my medication prescribed. I missed an appointment, and I couldn't pay for the missed one, let alone another one. So my doctor let my scrip lapse (I found out later this is pretty unethical). I just figured I would wait until I had the money (about $200) to see her again. Withdrawal from SSRI medication is pretty weird. For the first few days things are OK, although it is more difficult to concentrate and your temper shortens dramatically. Migraines are pretty common. After about 3 days a symptom that I call "the glitches" sets in. Essentially it feels like an electric shock running through your body. It happens, at first, a few times during the day. As withdrawal progresses, it becomes near constant. Concentration is almost impossible (I was literally squinting at customers at work, trying desperately to comprehend and remember what they were saying to me). When I called my mom to find out if this was normal or if I was actually dying, she told me it was a function of the lack of serotonin in your brain.
 The brain uses serotonin in order to send messages through neurons. It gets used to a certain level of it. When it goes to send a message and there isn't as much serotonin as it expects there to be, it gets mad. Seriously. Your brain gets mad. And it sends these little shockwaves through your body. It's awful. I have dealt with panic attacks, where the fear starts at the top of your head and waves through the body, but this feels like every receptor in every part of your physical being instantly electrifies. After about 8 days, I checked the internet (never, ever do that. You will be convinced you are dying. WebMD is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.). After googling "SSRI withdrawal" I was horrified to learn that my symptoms were not about to subside, as I had hoped. In fact, it can go on for months. I curled up in a ball on the couch and sobbed for an hour. I skipped a movie date with Emily because I just couldn't bring myself to even shower. I was absolutely not about to go through this for the next 2 months.
So the next morning I called around and found a local crisis center which would prescribe for me. I showed up around 10:30 AM, signed in, was triaged, and proceeded to wait. And wait (bear in mind, I am now 10 days sans meds, and patience is long a thing of the past). I watched the edited-for-TV version of "Snakes on a Plane" (I've had it with these monkey fighting snakes on this Monday to Friday plane!).
  This same facility was also an intake for inpatient crisis. Sitting near me in the waiting room was a man who looked to be in his forties, with a woman whom I assumed was his mother and a man I assumed was his case manager. The forty-ish man began to cry. No, not cry. He wailed. It was the saddest noise I have ever heard.
I went outside for a cigarette and not long after the man and his social worker emerged. The man walked to the corner, crying. Saying that he was scared, that he didn't do anything wrong, why did they want to hurt him? The social worker calmly tried to explain that these people were trying to help. The man in crisis continued to protest his innocence (for whatever led him to this place), and moaned that he wanted to go home.

I realized how sick he was. How my own discomfort was nothing, nothing, compared to this man's psychosis. He was so scared. My heart broke for him. I hope he is OK now.

Sorry, this post is getting long.


4. Bad pop music. Particularly THIS song. And THIS ONE (I like the way she says "whoop!). And THIS ONE TOO (though my favorite is, and will always be, "Rude Boy"). If you clicked on any of those links I am so, so sorry.
(BTW, the bed she is on in the first video is the one I want. It's from Ikea. Like $100. I know, right?)


I started writing this last night, but I got so tired I decided to finish it tonight. Now I can't remember what else I was going to say.

Oh well, long enough anyway.


Luff,
E