As the World Turns
In three weeks, three weeks from today to be exact, the moving truck will be at my house loading everything we own for the trip to Arkansas. Since our *vacation* to Arkansas, Melissa and I have been packing machines. We have a house in Arkansas now, a "destination." She has a job. The house is really beginning to feel like a home that is moving, like someone else's house. The garage is full of boxes and the walls are getting bare. I feel like I'm pacing myself: Getting enough packing done to be ready for the move August 1st, but not working so hard or so quickly that I run out of things to do before the big day. With all of the stress of the move and the fine mood balance I still work daily to maintain, staying busy is a critical skill.
Melissa leaves Monday to begin her job in Arkansas. That leaves me and the kids, without her, in a mostly packed house in Colorado for two weeks. Two weeks of packing and surviving (and two weeks of managing Mic on my own) and it scares the hell out of me. I'm not too macho or proud to admit it: I lean on Melissa a lot and I need her. As time goes on, I realize how much I don't know how to do anymore, how much I used to do that Melissa now handles, and how much I've forgotten. Today, for example, Melissa said something about going to the bank and getting some money out of our account. I had to ask "How do I do that?" We moved to the credit union we use while I was very ill, and Melissa has done all of the banking since then. I should be able to figure out how to extract some money from an account, but that sort of abstract thinking makes my head spin. I can't cash a check (because we are about out of checks and don't want to order more before the move), we have no debit cards, and I literally couldn't put together a plan (on the fly) for how to take money out of the bank. I'm sure, if I had to, I could sit down and figure it out on my own. But before depression, before ECT, it would have been something I didn't even have to think about (partly because I did most of the banking and was familiar with how things like that worked in our family, but mostly because my brain just worked a lot more fluidly than it does now.)
The new me that lives in the same old world continues to "re-learn" how to exist. I continue to find holes in my abilities and knowledge. I continue to be reminded of recent memory that is missing and older memory that is very blurry or spotty. I continue to try to figure out how much of the memory damage is from ECT and how much is from the depression preceding the ECT. I continue to wonder who I've disappointed and who is glad to have "this me" instead of no "me" at all. And I continue to be happy for myself that, despite the side effects and neccessary re-learning curve, I am alive to see my kids grow up and to grow old with Melissa.
Here's something straight from the heart of my personality. I've always thought it would be cool to have a nick-name. I've never had one, but I've always wanted one. I realized this weekend that, moving to a new place and meeting mostly all new people, I could just invent a nick-name for myself. My daughter and Melissa think I'm nuts (ok, bad word choice, but you know what I mean.) I could just introduce myself to new people as "Hi, I'm Mike, but my friends call me ______." Now, the hard part: Coming up with the nick-name. I have some possibilities in mind. Something that speaks to the transformation form thbe old me to the new woudl be ideal. Something simple. I would accept any help anyone cares to give (BE NICE.)
Melissa leaves Monday to begin her job in Arkansas. That leaves me and the kids, without her, in a mostly packed house in Colorado for two weeks. Two weeks of packing and surviving (and two weeks of managing Mic on my own) and it scares the hell out of me. I'm not too macho or proud to admit it: I lean on Melissa a lot and I need her. As time goes on, I realize how much I don't know how to do anymore, how much I used to do that Melissa now handles, and how much I've forgotten. Today, for example, Melissa said something about going to the bank and getting some money out of our account. I had to ask "How do I do that?" We moved to the credit union we use while I was very ill, and Melissa has done all of the banking since then. I should be able to figure out how to extract some money from an account, but that sort of abstract thinking makes my head spin. I can't cash a check (because we are about out of checks and don't want to order more before the move), we have no debit cards, and I literally couldn't put together a plan (on the fly) for how to take money out of the bank. I'm sure, if I had to, I could sit down and figure it out on my own. But before depression, before ECT, it would have been something I didn't even have to think about (partly because I did most of the banking and was familiar with how things like that worked in our family, but mostly because my brain just worked a lot more fluidly than it does now.)
The new me that lives in the same old world continues to "re-learn" how to exist. I continue to find holes in my abilities and knowledge. I continue to be reminded of recent memory that is missing and older memory that is very blurry or spotty. I continue to try to figure out how much of the memory damage is from ECT and how much is from the depression preceding the ECT. I continue to wonder who I've disappointed and who is glad to have "this me" instead of no "me" at all. And I continue to be happy for myself that, despite the side effects and neccessary re-learning curve, I am alive to see my kids grow up and to grow old with Melissa.
Here's something straight from the heart of my personality. I've always thought it would be cool to have a nick-name. I've never had one, but I've always wanted one. I realized this weekend that, moving to a new place and meeting mostly all new people, I could just invent a nick-name for myself. My daughter and Melissa think I'm nuts (ok, bad word choice, but you know what I mean.) I could just introduce myself to new people as "Hi, I'm Mike, but my friends call me ______." Now, the hard part: Coming up with the nick-name. I have some possibilities in mind. Something that speaks to the transformation form thbe old me to the new woudl be ideal. Something simple. I would accept any help anyone cares to give (BE NICE.)
posted by DeMental at 1:35 PM
6 Comments:
See the article by Robertson and Pryor in the May issue of Advances in Psychiatric Treatment, a journal of the British Royal College of Psychiatry.
There is no evidence that depression could have caused any of the problems you describe. They are due to the ECT, evidently.
Mike -
I believe the nickname "Bubba" is automatically assigned to you when you cross the Arkansas state line. And if anybody suggests Goober, just say no.
How about "Hi, my name is Mike, but people call me Taser because I've been zapped a couple of times" and let them figure out the rest?
Just trying to be funny...
Bill in the neighborhood
Taser is probably copyrighted,
so how about "Buzz"?
You've got the haircut for it, and you've been zapped a few times. Other types of buzz will remain within the sanctity of your own home.
Buzz would work well for you...
Bill again
Regarding appropriate nicknames:
Sybil
Sparky
Reddy Kilowatt
Jack (as in Nicholson)
...What was the question???
Actually, Anony, there is evidence that severe depression and use of benzodiazepines can cause memory impairment both short and long term. Again, proof that no matter your desired opinion on a matter, you can find "research" to support it.
Cites, Mike? Yes, benzos have been shown to cause impairment which resolves after cessation. But severe depression? I've reviewed the literature and it ain't there.
You can't really be saying depression causes amnesia and the types of impairment you experience, right? Because when you were depressed before shock you didn't experience them.
The same anonymous as on this thread, but not the same one as on the other thread
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