So, I started taking my SSRIs again today. I had been off of them for a year or so and was fine for a while. I have hypothyroidism though so when I stopped taking my Synthroid, things slowly started to get more sluggish (physically and emotionally). This episode of clinical major depression began with generalized anxiety (leading me to hide from everyone and sit in my room procrastinating for days. This was around the winter break between semesters. I didn't think much of it as I always get "end-of-the-semester blues" but when the spring semester started back up, I struggled to motivate myself to do anything at all. I felt overwhelmed with the conference presentations looming in the not too distant future, a barely drafted manuscript to finish by Spring Break, and 3 classes/1 lab. All of these things I am usually psyched about but I just felt lackadaisical about it all. I felt literally numb and I completely lacked the motivation to do anything. I did get it all done (thanks to much appreciated prodding from Dr. A.) and the conference couldn't have gone better. The conference was amazing actually. I definitely know that I am where I am supposed to be career-wise.




But after the conference...It was if someone popped my balloon. I found it difficult to get anything done. Even trivial activities, like personal hygiene or doing laundry, exhaust all of my energy. It doesn't help that my husband just thinks I am being lazy instead of understanding my deep feeling of nothingness. The only emotions/feelings I have been able to muster are malaise, frustration, anger, numbness, anxiety, exhaustion, stress, guilt, and a general "just don't give a shit about anything or anyone."



It has progressed to a level that is seriously negatively affecting my life, my family (especially my husband), and my friends (as in they never see me anymore). I’ve been able to put on a decent front at school. While all I want to do is stay home, once I actually get into the classroom, I am an active participant. I get the work done. I’m still everyone’s favorite (just kidding! Favorite pest maybe...).



So I went to the doctor yesterday to get some 'roids for my lymph nodes (swollen & painful) and decided to talk to him about getting back on the Celexa. It was really hard to bring it up since I don't care that I don't care but I promised DH I would talk to the doc about it so I did. I started the Celexa today and we drew some blood to test my thyroid hormone levels to see what dose of Synthroid I should start on again. Also, I am starting an exercise routine tomorrow*** (taking advantage of the practically empty campus gym this summer).



We shall see. If it is my hypothyroidism, it can take up to 3 months to start getting back to normal. Let's hope the Celexa helps me out until then.

 ***Correction: I woke up with a migraine (stupid 'roids) so I'll start that exercising Thursday.

Hiatus Apology to No One

I was really excited about this blog when I started it. Now writing seems a chore. I've been depressed and burnt out over the past couple of months. Although no one reads this (yet), hopefully I will soon feel like being witty and creative again. Much has transpired since I last wrote. Nothing bad, in fact, mostly great. I just do not feel like my usual self these days. It is as if my motivation for everything just dissipated.

Even this entry seemed a chore to put off but here it is. My blog entry to tell you I will be back at some point in the [hopefully near] future.

The end of an era...or year-long project...

Long time, blogger. Typically, I would do the catch-up-on-life post but no one reads this one (literally) and writing a recant of the past couple of months would keep me procrastinating for months to come. Besides, this is my 'secret' public blog, remember?

It's sitting in my inbox right now. The ever-so-daunting manuscript that has been haunting my desktop from a folder marked "Dr.-A's-Last-Name Research" for months. Dr. A and I worked on finishing it over the break and now his final edits are sitting in my Outlook inbox waiting for me to review and approve before sending it off to the publisher.

And I don't want to open it.

This project has been the source of almost a year's worth of my focus, procrastination, passion, frustration, excitement, and insomnia. I know I will be depressed when it is all said and done. It happens after every major accomplishment, even though I expect it. The slump, the deer in the headlights feeling, like I've forgotten something vital or can't remember if I put my name on a 16 page term paper... It always follows the initial celebration.

I think I might be addicted to stress.
Bah.

Plus, I will miss the extra time spent with my mentor and colleague though I'm sure he will be glad to finally get a break from my crass humor, drunk emails (not inappropriate, mind you. More like "dude, you should see zombieland. It rocks!"), and pretending I'm smart. Ah well, such is my first academic collaboration experience. I'm sure future colleagues will come and go and eventually I'll forget who I wrote "such and such" with or investigated "whatchamacallit" alongside.

But I'll never forget my first. ;)

At least I still have the conference to look forward to. I've got plenty of adrenaline left for the panic I will feel as I realize I'm the only undergrad in the room, let alone presenting a research paper. Thank gods for social facilitation and over-confidence in my abilities (all of them).

Oh, attachment, open you I must.

And so it goes...

After Monday and Tuesday, even the calendar says W T F...

As I excitedly exclaimed, "Look! It's the fat-eating guy from The X-Files!" about a guest on ST:TNG, I also became curious as to how I've ever gotten laid...

New Home

Well,

 Here's to privacy (hopefully) and new beginnings (with more dirt). I have imported my more personal/academia/stepparenting-related blogs from my other blog. If you have just found me, I just need a more private place to vent, brag, be snarky, and bask in my own glory (or human-made disaster) and this blog is it. I have another blog where my privacy was being infringed upon (mostly the kids/husband/BM's friends knew about it) so I decided to come to a place where I could be more..."frank" without..."repercussions."

Enjoy (or not...I don't care.)

-Me

More academic dreams (literally)...

I rarely remember my dreams from the night before unless they are particularly traumatic, odd, or wonderful.



I believe last night's dreams acheived all 3 of these standards and so I must share.



Okay, preface: I have a "dream version" of SCU in my head. That is, whenever I dream about my university, I dream about the same place that doesn't actually exist every time. It has the same elevators, the same offices, the same layout, the same stairs, etc. but looks actually nothing like the real SCU. I don't know why my mind creates a familiar dream landscape for me, but it does (I also have dream versions of my parents' house, Walmart, and "my house").



In dream-SCU, the faculty offices are in a building not unlike the faculty office building on my campus. But the building inside has an atrium instead of elevators in the middle. Kind of like this...

But without the French Quarter theme.




My dream-SCU faculty building has corresponding offices for each of the professors I have dreamt about. Dr. Heartthrob's office is in the right corner across the way from the elevators. Dr. A's is 2 doors to the right of the elevators. Dr. Redhair is in the office next door to Dr. Heartthrob's, to the left. Et cetera. And there is a pool on the roof.



The pool is a new addition, brought to my attention only last night. It is heated and indoor and fairly private and I'd advise you to not go swimming in it as [at least one of] the faculty members apparently do naughty things there with undergrads [and possibly each other]... I'll let you know if it is still open next time I visit dream-SCU.


But my dreams did not end there, my friends. They did take a different turn though. We will now leave dream-SCU and travel to dream-gritty nightclub. This one still had an academic theme though, as my favorite professor had put me on the guestlist to come watch him play with his hair-metal cover band.


Ah, yes. There was my mentor, wearing a dusty blue bandana tied around his head, shredding tasty licks on the guitar, accompanied by a band of imagined 40-somethings who worship DLR as god-of-all-that-is-holy. After the set, I sat around backstage with this motley crew (pun intended) and we took shots of something opaque and notwhisky out of salt shakers (FYI: notwhisky = my word for everything people that aren't me take shots of). Dear mentor did instruct me to "take the top off" as I skeptically eyed the concoction in the less-than-conventional vessel.


What would Freud say? I don't even want to know.