I haven't posted in a while. I keep thinking that I'll set up a facebook page for my blog, to make it easier for readers to follow and share. I got the idea from my fave blog, Single Dad Laughing. But I still haven't gotten around to doing it, so I thought I should at least keep writing and eventually add the fb element.
Here's what's going on in my life:
It's been more than three months since I finished my rTMS treatment. I continue to see changes and improvement. Little things that no one else would notice. I check my voicemail every day. I have increased patience. I like to go out and do more social stuff. I set goals, and stick to them. I've started leading some new support groups and they are growing and doing well.
I've continued my efforts at better physical health. My experiments with hidden vegetables didn't turn out so great. Some of the recipes were good and hid their 'secret' ingredients well, but all of them required more time and preparation than I am typically willing to give to cooking for one. So, I just try to eat more of the foods that I like that are healthy. I eat some spinach almost every day because it's super healthy and easy to incorporate into a salad or even a smoothie. I've been eating more smoothies, with blueberries and other high anti-oxidant stuff that blends well.
I've also returned to the world of exercise. I had taken a long leave of absence. I felt depressed, lazy, smothered... so many feelings that didn't lead me to the gym. Those feelings are gone (or at least lessened), and I feel motivated again. It's still not the easiest choice to make in my day, but I've been building it into my schedule to make it more likely to happen. I've also gotten a new workout partner who typically meets me two days a week, and am hoping to find someone else to meet me two additional days per week. I know that I do best when I have someone to be accountable to. Anyone in the Knox area who wants a Rush workout buddy, give me a shout.
On the dating front, I am the most happy being single I have ever been. I tried to maintain a friendship with my most recent ex, but he went a little too far with that, asking me for advice on how to handle a situation with a girl he was interested in. LESS THAN A MONTH AFTER MOVING OUT OF MY HOUSE. I think it actually was good for me, helping me become soooo over it that it turned me off to dating all together, at least for a while. Just the thought of dating exhausts me a little right now.
There are aftereffects, though. The girl he was interested in is more than ten years younger than me. The ex before him (who didn't want to get married after 3.5 years together) is also now dating a much younger girl. It's brought a few feelings of jealousy (why do they have love and I don't?) and insecurities (I am getting long in the tooth for the dating world). So, obviously, I'm not completely okay being single or those things wouldn't bother me.
As usual, I'm keeping busy in the rest of my life. The house always has some projects to offer. I spent a few days working at a new store that was preparing to open. I've been helping my brother work on a business venture he's starting. I'm still on several boards and keep busy with them. Throw in my regular job, time with Arlo and friends, and sleep, and that's pretty much my life right now. I feel quite peaceful.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Two and A Half Months Later Or So...
I've been home from my rTMS treatment for about two and a half months or so, and figured it was time to update everyone.
I felt pretty darn good after my treatment, but was worried that it was mostly placebo effect or something that would "wear off". At times I've been watchful of my behavior, looking for every peak and valley. At other times, I haven't been looking, but have noticed in hindsight some interesting behaviors.
Here are a few biggies:
A week or two ago, I was driving down the road and saw a dead dog. My immediate thought was, "Poor thing, it didn't deserve that. I wish it could have at least seen a better end." I quickly remembered that it was only a few months ago that I had been envious of a different dead animal on the side of the road, wishing I could escape life as it had. What a difference!
I've also had several events that had early morning starts lately. Mornings have always been my hardest time. It was more than me just not being a morning person (I'm still not a morning person); it was a symptom of melancholic depression. Recently, I woke up for one of those early events to find that my electricity was out. Previously, that would have been as much excuse as I needed to roll back into bed and avoid the day. Instead, I not only got ready in the dark, but I arrived early and was cheery all day.
Those may seem like simple examples to some. To me, they are small samples of a huge life change. Since I've gotten back, I've broken up with my boyfriend, and I'm handling it as well as those things can be handled. I've also started becoming more comfortable with sharing my feelings (I recently outed myself as an atheist, which was huge for me) and expressing my needs (I told a family member I wasn't in a place to receive guests right now, which I normally would never have done no matter how true it was). I'm probably still not communicating as well as I could be, but I'm trying to be more open when I do.
The huge change is that I'm off all antidepressants. I've tried going off before, with horrible results. Now, I'm able to be off the medication and remain as stable and up as I normally would be on the meds. THAT IS HUGE!
I can't fully explain the science behind rTMS. I have a broad understanding of the basics, without enough knowledge to back up any arguments or answer any deep questions. Still, I feel comfortable saying that somehow it works. Or, at least, it worked for me. I'm figuring out this new life with little attitude changes and increased gratification along the way. I don't think any placebo effect could still be with me this long. This is the real thing.
Hooray!
I felt pretty darn good after my treatment, but was worried that it was mostly placebo effect or something that would "wear off". At times I've been watchful of my behavior, looking for every peak and valley. At other times, I haven't been looking, but have noticed in hindsight some interesting behaviors.
Here are a few biggies:
A week or two ago, I was driving down the road and saw a dead dog. My immediate thought was, "Poor thing, it didn't deserve that. I wish it could have at least seen a better end." I quickly remembered that it was only a few months ago that I had been envious of a different dead animal on the side of the road, wishing I could escape life as it had. What a difference!
I've also had several events that had early morning starts lately. Mornings have always been my hardest time. It was more than me just not being a morning person (I'm still not a morning person); it was a symptom of melancholic depression. Recently, I woke up for one of those early events to find that my electricity was out. Previously, that would have been as much excuse as I needed to roll back into bed and avoid the day. Instead, I not only got ready in the dark, but I arrived early and was cheery all day.
Those may seem like simple examples to some. To me, they are small samples of a huge life change. Since I've gotten back, I've broken up with my boyfriend, and I'm handling it as well as those things can be handled. I've also started becoming more comfortable with sharing my feelings (I recently outed myself as an atheist, which was huge for me) and expressing my needs (I told a family member I wasn't in a place to receive guests right now, which I normally would never have done no matter how true it was). I'm probably still not communicating as well as I could be, but I'm trying to be more open when I do.
The huge change is that I'm off all antidepressants. I've tried going off before, with horrible results. Now, I'm able to be off the medication and remain as stable and up as I normally would be on the meds. THAT IS HUGE!
I can't fully explain the science behind rTMS. I have a broad understanding of the basics, without enough knowledge to back up any arguments or answer any deep questions. Still, I feel comfortable saying that somehow it works. Or, at least, it worked for me. I'm figuring out this new life with little attitude changes and increased gratification along the way. I don't think any placebo effect could still be with me this long. This is the real thing.
Hooray!
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Four Weeks at Home
It's been a while since I posted a blog. I've discovered it's a lot harder to keep up with from home. Not only do I have a job and all my other obligations eating my time, but it's also harder to do with other people around. Partly, it's just harder having the distractions of other people and finding the quiet reflection time that goes best with writing. Mostly, having people around makes me want to write about them and their changed relationships with me, but I think it's important to not do that. This is a place for my stories, and while others may be part of those stories, I try to keep them out of my blog for their own privacy.
So out of respect for others, I won't talk about the bumps in the road my relationships have seen since I came back. I'll just say that I have notably changed, and even good change can mean disruption and discord. It has brought positive relationship changes as well, but those never seem so all-encompassing and thought-provoking.
The biggest change I notice in myself is a renewed interest in things I used to enjoy but had lost interest in. For me, that mostly means just getting stuff accomplished. That may mean reconfiguring my office layout or taking another attempt at raccoon-proofing my garbage cans. The joy for me is in the accomplishment more so than in the actual task. I guess that's enjoying the destination more than the journey.
I think I'm also more relaxed and content. Stuff still gets on my nerves from time to time, but the anger doesn't seem to stay with me as long. I feel like I spend less time with my defenses up, watching for the way someone is going to hurt me next. It's still there though.
My lingering issues include a generally low self-esteem. Mostly, I don't ever feel like I've done enough. Enough for who? Enough of what? Even I don't know the answers to those questions, but I just know it's not enough. I come up short in some way in nearly everything I do. I guess that's why I enjoy accomplishing tasks so much... it feels done. It feels Enough.
I still have to check in with MUSC every two weeks to report my feelings and discuss the success (or lack thereof) of my treatment. Tomorrow is my next check-in. I still consider it a success (NOT lack thereof). Life is different. Life is good.
So out of respect for others, I won't talk about the bumps in the road my relationships have seen since I came back. I'll just say that I have notably changed, and even good change can mean disruption and discord. It has brought positive relationship changes as well, but those never seem so all-encompassing and thought-provoking.
The biggest change I notice in myself is a renewed interest in things I used to enjoy but had lost interest in. For me, that mostly means just getting stuff accomplished. That may mean reconfiguring my office layout or taking another attempt at raccoon-proofing my garbage cans. The joy for me is in the accomplishment more so than in the actual task. I guess that's enjoying the destination more than the journey.
I think I'm also more relaxed and content. Stuff still gets on my nerves from time to time, but the anger doesn't seem to stay with me as long. I feel like I spend less time with my defenses up, watching for the way someone is going to hurt me next. It's still there though.
My lingering issues include a generally low self-esteem. Mostly, I don't ever feel like I've done enough. Enough for who? Enough of what? Even I don't know the answers to those questions, but I just know it's not enough. I come up short in some way in nearly everything I do. I guess that's why I enjoy accomplishing tasks so much... it feels done. It feels Enough.
I still have to check in with MUSC every two weeks to report my feelings and discuss the success (or lack thereof) of my treatment. Tomorrow is my next check-in. I still consider it a success (NOT lack thereof). Life is different. Life is good.
Friday, January 20, 2012
What It's Like to be Molested
I've heard it in my personal life, professionally, and even on episodes of Intervention: "It's been XX years. Why can't you just get over it?"
It's an understandable question. I can assure you that even the victim asks that question of themselves from time to time. With enough time, it may not be forgotten, but it seems like it should become a matter of history, the way you may tell the story of a broken leg in third grade without still feeling the pain. But it's different.
No one can fully understand it who hasn't had it happen. Here's my closest analogy: Imagine that your youngest child died. It doesn't matter whether they died suddenly in an accident or if they had any illness that was known to lead to death. Either way, it's tragic because it's a child. Initially, you may respond to your grief in a number of ways. You may withdraw. You may want to have more children or you might choose to never have another child. You will likely be angry, sad, and in denial at various points. You may be so hurt that your marriage fails.
Now, imagine yourself ten or twenty years later. You are probably no longer immobilized by grief, but you are no where near forgetting that child. You can probably talk about him or her with only a twinge of pain, but it's the little unexpected reminders that hurt the most. Perhaps you see another child who reminds you of the one you lost. Maybe the smell of cocoa reminds you of the snow day you had together that ended with hot chocolate. You might find one of her hairbows in a box in the attic. These unexpected reminders are the ones that bring the most emotion. You've gotten used to saying her name, but you'd forgotten how soft her hair was in that bow. You get caught in those moments.
When you're molested, it begins with that same tragic blow. Whether it happens once or over the course of years, it still hurts. Some people withdraw. Some people become hypersexual; some are never interested in sex again. You will likely be angry, sad, and in denial at various points. You may be so hurt that your relationships fail.
Ten or twenty years later, you have moved on but not forgotten. You may be able to talk about it, but you'll still be caught off-guard by reminders. Your boyfriend asks you to rub his tummy, and it reminds you of the "white jelly" that grandpa would have on his. Someone walks by wearing the same Old Spice. A friend makes a joke about how saggy an old man's scrotum gets, and you remember where and when you learned that first-hand.
It makes me angry when those reminders come up, especially since I'm not always prepared. I don't want to feel like my grandfather still has that power over me after all these years. Often, it's the furthest thing from my mind, which makes it hit harder when it arrives. Essentially, it feels like my grandpa murdered my own child, which was me. I hurt and I grieve and I still feel raw about it, even after all these years. My experience with molestation carried on for years and was followed by rape, so I have a lot of fodder for memories and triggers.
If you know someone who this happened to, allow them to grieve. Yes, normal life should eventually resume, but it's a life that has been touched by tragedy. Try to understand and try to help them move forward. How? Listen. Let them talk without feeling like you're thinking, "Not this again". Respond with love and compassion. Tell them you're sorry for all the hurts, and you're proud of them for being strong enough to make it through. Tell them all the other things in life about them that make you proud. Their molestors made them feel horrible about themselves; remind them that they are good and worthy and loved. Even if it's been XX years.
It's an understandable question. I can assure you that even the victim asks that question of themselves from time to time. With enough time, it may not be forgotten, but it seems like it should become a matter of history, the way you may tell the story of a broken leg in third grade without still feeling the pain. But it's different.
No one can fully understand it who hasn't had it happen. Here's my closest analogy: Imagine that your youngest child died. It doesn't matter whether they died suddenly in an accident or if they had any illness that was known to lead to death. Either way, it's tragic because it's a child. Initially, you may respond to your grief in a number of ways. You may withdraw. You may want to have more children or you might choose to never have another child. You will likely be angry, sad, and in denial at various points. You may be so hurt that your marriage fails.
Now, imagine yourself ten or twenty years later. You are probably no longer immobilized by grief, but you are no where near forgetting that child. You can probably talk about him or her with only a twinge of pain, but it's the little unexpected reminders that hurt the most. Perhaps you see another child who reminds you of the one you lost. Maybe the smell of cocoa reminds you of the snow day you had together that ended with hot chocolate. You might find one of her hairbows in a box in the attic. These unexpected reminders are the ones that bring the most emotion. You've gotten used to saying her name, but you'd forgotten how soft her hair was in that bow. You get caught in those moments.
When you're molested, it begins with that same tragic blow. Whether it happens once or over the course of years, it still hurts. Some people withdraw. Some people become hypersexual; some are never interested in sex again. You will likely be angry, sad, and in denial at various points. You may be so hurt that your relationships fail.
Ten or twenty years later, you have moved on but not forgotten. You may be able to talk about it, but you'll still be caught off-guard by reminders. Your boyfriend asks you to rub his tummy, and it reminds you of the "white jelly" that grandpa would have on his. Someone walks by wearing the same Old Spice. A friend makes a joke about how saggy an old man's scrotum gets, and you remember where and when you learned that first-hand.
It makes me angry when those reminders come up, especially since I'm not always prepared. I don't want to feel like my grandfather still has that power over me after all these years. Often, it's the furthest thing from my mind, which makes it hit harder when it arrives. Essentially, it feels like my grandpa murdered my own child, which was me. I hurt and I grieve and I still feel raw about it, even after all these years. My experience with molestation carried on for years and was followed by rape, so I have a lot of fodder for memories and triggers.
If you know someone who this happened to, allow them to grieve. Yes, normal life should eventually resume, but it's a life that has been touched by tragedy. Try to understand and try to help them move forward. How? Listen. Let them talk without feeling like you're thinking, "Not this again". Respond with love and compassion. Tell them you're sorry for all the hurts, and you're proud of them for being strong enough to make it through. Tell them all the other things in life about them that make you proud. Their molestors made them feel horrible about themselves; remind them that they are good and worthy and loved. Even if it's been XX years.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Gettin' in the Groove
Things seem to be looking up.
I've had several conversations with friends and family in the last week that have been filled with love and understanding. Having a blog seems to be a perfect passive-aggressive way to air your frustrations in ways that make people respond. :) And I'm very sincere in my thankfulness for all the encouragement and advice I've received from people who have either had similar struggles or have cared for someone who has.
I'm feeling re-interested in work. In the past few days, several things have come up that both seem important and that suit my talents and position. I have a real need to feel like my work is meaningful, and sometimes it doesn't feel that need. Instead, I'm just bogged down by paperwork and technology issues and people who don't care. All of that is still there to some extent, but I'm doing a better job of looking past it and diving in where I'm needed and passionate.
At home, things are settling down. Folks are getting used to me being back and not seeming amazingly different. The tears have slowed down finally. I made an idiot of myself in my ballet and hip hop classes, but had some fun doing it. Maybe I'll do a little better this week.
My birthday is this week, and that's always a happy thing for me. Getting older doesn't bother me. Being the center of attention for a day definitely makes me feel good. Thirty-six should be a happy new year for me!
I've had several conversations with friends and family in the last week that have been filled with love and understanding. Having a blog seems to be a perfect passive-aggressive way to air your frustrations in ways that make people respond. :) And I'm very sincere in my thankfulness for all the encouragement and advice I've received from people who have either had similar struggles or have cared for someone who has.
I'm feeling re-interested in work. In the past few days, several things have come up that both seem important and that suit my talents and position. I have a real need to feel like my work is meaningful, and sometimes it doesn't feel that need. Instead, I'm just bogged down by paperwork and technology issues and people who don't care. All of that is still there to some extent, but I'm doing a better job of looking past it and diving in where I'm needed and passionate.
At home, things are settling down. Folks are getting used to me being back and not seeming amazingly different. The tears have slowed down finally. I made an idiot of myself in my ballet and hip hop classes, but had some fun doing it. Maybe I'll do a little better this week.
My birthday is this week, and that's always a happy thing for me. Getting older doesn't bother me. Being the center of attention for a day definitely makes me feel good. Thirty-six should be a happy new year for me!
Sunday, January 15, 2012
A Lonely Week at Home
Returning home has been harder than I imagined. I wasn't sure how well I would do under the conditions of my normal life, but I hadn't given much thought to how normal life would respond to me.
At work, I feel like I need to apologize for the Stephanie that I was for the last several months before I left. I was irresponsible, lazy, and disinterested much of the time. But when it comes to work, there are no excuses.
At home, I feel like the disappointment in me continues. When someone has gastric bypass surgery, no one expects them to return home as a size two. They know that the procedure has been performed, but the results will take a while. In my situation, it feels like people expect to see a complete change already in place. Perhaps I did so much damage before my procedure that there is no patience left to wait for the changes to all kick in.
The people who are a little more removed from my life - friends I see occasionally, for example - are big cheerleaders of my progress. They don't have to live with the day-to-day. I love these encouragers, and I need them. But I hate all the constant reminders from some of the closer people that I've spent enough of life being unhappy and messing things up... time to shape up! I feel like such a loser.
Here are the areas where I still struggle: My self-esteem is still quite low. I'm insecure about everything because I can't seem to grasp what is and isn't good about me any more. I don't seem to have a focus in life right now, which lives me feeling adrift and restless. I don't know how to fix past hurts, both given and received. I had become so emotionally stunted that I was numb; now I'm experiencing so many emotions that I seem to be on the verge of tears at any given moment. I'm afraid to talk to anyone about anything because I can't seem to talk about my feelings without hurting someone.
Here are the areas where I've improved: I'm trying things again. I'm signing up for dance classes and eating cauliflower and trying to learn French. I feel reasonably able and ready to start the day shortly after I wake up, as opposed to immediately thinking of death. When I'm alone, I feel pretty happy. I like being around people, it's just that interacting with other people makes me worried I'm going to screw something up. That feeling isn't just insecurity; it's based on experience.
Firing neurons are only going to take me so far. I feel like I don't know how to live my own life anymore. As I've said several times now, I'm scared. I'm also lonely, not because people aren't there, but because I feel like I have to disconnect from myself to be there with them. I really want to talk about and process all these emotions, but that subject seems to have worn out its welcome.
At work, I feel like I need to apologize for the Stephanie that I was for the last several months before I left. I was irresponsible, lazy, and disinterested much of the time. But when it comes to work, there are no excuses.
At home, I feel like the disappointment in me continues. When someone has gastric bypass surgery, no one expects them to return home as a size two. They know that the procedure has been performed, but the results will take a while. In my situation, it feels like people expect to see a complete change already in place. Perhaps I did so much damage before my procedure that there is no patience left to wait for the changes to all kick in.
The people who are a little more removed from my life - friends I see occasionally, for example - are big cheerleaders of my progress. They don't have to live with the day-to-day. I love these encouragers, and I need them. But I hate all the constant reminders from some of the closer people that I've spent enough of life being unhappy and messing things up... time to shape up! I feel like such a loser.
Here are the areas where I still struggle: My self-esteem is still quite low. I'm insecure about everything because I can't seem to grasp what is and isn't good about me any more. I don't seem to have a focus in life right now, which lives me feeling adrift and restless. I don't know how to fix past hurts, both given and received. I had become so emotionally stunted that I was numb; now I'm experiencing so many emotions that I seem to be on the verge of tears at any given moment. I'm afraid to talk to anyone about anything because I can't seem to talk about my feelings without hurting someone.
Here are the areas where I've improved: I'm trying things again. I'm signing up for dance classes and eating cauliflower and trying to learn French. I feel reasonably able and ready to start the day shortly after I wake up, as opposed to immediately thinking of death. When I'm alone, I feel pretty happy. I like being around people, it's just that interacting with other people makes me worried I'm going to screw something up. That feeling isn't just insecurity; it's based on experience.
Firing neurons are only going to take me so far. I feel like I don't know how to live my own life anymore. As I've said several times now, I'm scared. I'm also lonely, not because people aren't there, but because I feel like I have to disconnect from myself to be there with them. I really want to talk about and process all these emotions, but that subject seems to have worn out its welcome.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Back to Life, Back to Reality
My last treatment went well. Afterwards, Dr. George talked to me about what to expect from here. We discussed the possibility of someday falling back into depression, and he let me know that the sooner I sought rTMS when symptoms returned, the shorter the treatment period I'm likely to need. I wish it were feasible to just get yearly booster treatments as prevention.
I couldn't wait to get home. I grinned from ear to ear as I pressed the 'home' button on my navigation system. The weather was gloomy, but my spirits were high.
When I first arrived home, I was the only one here, so it gave me time to love on the dogs. Arlo wouldn't let me out of his sight. Asha was so excited I was worried she would have an asthma attack.
Later, my boyfriend and I had some heavy conversation that left me thinking about the work I still have ahead of me. Having my depression in remission has not fixed all the other problems in my life that stemmed from the depression.
As I've said before, I felt unimportant most of my life. I've also carried a lot of anger with me, anger that I don't know how to let go of. Because I'm mad at people for hurting me in the past, I always have my guard up and am looking for ways that people may be hurting me now. Does anyone know how to help me move on? I wish I could just decide to forgive and forget, but it doesn't seem that easy to me. I'm always afraid I'll forget the lessons I've learned in life and open myself up for more hurt. So I just live life waiting to see who is going to hurt me next. It becomes my self-fulfilling prophecy.
I think the treatment has had a major impact on me, fighting the depression so I can finally deal with all the aftermath of that depression. But it has also helped me to see clearly how large the mountain is that I have to climb, and I'm scared. I don't know how to undo much of the damage I've done. I don't really know how to change years of learned behavior so that I don't continue to do damage. I don't know how to let go of the hurt and anger.
I had imagined my return home being all sunshine and lollipops, but it's quickly proven to be the next phase of treatment. This one doesn't have any cool devices or magnetic magic. This one is on me, and I don't really know what to do. I am working on setting up an appointment with my therapist. I had hoped for a cure, but I know now that no medical device can undo twenty years of destruction. My life isn't ruined, but it's in need of major repair in ways I didn't understand before.
Helpful advice appreciated.
I couldn't wait to get home. I grinned from ear to ear as I pressed the 'home' button on my navigation system. The weather was gloomy, but my spirits were high.
When I first arrived home, I was the only one here, so it gave me time to love on the dogs. Arlo wouldn't let me out of his sight. Asha was so excited I was worried she would have an asthma attack.
Later, my boyfriend and I had some heavy conversation that left me thinking about the work I still have ahead of me. Having my depression in remission has not fixed all the other problems in my life that stemmed from the depression.
As I've said before, I felt unimportant most of my life. I've also carried a lot of anger with me, anger that I don't know how to let go of. Because I'm mad at people for hurting me in the past, I always have my guard up and am looking for ways that people may be hurting me now. Does anyone know how to help me move on? I wish I could just decide to forgive and forget, but it doesn't seem that easy to me. I'm always afraid I'll forget the lessons I've learned in life and open myself up for more hurt. So I just live life waiting to see who is going to hurt me next. It becomes my self-fulfilling prophecy.
I think the treatment has had a major impact on me, fighting the depression so I can finally deal with all the aftermath of that depression. But it has also helped me to see clearly how large the mountain is that I have to climb, and I'm scared. I don't know how to undo much of the damage I've done. I don't really know how to change years of learned behavior so that I don't continue to do damage. I don't know how to let go of the hurt and anger.
I had imagined my return home being all sunshine and lollipops, but it's quickly proven to be the next phase of treatment. This one doesn't have any cool devices or magnetic magic. This one is on me, and I don't really know what to do. I am working on setting up an appointment with my therapist. I had hoped for a cure, but I know now that no medical device can undo twenty years of destruction. My life isn't ruined, but it's in need of major repair in ways I didn't understand before.
Helpful advice appreciated.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Treatment Day Thirty 1/6/12
A quarter will buy you six minutes in the dryer or twenty minutes at most parking meters. Locals refer to US-17 as Savannah Highway. Twilight Zone comes on weeknights at 11pm on channel 4.2. Charleston, as soon as I start to know you, it's time to leave you. Will I miss you? NOPE!!!
When I'm driving home and I need to pee, the urge intensifies significantly when I get within that last mile or so. That's exactly how I feel today; the closer I get to home, the more I need to be there now.
Charleston is a lovely city. There's lots of history, the people are friendly, and the weather is pleasant this time of year. But it isn't HOME.
At this point, I'm here as a courtesy. My one last treatment isn't going to make all the difference in how I feel. But the deal was that I let them study me, I get the treatment for free. They've upheld their end, so I've got to uphold mine. The tests on Monday are the reason I'm not home already. I am honoring my commitment, but with a little annoyance that the one day of broken equipment has left me here for this last weekend. Had it not failed that one day weeks ago, I'd be on my own couch right now, smothered with love. Oh well.
My summary of the treatment is that it has worked for me. The studies indicate that half who receive the treatment experience noticeable improvement; one-third reach remission. It's a big gamble to take, especially if you're paying the $15,000 out-of-pocket price. If you're able to pay that, if you can get insurance to pay it, or if you can get in on a study and can handle the time commitment, I definitely think it's worth it. In Tennessee, practices are currently offering it in at least the Chattanooga and Nashville areas (I think Memphis too), and there are rumors that it's headed to Knoxville. You cannot receive rTMS if you have metal in your head, other than fillings in your teeth. Clinical trials have specific standards, which generally include a history of trying anti-depressants without success, fairly stable but depressed mood now (non-suicidal), no methamphetamines, no current pregnancy, at least age twenty-five (I think).
Almost time to go home. I just washed my last load at the laundromat. So now what?
My treatment has made me feel more optimistic and interested in life. It hasn't taken away all of life's hurts. I have the memory of an elephant, and I know a lot of things that have been said to me and about me. Some were well-intentioned, some were just hurtful. Do I wipe the slate clean and pretend that I haven't been hurt? Do I address these things? Right now, I'm just avoiding some people in my life because I'm not sure how to handle these things. My dad is an easy scenario. He said (actually wrote) very hurtful things to me directly and wasn't really apologetic. Coupled with his refusal to discuss anything and our rocky history, I can avoid him forever and be fine with that. Other people have said things that hurt as much, but either thought I didn't know what they'd said or thought they were being helpful (as my dad initially did). I don't know where to go with those.
Also, what do I do with my newfound superpower of happiness? I at least know the start of that answer. My first focus is on my physical health. Years of anti-depressants with bad side effects and depression with no energy have left me in less than ideal shape. No more pills and added energy sound like a recipe for success.
Though I hate having a winter birthday (I really always wanted a birthday pool party), the upside is that it falls three weeks after New Year's Day. While everyone else is just giving up on their resolutions, I'm starting mine. I figure my New Year starts on my birthday. With that in mind, and my goal for improved physical health, I prepare for my Year of Transformation. My baby-step goals to get started are:
I plan to continue blogging after treatment is over. I've received a lot of positive response to it, and I enjoy it. I also want to share whether or not the treatment continues to work. And now, you all are my accountability partners for my new goals.
Cheers! (Raising my water glass)
When I'm driving home and I need to pee, the urge intensifies significantly when I get within that last mile or so. That's exactly how I feel today; the closer I get to home, the more I need to be there now.
Charleston is a lovely city. There's lots of history, the people are friendly, and the weather is pleasant this time of year. But it isn't HOME.
At this point, I'm here as a courtesy. My one last treatment isn't going to make all the difference in how I feel. But the deal was that I let them study me, I get the treatment for free. They've upheld their end, so I've got to uphold mine. The tests on Monday are the reason I'm not home already. I am honoring my commitment, but with a little annoyance that the one day of broken equipment has left me here for this last weekend. Had it not failed that one day weeks ago, I'd be on my own couch right now, smothered with love. Oh well.
My summary of the treatment is that it has worked for me. The studies indicate that half who receive the treatment experience noticeable improvement; one-third reach remission. It's a big gamble to take, especially if you're paying the $15,000 out-of-pocket price. If you're able to pay that, if you can get insurance to pay it, or if you can get in on a study and can handle the time commitment, I definitely think it's worth it. In Tennessee, practices are currently offering it in at least the Chattanooga and Nashville areas (I think Memphis too), and there are rumors that it's headed to Knoxville. You cannot receive rTMS if you have metal in your head, other than fillings in your teeth. Clinical trials have specific standards, which generally include a history of trying anti-depressants without success, fairly stable but depressed mood now (non-suicidal), no methamphetamines, no current pregnancy, at least age twenty-five (I think).
Almost time to go home. I just washed my last load at the laundromat. So now what?
My treatment has made me feel more optimistic and interested in life. It hasn't taken away all of life's hurts. I have the memory of an elephant, and I know a lot of things that have been said to me and about me. Some were well-intentioned, some were just hurtful. Do I wipe the slate clean and pretend that I haven't been hurt? Do I address these things? Right now, I'm just avoiding some people in my life because I'm not sure how to handle these things. My dad is an easy scenario. He said (actually wrote) very hurtful things to me directly and wasn't really apologetic. Coupled with his refusal to discuss anything and our rocky history, I can avoid him forever and be fine with that. Other people have said things that hurt as much, but either thought I didn't know what they'd said or thought they were being helpful (as my dad initially did). I don't know where to go with those.
Also, what do I do with my newfound superpower of happiness? I at least know the start of that answer. My first focus is on my physical health. Years of anti-depressants with bad side effects and depression with no energy have left me in less than ideal shape. No more pills and added energy sound like a recipe for success.
Though I hate having a winter birthday (I really always wanted a birthday pool party), the upside is that it falls three weeks after New Year's Day. While everyone else is just giving up on their resolutions, I'm starting mine. I figure my New Year starts on my birthday. With that in mind, and my goal for improved physical health, I prepare for my Year of Transformation. My baby-step goals to get started are:
- Drink at least 1.5L of water per day (I frequently have days of zero water)
- Eat at least one vegetable serving per day (I frequently have days of zero vegetables)
- Exercise at least three days per week
I plan to continue blogging after treatment is over. I've received a lot of positive response to it, and I enjoy it. I also want to share whether or not the treatment continues to work. And now, you all are my accountability partners for my new goals.
Cheers! (Raising my water glass)
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Treatment Day Twenty-Nine 1/5/12
Because my schedule is wide open and Dr. Li is so nice, I always let him tell me what time works best for him to do my treatment. Today it was 9am, as it has been more often than not. Because my sleep schedule has changed quite a bit, I'm usually up by 7:00, so the earlier treatments don't bother me in terms of wake up time. What I hate is that the early times mean long days to fill afterwards.
Today was Boredom Thursday. It's too early to pack, I'm too broke to shop or do other paid adventures, it's too cold for the free stuff, and I'm tired of beading and reading. I took care of a few work things, researched more writing opportunities, and watched Bonanza. I took a nap, snapped at my boyfriend and ate Little Debbies. And I still had about twelve hours to kill.
I received a few encouraging calls, reminding me I have cheerleaders across the country. I checked my mail five times, and the mailman finally arrived. I changed my address with the staffing company that set up my catering gigs, so the W-2 will go to the right place. I had my first "I wish I was dead" thoughts I've had in weeks, and I pondered the meaning of that. I decided that it was probably just an old habit that resurfaced easily with a little grumpiness. And I still had eight hours left to burn.
I decided to write my words of wisdom for people with depression. They are this:
I keep thinking about my "before" life. I felt obligated to pretend like everything was fine so no one would have to be made uncomfortable by my issues. I resented it. I felt like every relationship I had was conditional and no one would love the real me.
While I still think that people should be able to share emotions and be loved unconditionally, I'm starting to think more and more that I handled it in the best way I could. No, I didn't want to be fake, but I had enough hope to think that eventually life would be something I wanted. If I thought there would be happiness eventually, I had to pave the way. That meant going to class or work when I wanted to lay in bed. It meant going to a friend's party when I wanted to stay home. It meant staying home when I knew that showing up at the party would simply bring everyone down and make everything about me. There were lots of choices to be made and balances to be created. I know I didn't handle it perfectly, but I'm glad I didn't go around telling everyone how miserable I was. While good friends want to help, after a while misery starts to spread.
My boss once said to me, "depression is a selfish disease". Initially, I was shocked and offended. As I thought about it, though, I realized it made sense. When I was in my darkest places, all I could think about was me. I could be at a funeral full of grieving people and think, "At least they have something to heal from. I'm just miserable and I don't even really know why." My need to sleep or hide was more important than anyone else's needs.
It's hard not to be fully consumed by depression. It feels like there are no choices. You don't want to be unhappy or sleep sixteen hours a day, you just can't help it. The best advice I can offer for anyone living with depression is to remember that there are still choices. Most of those choices are much harder for you to make than for other people, but they're there.
Some of my LEAST favorite things to hear during depressed episodes were: "Just get over it", "Lots of people have it worse," "Can't you decide to be happy?" or "What have you got to be upset about?" I don't ever want to say those things to anyone else. There is no magic cure or quick way to "snap out of it". I do want to remind everyone that little decisions can make a difference. For me, it was deciding to shower when I wanted to stay in bed, which then led to me going to work. I didn't make the HUGE decision to go to work and be productive, I just made the small decision to shower and that first step gained momentum. I didn't just decide to be happy, but I did decide to go out with friends when I wanted to stay in, which led to at least a few moments of happiness. Plenty of times, the choice was hard enough that I went the other direction. Still, I'm glad for all the times I tried. I'm glad I lived by the old addage, "fake it 'til you make it". Everyone should be able to be real, but that doesn't have to mean we give up trying.
I didn't want to go to school or work most days, but I was at least able to see that avoiding them would only make my situation worse. School especially seemed optional, but that flicker of hope that one day things would be better and I would be glad for the time I stuck to it to help make the situation better made me hang on.
So that's it. Hang on. Keep trying. Have hope. Be accountable and take personal responsibility. I feel like rTMS has helped me over the hump, but the work I did until I got here kept me on the hump at all.
While writing this, I paused to check facebook, got bumped off the internet three times while trying to answer email, watched M*A*S*H, watered my flowers, and listened to some music. Now I only have about four hours to blow. I think I'll call my boyfriend and apologize for the grumpiness.
Today was Boredom Thursday. It's too early to pack, I'm too broke to shop or do other paid adventures, it's too cold for the free stuff, and I'm tired of beading and reading. I took care of a few work things, researched more writing opportunities, and watched Bonanza. I took a nap, snapped at my boyfriend and ate Little Debbies. And I still had about twelve hours to kill.
I received a few encouraging calls, reminding me I have cheerleaders across the country. I checked my mail five times, and the mailman finally arrived. I changed my address with the staffing company that set up my catering gigs, so the W-2 will go to the right place. I had my first "I wish I was dead" thoughts I've had in weeks, and I pondered the meaning of that. I decided that it was probably just an old habit that resurfaced easily with a little grumpiness. And I still had eight hours left to burn.
I decided to write my words of wisdom for people with depression. They are this:
I keep thinking about my "before" life. I felt obligated to pretend like everything was fine so no one would have to be made uncomfortable by my issues. I resented it. I felt like every relationship I had was conditional and no one would love the real me.
While I still think that people should be able to share emotions and be loved unconditionally, I'm starting to think more and more that I handled it in the best way I could. No, I didn't want to be fake, but I had enough hope to think that eventually life would be something I wanted. If I thought there would be happiness eventually, I had to pave the way. That meant going to class or work when I wanted to lay in bed. It meant going to a friend's party when I wanted to stay home. It meant staying home when I knew that showing up at the party would simply bring everyone down and make everything about me. There were lots of choices to be made and balances to be created. I know I didn't handle it perfectly, but I'm glad I didn't go around telling everyone how miserable I was. While good friends want to help, after a while misery starts to spread.
My boss once said to me, "depression is a selfish disease". Initially, I was shocked and offended. As I thought about it, though, I realized it made sense. When I was in my darkest places, all I could think about was me. I could be at a funeral full of grieving people and think, "At least they have something to heal from. I'm just miserable and I don't even really know why." My need to sleep or hide was more important than anyone else's needs.
It's hard not to be fully consumed by depression. It feels like there are no choices. You don't want to be unhappy or sleep sixteen hours a day, you just can't help it. The best advice I can offer for anyone living with depression is to remember that there are still choices. Most of those choices are much harder for you to make than for other people, but they're there.
Some of my LEAST favorite things to hear during depressed episodes were: "Just get over it", "Lots of people have it worse," "Can't you decide to be happy?" or "What have you got to be upset about?" I don't ever want to say those things to anyone else. There is no magic cure or quick way to "snap out of it". I do want to remind everyone that little decisions can make a difference. For me, it was deciding to shower when I wanted to stay in bed, which then led to me going to work. I didn't make the HUGE decision to go to work and be productive, I just made the small decision to shower and that first step gained momentum. I didn't just decide to be happy, but I did decide to go out with friends when I wanted to stay in, which led to at least a few moments of happiness. Plenty of times, the choice was hard enough that I went the other direction. Still, I'm glad for all the times I tried. I'm glad I lived by the old addage, "fake it 'til you make it". Everyone should be able to be real, but that doesn't have to mean we give up trying.
I didn't want to go to school or work most days, but I was at least able to see that avoiding them would only make my situation worse. School especially seemed optional, but that flicker of hope that one day things would be better and I would be glad for the time I stuck to it to help make the situation better made me hang on.
So that's it. Hang on. Keep trying. Have hope. Be accountable and take personal responsibility. I feel like rTMS has helped me over the hump, but the work I did until I got here kept me on the hump at all.
While writing this, I paused to check facebook, got bumped off the internet three times while trying to answer email, watched M*A*S*H, watered my flowers, and listened to some music. Now I only have about four hours to blow. I think I'll call my boyfriend and apologize for the grumpiness.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Treatment Day Twenty-Eight 1/4/12
My mom, like me, tends to be fairly stoic and non-demonstrative. She assumes I know that she is proud of me, so she doesn't often take the time to actually tell me that. Being the insecure little girl that I sometimes am, hearing her actually say anything of that nature sends me soaring. Since I was in a mood of crying for joy yesterday anyway, the text she sent me set the waterworks flowing. It read:
Wow Steph!! I love your blogs! I read each subject. Made me want more. Do it every day. Oh, and be sure to Drive Gently. That cracked me up. U r a great writer!... I mean it - you are great at writing. I even read the necrophilia blog. Interesting but creepy.
Inspired by mom's encouragement, I submitted my first article for (hopeful) publication in a magazine today. It wouldn't technically be my first published article, but everything else I've had published has been of a press release nature. If it didn't get published, it was because the event wasn't interesting, not because my writing wasn't. Today's submission was just me, baring a little piece of my soul and putting it out for the approval of strangers. I can't post it here, because then the magazine wouldn't technically have first publishing rights. But if it makes it in, I'll be sure to share the link.
Today was my last ever Wednesday of treatment. Five days and three treatments til I go home. I'm starting to set up work meetings and preparing to return to my new improved normal life. I know it will be the real test of the success of my treatment, and I'm nervous but excited.
Wow Steph!! I love your blogs! I read each subject. Made me want more. Do it every day. Oh, and be sure to Drive Gently. That cracked me up. U r a great writer!... I mean it - you are great at writing. I even read the necrophilia blog. Interesting but creepy.
Inspired by mom's encouragement, I submitted my first article for (hopeful) publication in a magazine today. It wouldn't technically be my first published article, but everything else I've had published has been of a press release nature. If it didn't get published, it was because the event wasn't interesting, not because my writing wasn't. Today's submission was just me, baring a little piece of my soul and putting it out for the approval of strangers. I can't post it here, because then the magazine wouldn't technically have first publishing rights. But if it makes it in, I'll be sure to share the link.
Today was my last ever Wednesday of treatment. Five days and three treatments til I go home. I'm starting to set up work meetings and preparing to return to my new improved normal life. I know it will be the real test of the success of my treatment, and I'm nervous but excited.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Treatment Day Twenty-Seven 1/3/12
I’m weepy again today, but this time it’s tears of joy and gratitude. Get cozy, friends. I have a lot to say tonight. If you have a gag reflex for sappiness, you may want to just close your browser window now.
I began today by thinking about getting a gift basket together for all the folks at the Brain Stimulation Lab at MUSC. I often feel like my own job is thankless, and that no matter how hard I try, nothing I do makes any major impact. It has been heavy on my mind that I want these guys to know that they’ve made a HUGE difference in at least one person’s life.
I don’t feel like I can accurately describe all the changes in me yet because I don’t know how much I still have yet to see. Maybe I’ll get back home and discover that I want to sleep on the other side of the bed or that I love pinto beans. Maybe I’ll accomplish twice as much as I used, or maybe my contentment with myself will lead to less need to prove myself and I’ll become lazy. Maybe I’ll discover a superpower, like being able to open the refrigerator with my head due to residual magnetic fields.
I can say that the underlying tension that was always in me is gone now. Not just soothed, but GONE. I smile more at the beauty of the world. I think about happy things. I don’t imagine my own death or spend my time thinking of the hundreds of things I’ve messed up on. I have a little more patience. I have a lot more interest in life.
My appreciation extends beyond the lab folks and into much deeper relationships. All of my friends have had reason to dump me, but they’ve stuck around and even loved me. One of them literally saved my life. Another started me on the path to rTMS. All of my friends have really kept me going while I’ve been here, emailing, calling and texting words of encouragement and love. Some even made the long drive here to keep me from being too alone.
My family and I have had a rocky relationship for a long time. We’ve always loved each other, but I know that I’ve been hard for them to understand. They’re trying to understand, though. They want to be supportive instead of continuing to sweep the topic under the rug. We’re still working to figure out our new dynamic. Just when they start figuring out how to talk to depressed Steph, I go and get happy.
A lot of my depression has a chicken-or-egg relationship with my self –esteem. For most of my life, I’ve wanted to be the most important person in someone’s life. My parents naturally had to give their love to all their kids, and my siblings tended to be the squeaky wheels getting the grease when we were young. My siblings grew their own families quickly enough that I never achieved the level of importance that I sought with them either. My ex-husband found his addiction to be more important than me. The boyfriend after him found his other girlfriend to be more important. My last boyfriend … I don’t know. He was focused on his own life more than our life together, I guess.
My boyfriend now leaves me with no doubt that I’m the most important person in his life. He would walk away from any other need or obligation in his life to help me if I said I needed it. He has his quirks and he drives me crazy sometimes, but I feel secure for the first time in a long time. I know that he would love me just as much if this treatment hadn’t worked, and he would be cheering me on to keep trying. If nothing ever worked, he would put up with the rough days because I’m worth it to him, even then. He’s what I’ve been looking for, in a slightly neurotic package. But then I shouldn’t throw stones from my glass house. He helps me be hopeful, and I’m glad this treatment has helped me appreciate that more.
Today was my last Tuesday of treatment. I’m so close to home I can smell it. The hours can’t move quickly enough, though. I can’t wait for the new me to take over the old me’s life, especially knowing that the rest of the cast of characters will be there with me.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Treatment Day Twenty-Six 1/2/12
Let me start today's entry by better explaining my current living situation. My apartment is safe and cute (pix below), but only about 400sf. I haven't lived in a space this small since my brief stint with dorm life, and then I had thirty close friends right down the hall. My internet connection only works about 30% of the time (I've given up on Skype altogether). I have one channel that consistently comes in clearly, and it shows an awful lot of Bonanza and I Love Lucy. I'm not a big Western fan and I do not see the comedic brilliance that others seem to find in Lucy. Additionally, the small size of the apartment makes the temperature difficult to regulate, so it's often too hot or too cold.
Today, I was determined to find something to do. I went to treatment as usual, then hopped in the car with no destination in mind. As I was driving, I saw a sign pointing the direction to Kiawah Island and Seabrooke Island. Eureka! In all my time here, I've only been to Folly Beach. I liked it so much I didn't see any point in going elsewhere, but today was a great day to explore a new beach. The weather was mild, and a new beach likely meant a cute new cafe for lunch.
The two islands are beside each other, so heading towards one meant easily seeing them both. The drive there was an odd stretch of trailers and Habitat for Humanity neighborhoods followed by plantations and golf courses. It was easy to see who were the Have's and who the Have-Not's. The highway leading there was covered by trees that trailed Spanish moss, making a lovely tunnel effect.
When it came to a fork in the road, I headed toward Seabrooke Island first. There were signs along the road which read "Drive Gently". I have no idea what that means, but it cracked me up. I soon approached a guard shack (from the only road leading to the island) and was told that the rest of the island was private and I wasn't allowed to go further without a permit. I turned around and headed to Kiawah, only to run into the same situation. So, no beach time for me.
On the drive back (approximately 25 miles one way), I tried to stop at a Habitat for Humanity store, only to learn that it was closed for the holiday. I then found a diner (actually named The Diner) and stopped for lunch. I grabbed a local magazine on my way to my table to see what was happening around town. I should have known better. My two experiences so far with trying to participate in local activities I found in the paper have not been successful.
First, I went to an event called something like "Chicks and Dogs" that was for women and their dogs. I thought it would help with my missing my dog and give me a chance to meet some locals. I apparently didn't read the part about it being a lesbian event. The ladies were welcoming of me, despite my being heterosexual and dogless, but I still felt a little out of place. I'm pretty sure I was hit on, though, so it's good to know I could make it with the ladies if I ever switch teams.
My second venture had been to a Kwanzaa event. It was supposed to include a parade and African drumming and dancing. The African American culture is especially strong in Charleston, so I thought it would be awesome to see and participate in. Unfortunately, I got there (actually, we got there, I had Knoxville friends in town then) and there was nothing going on. It was weird, because there were no signs indicating it was cancelled or moved, but everyone seemed to know it but us. I can only assume that the paper must have gotten the date or location wrong, because it was a virtual ghost town.
I flipped through the paper during lunch looking for anything else of interest. There were enough ads for plastic surgery (Start the New Year with a New You!) that I checked to make sure I hadn't accidentally picked up some kind of surgery sales catalog. Events included the usual meetings (NA, AA, OA, and all the other Anonymouses) and some church concerts. My favorite was a listing for Ladies Night at an "adult" store, offering free samples. I hope you get to take the samples home, and not have to try them in the store.
So, I'm still in Charleston with not a lot to do. I'm working on writing a few articles about my experience, hoping to get published in some local newspapers or magazines. I really want to spread the word about this treatment. As it becomes more known, insurance companies will have more pressure to pay for it. I know it doesn't work for everyone, but for those of us who have had success with it, it's a total life-changer.
I share all this to explain how today came to be what it has been. This weekend, I was stir crazy. I've seen many beautiful homes, interesting buildings and historical features like cemetaries and museums here. I've seen enough to last me a while. As mentioned above, my apartment doesn't offer much in the way of entertainment. I've read more in the last month than I have in the previous year combined and I'm losing interest there. I've seen everything Redbox has of interest, and a few things that weren't of interest. I've paid about $1,000 for my living quarters here and had an unexpected $500 car repair, so money is tight, ruling out most other entertainment.
Today, I was determined to find something to do. I went to treatment as usual, then hopped in the car with no destination in mind. As I was driving, I saw a sign pointing the direction to Kiawah Island and Seabrooke Island. Eureka! In all my time here, I've only been to Folly Beach. I liked it so much I didn't see any point in going elsewhere, but today was a great day to explore a new beach. The weather was mild, and a new beach likely meant a cute new cafe for lunch.
The two islands are beside each other, so heading towards one meant easily seeing them both. The drive there was an odd stretch of trailers and Habitat for Humanity neighborhoods followed by plantations and golf courses. It was easy to see who were the Have's and who the Have-Not's. The highway leading there was covered by trees that trailed Spanish moss, making a lovely tunnel effect.
When it came to a fork in the road, I headed toward Seabrooke Island first. There were signs along the road which read "Drive Gently". I have no idea what that means, but it cracked me up. I soon approached a guard shack (from the only road leading to the island) and was told that the rest of the island was private and I wasn't allowed to go further without a permit. I turned around and headed to Kiawah, only to run into the same situation. So, no beach time for me.
On the drive back (approximately 25 miles one way), I tried to stop at a Habitat for Humanity store, only to learn that it was closed for the holiday. I then found a diner (actually named The Diner) and stopped for lunch. I grabbed a local magazine on my way to my table to see what was happening around town. I should have known better. My two experiences so far with trying to participate in local activities I found in the paper have not been successful.
First, I went to an event called something like "Chicks and Dogs" that was for women and their dogs. I thought it would help with my missing my dog and give me a chance to meet some locals. I apparently didn't read the part about it being a lesbian event. The ladies were welcoming of me, despite my being heterosexual and dogless, but I still felt a little out of place. I'm pretty sure I was hit on, though, so it's good to know I could make it with the ladies if I ever switch teams.
My second venture had been to a Kwanzaa event. It was supposed to include a parade and African drumming and dancing. The African American culture is especially strong in Charleston, so I thought it would be awesome to see and participate in. Unfortunately, I got there (actually, we got there, I had Knoxville friends in town then) and there was nothing going on. It was weird, because there were no signs indicating it was cancelled or moved, but everyone seemed to know it but us. I can only assume that the paper must have gotten the date or location wrong, because it was a virtual ghost town.
I flipped through the paper during lunch looking for anything else of interest. There were enough ads for plastic surgery (Start the New Year with a New You!) that I checked to make sure I hadn't accidentally picked up some kind of surgery sales catalog. Events included the usual meetings (NA, AA, OA, and all the other Anonymouses) and some church concerts. My favorite was a listing for Ladies Night at an "adult" store, offering free samples. I hope you get to take the samples home, and not have to try them in the store.
So, I'm still in Charleston with not a lot to do. I'm working on writing a few articles about my experience, hoping to get published in some local newspapers or magazines. I really want to spread the word about this treatment. As it becomes more known, insurance companies will have more pressure to pay for it. I know it doesn't work for everyone, but for those of us who have had success with it, it's a total life-changer.
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