On depression and the magic of cupcake papers.

What is so magical about these little cupcake liners? Maybe it's that they look like little sunshines. Or that cupcakes usually mean some fun is around the corner. All I know is that as I've been fighting my way back uphill out of depression-land, seeing them made me smile.

I know I'm hard on myself--I don't "do" enough, whatever it is. You know: work out/eat salads/cut out chocolate/contribute to life... And I find that I can't seem to forgive myself for having Fibromyalgia and being "less than" because of that too.

BUT--tonight is a fun and special night. Granddaughter Cassidy turned 12 yesterday, and tonight her mommy, my eldest daughter, is bringing dinner over and we're having cupcakes for Cassidy's birthday. Candie's making her awesome 90 gazillion calories per serving macaroni and cheese, and I'm making a salad--and the all-important cupcakes.

If you're not familiar with depression, it has the talent of robbing a person of their interest in life, their desire to do the things they'd usually enjoy, so couple that with the lack of energy and the body pain of Fibro and life can become a struggle. So it surprised me when I found myself smiling over such a simple little thing as cupcake papers with their crinkly little sides. It was a lovely little gift.

It's good for all of us to look for the happy little positive things of life, they called it "intentional happiness" in my pain management class. All I know is I had to put a picture of them on my blog and see if they make you smile too.

Under the heading "Things i've never thought of."

Hubby had to change out the toilet. This was on the box.

Huh. Good to know.

January in my little corner of California.

Last week I went for a walk in the neighborhood. I saw gorgeous citrus growing,



but there were still plenty of red leaves that hadn't yet fallen

and roses in bloom!

And not even two weeks after Christmas.  

Oh well.

I tried. I really did. I tried to clear myself of Cymbalta and live a more naturally medicated life. But today, somehow fittingly on the 11th anniversary of the death of my mother, I embraced the fact that it isn't working. Maybe some would say I didn't give the 5 HTP a long enough chance, or that I lack the strength of character to somehow "tough it out." But they don't have to live in my head and my body.

The moments I've been able to step back and observe and assess myself, I've seen signs that point to the return of depression: lack of interest in things I'd normally be interested in, daily anxiety about every little thing of life, more difficulty than the usual "not a morning person" experiences getting going with the day, feeling chronically overwhelmed. And there's enough "chronic" in fibromyalgia to contend with. All these things have increased over the past few weeks. My trainer at the gym says I've remained more stiff off the Cymbalta, so apparently it really does do some good for the physical aspects of fibromyalgia. At any rate, my experiment has come to an end. I survived the withdrawals only to be unable to survive the absence of the drug in my system. But, "quality of life" being what it is, I choose to once again embrace my need for Better Living Through Pharmaceuticals.

Hopefully I will soon feel more hopeful and less anxious. I mean seriously, I have been anxious about eating, about cooking, about shopping, about every ridiculously small thing! Even my fatigue seems more pronounced to me, which (again) makes me anxious. *Sigh*

Time to move on and get some help for those synapses!

Trying to leave Overwhelmed Lane.

borrowed from LOL Zombie
http://lolzombie.com/2551/get-er-done-with-jesus/

What did I used to tell my kids when they needed to do a project that seemed overwhelming? Break it down.

Like I mentioned in my last post, I'm feeling mired in the Land of Too Much Information, stalled out on Overwhelmed Lane. What did I do yesterday? Let myself hunker down to picnic on aforementioned lane. What did I do today? Assessed my options, which seemed to me to be 1) let myself run screaming into the night, or 2) follow my own advice. Being chronically fatigued and inherently lazy made option 1, while appealing, seem like much too much effort, so I chose option 2.

Faced with too many supplements and medications at too many different times, I made myself a chart. I suppose I could take a page from my preschool teacher daughter and make a sticker chart where for every time I got the right pills taken at the proper time I get to put on a sticker of my choice. (This worked well to potty-train said preschool teacher daughter as well.) But instead I stuck with making the chart in pretty colors, something like this:

So now all I need to do is get about a half-dozen more of those old-lady-weekly-pill-holders, fill it, and I'm set! Oh, and then remember to take them!

Skimmer's Recap: Sometimes it's just baby steps, yunno?

Life on Overwhelmed Lane.

I'm currently feeling overwhelmed by Too Much Information on health.

In the past couple of months there have been belly issues and gall bladder issues and fatigue issues and I've read and talked to doctors and talked to my naturopath and I'm traveling in the Land of TMI and seem to be stuck in Overwhelmed Lane. GAAA!!

The doctors have said various things like Just Exercise More and I Can Only Treat What the Numbers Say and the naturopath says Think About Acid/Alkaline and Take Two More New Things and by the way you can't take those together and this needs to be before you eat and these need to be this many hours away from food and other vitamins. The naturopath also says You Should Juice and that simply opens up a whole new realm of where do I put another appliance/ one more thing to learn about/ one more thing to clean and GAAAAAA!!!

I'm thinking it's much less work to just be unhealthy. Maybe not as enjoyable in the long run, but easier.

Writing Exercises.

I get the Writer's Digest newsletters in my email because I'm a wannabe-writer. Sometimes I even read them.

Along with their 12 Days of Christmas sale they had a 12-Day Plan of Simple Writing Exercises. I thought that since I have felt very much like Winnie-the-Pooh as "a Bear of Very Little Brain," I might use this as a way to both amuse myself and possibly write some posts on my neglected blog. So please "Bear" with me. (Pause for long groan.) See, I've amused myself already!!

Day 1:
Write 10 potential book titles of books you'd like to write.

Hmmm.

1- For years I've secretly (in my head) been writing "Ode to a Dysfunctional Life." It's just my life, really. But now I have to think of nine others...

2- "Keeping the Fun in Dysfunction" could be a sister title.

3- "Behind the Shower Curtain." Who are we really when we're stripped down to just our real selves and multiple scented bath products?

4- "The Body in the Tub" First line: "She hadn't expected to see a body when she pulled back the shower curtain that morning." A murder mystery--or is it?

5- "Bark First, Ask Questions Later-- Possibly Useless Things I've Learned From My Dogs."

6- "Fatigue in the Fast Lane." Me feeling like the biggest underachiever ever in a fast moving society.

7- "When Children Amuse." I think I could fill this one just off the stuff my Facebook friends' kids and grandkids say, and of course my own.

8- "Control is But an Illusion"

And I'm out of ideas.

Thoughts for numbers 9 and 10??

Gall bladder surgery proves effective distraction from Fibromyalgia.

I don't think I'd recommend it, but overall, emergencies involving gall bladders and gall stones and surgery prove quite effective in taking one's mind off other concerns. First there's the amazing pain, then there are the good drugs to rid you of the amazing pain. Then there's the "eeewww" factor of having four slits in the belly, and the fact that you now feel like you've been mule-kicked repeatedly in the torso. All good distractions.

It was suggested to eat a low fat diet for the month after the surgery and allow my body to adjust to the fact that it's missing the gall bladder, previous fat monitor and cholesterol collector. (That's what the Child Surgeon said the stones are made of, cholesterol. How gross is that?) My very kind oldest daughter offered to bring dinner one night: chicken and rice soup for me, and her rich, homemade, eternally yummy macaroni and cheese for the rest of the family. I will not discuss here my jealous and petty thoughts about all that. I am choosing to be The Better Person.

My appetite has suffered with this event, and that takes a lot, so I was grateful for the easily digestible and tasty soup--aaaall week. Yup, I ate soup and saltines for a week. Not too surprisingly I've lost a few pounds. Too bad "a few pounds" on me is like bailing the ocean with a teaspoon, but I'll take it.

And when did I start even thinking about My Friend Fibro again? Not till I slowed down on the Really Good Drugs. I know there are multiple things at work here. The trauma of the surgery and the anesthetic come into play too, so my pain and fatigue is at the moment many-faceted. Some people have said they were ready to get up and get on with life right after surgery while others said they were exhausted for months. Guess there's no single outcome.

Okay, I'm boring even myself here. I'm done.

Skimmer's Recap: Want to forget your current chronic pain? Try a bigger, more acute pain. It worked well for me.