A Response So Fast

Tomorrow, it'll be a week since I started taking medication again...

My first depressive episode took a long time to set itself. In early 2001, I started losing all interest for things. Slowly, life became darker and darker. I didn't really know what to do. I had dropped out of school and was working almost full-time in a videostore, doing shifts from 5 to midnight. It was planned that I was going back to school in autumn of that year. As the year progressed and summer came, I found that I enjoyed nothing. I was shying away from friends, always feeling rejected and paranoid. Then autumn came. I became almost mute at home. I found I had a hard time speaking, I had nothing to say. At school, I couldn't focus. I didn't know what was wrong with me. It escalated to the point where I felt a sort of crawling in my head. I wanted to scream and rip myself open. Yet, no one ever noticed a thing. Friends said I looked really energetic and focused. I just didn't understand.

One day, at school, I had decided that it was enough. I was walking up the stairs to the third floor in order to start inspecting what would be a nice, efficient way to jump out and crash in the parking. Arrived to the third floor, I saw a friend of a friend. She just said to me: "Oli, you are sitting down and telling me what's wrong." I just started crying. She told me: "you can get help you know." That shook me up so much. Someone I didn't really know actually knew how I was feeling.

I left school and walked to the hospital, where my mother works. I entered her working room and she immediately became pale. I motionned her outside of the room and I just said: "mom, I'm not fine" and started crying again. She cried too, telling me she had seen it for months and didn't know how to approach me with it.

I went to a clinic, waited for hours, ended up seeing the doctor that was on guard that day. He didn't really seem to believe that I wasn't feeling well. He set an appointment with the emergency psychiatrist at the hospital for the next morning. I went home, tried to sleep, half succeeded. The next morning, I go to the hospital, wait, get to see the emergency psychiatrist. I get the usual interview, she prescribes antidepressants and sets an appointment for me to be followed by her.

It turned out that this psychiatrist was quite homophobic. She was positive I was having a major depressive episode until I mentionned I was gay. From that point on, she tried to make me say that I actually liked girls and was denying it, which was causing my breakdown. She also accused me of faking, just for attention. After a couple of sessions, she told me to come back a week of two before my prescription ends, to decide for a final plan. Turns out I couldn't get an appointment and I was forced to stop taking the medication abruptly. I got quite a bad case of withdrawal (just google "Paxil withdrawal" to get a nice idea of what it was like). Finally got an appointment for a last session with the psychiatrist-from-hell. She was angry at me and told me to just stop thinking about life too much, that way I'd stop wasting my time and hers and I would be happier. That was in June 2001.

Summer passed, I was not really balanced, but I made it through nonetheless. The meds had helped a bit, I could at least focus and function. School began again and about a month in, I relapsed. After a couple of weeks I knew it was wrong. I had lost focus, I wanted to sleep all the time, I didn't enjoy things, I felt frustrated. The whole thing.

My mother managed to get an appointment for me with our family doctor. He interviewed me and actually believed what I was saying. Prescribed me medication again (a different one) and proceeded to follow me for a couple of sessions. That was a friday. The following sunday, my mother took me for a car ride. We went to a beautiful small town about 40 minutes from where we lived. I had never been there. We walked, then went for a coffee in the cutest coffee shop. We took our coffee outside, on the terrasse, on a windy day of october. I caught myself smiling and actually talking. Then my mother said something that I'll always remember: "Oli, I think you're coming back!" A couple of days after, I was indeed almost fully back. Wondering if this was normal, my mother asked the pharmacist she works with if it's standard to get a response so fast to that medication. The pharmacist answered that yes, indeed, if the patient taking that medication was to be responsive, he would most probably start feeling better within 72 hours.

I took that medication for a year, then, with my doctor, we decided that it was time for me to stop taking it. It all happened very smoothly. I had recovered, quite incredibly. That was in June 2003.


Thankfully enough, this time again, I responded quite fast to the medication. Two days after I was already feeling better. Right now, pretty much a week in, I am almost fully back.

I thought a lot this week about what it all meant, about why I need to take a little yellow pill for me to function without the crawling in my head and the darkness covering everything. I realised that it was alright, that it didn't make me a weaker person or a bad human being. That if that's what it takes, then it's worth it.

And that life is much better when I'm actually able to smile for real.

Butterflies/The Great Big Step

I went to Granby last saturday night, to spend an evening with my mother. I needed to talk about what's happening, about what I've been fearing. I needed to establish a plan with the person who was constantly there when the darkness came back. To talk about it, we did. I came back to Montreal the next morning actually having hope of things getting better.

The plan was for me to go to the clinic on tuesday morning (as it was my first whole day off) and explain the whole thing.

Yesterday, I felt very very happy. A bit too happy. It's usually a sign that I will dip down again when I get a sudden burst of elation and energy. This morning, I overslept and missed portuguese class. I woke up feeling totally lost and empty, wanting more than anything else to have a car run over me instead of just getting on with life. So I modified the plan: I would go to the clinic today, not wait any longer.

I go there around 10am. The morning is already full, I'm told to come back 2 hours later, which I do. I get there, wait 2 hours and finally get to talk to the doctor. I was fearing this. I actually was scared when I knew that it would be my turn soon. My turn comes, I'm called in the office.

Once in, doctor introduces himself, shakes my hand. Motions me to sit down and asks me what brings me there. I take a deep breath and I begin telling the whole story. I explain everything matter of factly. He asks me a couple of questions, I reply. Takes my blood pressure, checks for other things. He writes me a prescription for the medication I was last on and tells me to come back in two weeks, to check on if everything is working, if the dosage is right, if I'm tolerating it well. I feel I'll be in good hands. That, in itself, is a total relief.

I called my mother while walking to the drugstore, to update her on what is happening. She seemed relieved too. Now, it's diagnosed and I will be followed. It means the great big first step has been taken.

I'll be okay soon.

I Don't

I don't want to annoy anyone with this.
I don't want to make it so my family cannot sleep at night.
I don't want to come off as a drama queen.
I don't want to repeat myself.
I don't want to be redundant.
I don't want to be needy, heavy, difficult.

But I'm unwell.

I don't want to come to terms with the fact that I will always have that dark cloud right above my head.

I don't want to be constantly unhappy.
I don't want to be ungrateful.
I don't want to be grumpy.
I don't want to panic.
I don't want to be alone.
I don't want to be with anyone.
I don't want to sleep.
I don't to be constantly tired.
I don't want to feel that my future is always so far ahead.
I don't want to forget that in 2 months time I'll be doing what I've been wanting to do for a very long time now.
I don't want to be one of those people who evade their own selves through something external.
I don't want to push people away.
I don't want to let anyone in.
I don't want to constantly wonder where I belong, if I'll ever belong anywhere.
I don't want to feel this crawling inside my head.
I don't want to have this rollercoaster inside.

I don't want to worry anyone with this.
I don't want my mother and my sister to not be able to sleep.
I don't want to ruin any friendships because of the way I'm feeling.
I don't want to break off anything.

I don't really want to
But I think time is ripe for me to admit
That I will need help.

Again.

Unsent

iTunes is always set to shuffle all the songs in my library.
Today it's rainy outside, grey skies, wind. The most beautiful weather.

I am sitting in front of my computer and iTunes just started playing Unsent (the song by Alanis Morissette). This has got me thinking about someone I left a week and a half ago.

I had met him through the internet. We went for a beer and ended up chatting for 7 hours straight. Then, he accompanied me to see Monade's concert in Montreal, as I was going alone and he knew about Stereolab. We had dinner before, then went to the concert (where I just could not stop grinning and smiling, being so happy to see one of my favourite acts up close and personal), then went for a beer and chatted again until 2 am. He dropped me off home and I kissed him.

And so began a bit of a relationship. I would see him, we would call one another or just chat on MSN. Things were great. I even did a photoshoot with him. I was glad to have found someone so interesting to spent time with.

Then, one tuesday afternoon, while I was working, Benoit came to see me at work. I didn't expect that. He brought me back my CDs and a book I had lent him. Told me some stuff that I honestly don't remember because I was just so affected. I could hardly breathe, I was shaking, my heart was beating like I had just ran for miles. His visit lasted five minutes and, for the rest of that day, I felt terribly unwell.

I started wondering why I was so shaken, why it had affected me so much. I kept on seeing the new person, but something was wrong. It took me a couple of days to understand.

It finally hit me: I need to be alone. I can't begin a relationship if I'm still recovering from the past one. I can't begin a new chapter without completely finishing the one prior.

A week and a half ago, I went with the new man for a chat on a terrasse, as we often did. Then we took a walk. At the Old Port, I started telling him about my need to be alone. Thus began the breakup process. In a sense, it was the most peaceful breakup I have ever experienced. After that, I was about to take the metro, but no, he drove me home anyway. I got out of the car and he told me something incredibly bittersweet, along the lines of "you should take my disappointment as a compliment". Two days later, we came on an agreement to delete one another from our MSN lists, just for the meantime. For him to heal and reflect on what had happened. I understand that need and respect it.

It's been a week since that last MSN conversation. And upon hearing that Alanis Morissette song, I felt compelled to write a little something about him. About that beautiful relationship that I just wasn't ready for. About this great great guy and beautiful soul, the person I could listen to for hours on end. About an incredibly smart, witty and beautiful man.

If you're reading this, I just hope that you are well. Prends bien soin de toi et merci pour tout, vraiment tout.

The Greatest Family

Yesterday, I wrote the Quick List 2. I wasn't feeling well. Not feeling well at all, actually. A little after posting that list, I called my mother.

My sister picked up the phone and instantly noticed I wasn't well. We talked for two minutes and she said they would call me back in order for me not to pay long distance fees. They called back, this time my mother was on the phone. She began with: "Apparently, you're feeling so-so, Oli?" I broke down and started crying. I didn't really know where all of this was coming from, but I was crying. I just talked to her about how I was feeling empty, how I was missing them, how I felt sad, how I was stressed and disappointed. She was calming, soothing, as she usually is. Gave me advice, told me to hang tight, that things would get better as long as I keep moving forward. I had an overflow of emotion that just had to get out, so it seems. The peak of weeks worth of accumulated things. We hung up some fifteen minutes later. I was still crying.

I sat on the couch and kept crying. Then, I just took a deep breath and thought: "fine, now that that's out of my sister, I gotta move". I got up, went to my room, put all my dirty clothes and my bedsheets together and went to the laundromat. Did all my laundry, then came back. I went on a cleaning frenzy: I tidyed up my room (which looked like a disaster zone, it was awful), then did the dishes (that had accumulated for days), then brought all the recycling downstairs.

I started feeling a lot better, like I could breathe again. My mother called back, to ensure that I was feeling a bit better and that I had gone and done my laundry (I had told her about the sorry state of my cleaning). Wished me a good night and ensured me that things would be fine, that everything would get better.

I went to bed at 10 last night. Slept until 10 this morning. I guess I needed it. I am fresh this morning. I know things will improve but I also have to accept that there will be rough spots along the way. I also know that I am not alone.


I have the greatest family.

Quick List 2: I'm Sick Of...

I'm sick of...

• having things look like they will improve only to have something else crash on me
• feeling talentless
• feeling useless
• feeling futureless
• this emptiness inside that makes me feel useless, talentless and futureless
• having to constantly worry about my finances
• not having enough work hours to pay for everything and thus, worrying about my finances
• not being able to find stability in my life
• the current state of my life
• feeling lonely and yet, not being able to open myself up to the people who open themselves to me
• this drama
• never finding one thing that would constantly making me happy
• shifting
• coming back to the shifts whenever I am in a rut
• wondering if I have chosen the right path
• not knowing what to do when I need to make changes in order to see the state of my life improve
• always being the odd one out

New Profile Picture