Mental Health
Since it's Thursday, thought I had better post a blog...seeing as I've been posting blogs on Thursday lately.
And there's the little matter of a topic. To be honest I typically don't have an idea of what I'm going to write before I start writing it. I just start writing and if it ties up nicely, then that's great. If not, well... sorry for the painfully boring or scattered read.
I was plagued by a sinus infection this week. Still am, to a certain extent. "Plagued" is really the best word to describe it, as anyone who has ever had one or many of these things can attest. I made it to work today, albeit exhausted and out of it and not really worth a damn.
My kooky doctor thought I had more going on than a mere sinus infection. He had these questions for me yesterday:
Dr: "Unexplained weight loss?"
Me: "Um, yeah."
Dr: "Trouble sleeping?"
Me (suspicious): "Yeah."
Dr: "How's your job going?"
Me (even more suspicious): "It's fine."
Dr: "Do you think you might be depressed?"
Me (really defensive and in denial): "No!"
Dr (squinting, slightly amused, all-knowing): "Are you sure about that?"
Me (blank stare, no response.)
Dr (nodding resolutely): "I'm going to give you a sleep aid."
Me: "Is it addictive?"
Dr: "All sleep aids are addictive."
Me: "Oh, well, then...I don't know."
Dr: (squinty look again)
Me: "I don't care. I want to sleep. Give it to me!"
Dr: (knowing nod.)
Depression. I have a degree in psychology. Not only will I NEVER admit, not in a million kajillion years that I may have depression, but I simply would never in a million kajillion years ever recognize the symptoms in myself. Please. Depression?
Hey, I feed myself, feed my dog, shower, make it to work every day, and pay most of my bills sometimes. Just because you can't find a clean dish in my apartment or that I happen to live on insufficient bits of non-nutritious food and have a few panic attacks every now and then for no particular reason and don't really sleep anymore does not in any way indicate that I might be depressed. Please. Doctors are dumb.
So I have this date on Sunday. I met this guy last week....he's fun and smart and nutty and makes me laugh but I'm not attracted to him. This figures. Hell, dating men I'm actually attracted to only gets me into trouble, it would seem. So I thought I'd give this guy a try. Maybe that's stupid or unwise, but so seem my choices lately in that department anyway. At times I feel I should just begin bashing my head against a wall and just keep going until I knock myself out, or just go celibate. What's a girl to do? Bashing her head against the wall is probably not the answer...which leaves the aforementioned alternative, and that's just too damn depressing. Then I think I really would be depressed.
And there's the little matter of a topic. To be honest I typically don't have an idea of what I'm going to write before I start writing it. I just start writing and if it ties up nicely, then that's great. If not, well... sorry for the painfully boring or scattered read.
I was plagued by a sinus infection this week. Still am, to a certain extent. "Plagued" is really the best word to describe it, as anyone who has ever had one or many of these things can attest. I made it to work today, albeit exhausted and out of it and not really worth a damn.
My kooky doctor thought I had more going on than a mere sinus infection. He had these questions for me yesterday:
Dr: "Unexplained weight loss?"
Me: "Um, yeah."
Dr: "Trouble sleeping?"
Me (suspicious): "Yeah."
Dr: "How's your job going?"
Me (even more suspicious): "It's fine."
Dr: "Do you think you might be depressed?"
Me (really defensive and in denial): "No!"
Dr (squinting, slightly amused, all-knowing): "Are you sure about that?"
Me (blank stare, no response.)
Dr (nodding resolutely): "I'm going to give you a sleep aid."
Me: "Is it addictive?"
Dr: "All sleep aids are addictive."
Me: "Oh, well, then...I don't know."
Dr: (squinty look again)
Me: "I don't care. I want to sleep. Give it to me!"
Dr: (knowing nod.)
Depression. I have a degree in psychology. Not only will I NEVER admit, not in a million kajillion years that I may have depression, but I simply would never in a million kajillion years ever recognize the symptoms in myself. Please. Depression?
Hey, I feed myself, feed my dog, shower, make it to work every day, and pay most of my bills sometimes. Just because you can't find a clean dish in my apartment or that I happen to live on insufficient bits of non-nutritious food and have a few panic attacks every now and then for no particular reason and don't really sleep anymore does not in any way indicate that I might be depressed. Please. Doctors are dumb.
So I have this date on Sunday. I met this guy last week....he's fun and smart and nutty and makes me laugh but I'm not attracted to him. This figures. Hell, dating men I'm actually attracted to only gets me into trouble, it would seem. So I thought I'd give this guy a try. Maybe that's stupid or unwise, but so seem my choices lately in that department anyway. At times I feel I should just begin bashing my head against a wall and just keep going until I knock myself out, or just go celibate. What's a girl to do? Bashing her head against the wall is probably not the answer...which leaves the aforementioned alternative, and that's just too damn depressing. Then I think I really would be depressed.
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