My Brain: The All-Hands Meeting

This is a repost from the New yorker i just dug up.  if you are living with a mood disorder, I hope this brings you as much humor as it does me.  

MY BRAIN: THE ALL-HANDS MEETING

By Hallie Cantor

Me: Hey, everyone, thanks for coming. This meeting is just to check in, get updated about what everybody’s been working on in the first quarter of the day, and see how we’re feeling about the future. Coffee, wanna kick us off?

Coffee: Sure, thanks. So, my team’s been pretty active in Q1. We started out with our regular one cup, and, you know, we weren’t seeing immediate results. We’re attributing that to a number of factors. Our target is developing a tolerance owing to her unemployment, plus we all know there’ve been some hiccups in the new sleep schedule—

(Sleep snorts. Coffee pauses.)

Coffee: —but we’re hoping to hit the ground running in Q2 with the second-cup initiative, and build on the foundation that Antidepressants set up.

Antidepressants: Yeah, thanks, Coffee. Can I get that PowerPoint I e-mailed everyone up on the screen, please? Great. Now, as you can see, our department’s not getting the full R.O.I. we once were. Forty milligrams of Cymbalta used to be enough to get her out of bed and to a coffee shop, but increasingly—especially with the overwhelming trend toward mobile—she’s just checking her e-mail on her phone and then going back to sleep.

Sleep: Can I jump in here?

Me: Sure, Sleep, let’s hear from you.

Sleep: Listen, I know my department has been asking for a lot recently. But what do you want me to say? She’s unemployed now. That’s a new climate for all of us. We’ve had to adapt. Her sleeping patterns are being completely recalibrated. Seven hours a night isn’t gonna fly. We need nine, ten, even eleven hours now.

Coffee (under its breath): Ridiculous.

Sleep: And I hate to say it, but, as we enter Q2, the fact is we need a nap.

(Assorted grumbles and groans can be heard around the room.)

Sugar: We don’t need a nap, O.K.? What we need is a pastry.

Protein: Absolutely not. A pastry is a Band-Aid solution! We need scrambled eggs.

Me: Guys, come on. I can’t get into this with you two again before lunch. Let’s circle back to Coffee’s second-cup initiative. Water, how does that look from your end?

Water: I’m gonna have to strongly advise against it. If the first cup didn’t work, why would we double down on that strategy and sink more resources into a second cup? Besides, my team’s projections show that more coffee would frankly be counter to our goals at this point.

Coffee: Excuse me?

Water: She’s tired because she’s dehydrated. It’s always dehydration! How many articles from the Huffington Post’s Healthy Living vertical does her mom need to forward her before this sinks in?

Coffee (sulkily): There’s water in coffee, you know.

Exercise: I’m with Water. The work my guys are doing is pointless without support in the form of more water! All through Q1, we were busting our ass at yoga class and she couldn’t get any of the benefits because she was feeling light-headed from a single Sun Salutation. That’s textbook dehydration. I’m sorry, but it is.

Sugar: Could be low blood sugar.

Exercise: It’s not.

Sugar: It could be, though.

Water: It’s not.

Me: All right, let’s cool it with the crosstalk, please. I want to go big picture. None of us can deny the negative trends we’ve been seeing in mood and productivity. Let’s do a deep dive. Therapy, what do you have to say?

Therapy: I know things look stagnant right now, but it’s a process. We’re pursuing a long-term strategy, and sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. If we just stay the course—

Antidepressants: Oh, stuff it.

Therapy: Hey!

Antidepressants: I’m sick of this asshole taking credit for the work I’m doing! Therapy, have you ever gotten concrete results?

Therapy: I’m dealing with challenges that the rest of you have never had to handle! An off-site partner is not easy to work with, you know. Her Subconscious couldn’t even be bothered to dial in to this meeting.

Me: We tried. The connection was bad.

Therapy: What else is new?

Me: Look, excuses and finger-pointing aren’t going to solve anything. Does anyone have any constructive ideas?

(A calm, wise voice speaks up from the back of the room.)

Meditation: Pardon me, but may I make a suggestion? If you’d consider bringing me on full time instead of employing me on a sporadic freelance basis, I really think I could help out with some of these issues.

Me: Yeah, yeah. Maybe next quarter.

(Alcohol clears its throat.)

Alcohol: I know you already know that we’re all dying to contribute more consistently over in my department.

Weed: Ditto.

Me: Thanks, guys. I appreciate that.

Water: Tell me you’re not considering putting those jackasses in charge.

Me: Not in charge. Just . . . maybe they should have a place at the table. Would that be so terrible?

(Suddenly, the door to the conference room bursts open.)

P.M.S.: Sorry, sorry, sorry! Am I late?

Me: Fuck it. Sleep, you’re in charge. ♦

Hallie Cantor wrote for the third season of Comedy Central’s “Inside Amy Schumer.” She lives in Brooklyn

Shades of Grey

If your car Mercedes needed new brakes, would you take it to the Ford dealership to be fixed?  If your arm was broken would you go to a Cardiologist to have it set?  No and No!  I make these comparisons in the same way I feel about going to your General Practitioner aka Primary Care Physician, instead of a Psychiatrist for anti-depressants.  I should add a disclaimer that this entry is strictly based on my opinion and experiences alone.  I don't claim to be a med guru or know what's best for everyone.  I can only relate what has not and what is working for me.      

Most everyone I know pops these pills like candy.  We all want a quick fix.  Heck, I wanted a quick fix and was starving to feel better.  Coping skills are not necessary anymore - you can pop a Xanax every time you feel "uncomfortable" or a Paxil when you are sad about something that actually should make you sad.  It saddens me to see children watching their parents manage their lives with pills.  I was fortunate to grow up in a house where my parents only took antibiotics when prescribed.  I didn't even know the terms Xanax, Hydrocodone or Prozac until I was in my thirties.  

I see the real problem here is that doctors are prescribing the meds but not making the diagnosis.  I'll tell you that I was on many different antidepressants over the years and was never told I was "clinically depressed", "severely depressed" or any type of diagnosis.  It was basically me walking in and saying I feel x, y and z and twenty minutes later I walked out the door with prescription "a" praying it worked with minimal side effects.  I saw the prescription as a possible ray of hope to help with my mood and I was raised to have respect for doctors and do what they recommend as a patient.  

I strongly believe that if your GP or PCP has given you a prescription for an antidepressant without a recommended follow up to a Psychiatrist, Psychologist or Licensed Counselor, they are providing you an inferior level of care.  I also believe if you aren't given a preliminary mental disorder diagnosis with your prescription, they have not completed their job.    

My two prescriptions I take every morning are not candy, nor are they cure-alls for my illness.  My Doctor and "The Peach" both echo the sentiment that the 2 tried and true aids in depression are pharmacology and forms of talk therapy.  How did I know I was on the right combination of medications along with the right therapy?  I can say I vividly recall the day I looked up and suddenly saw how blue the sky was and that I could see color again in the world.  How amazing to know the sky isn't always a shade of grey.    

Happy Monday....xo, n

The Perfect Storm

One might call the week of March 3^rd the perfect storm for me.  The combination of a significant increase in my anti depressant drug "e" caused every side effect imaginable such as dry mouth, day and night sweats, racing thoughts, insomnia and many more.  This combined with a West coast trip time difference, the act of smiling when sad and a rough bed to sleep in made for a week of hell.  A visit to my therapist on Friday surely would have helped I thought.  Surely it would have given me the perfect mental fortitude to jump back on a plane Sunday to head back to Santa Monica for another meeting.  Surely turned quickly into surely not hours later.  I would love to detail my exact feelings that afternoon in hopes that I could help another.  The truth is, I don’t know who I was that day sitting in my bed.  The Natalie that I know would never not want to be here to love her husband, family, friends, kitties, hydrangeas, sunshine, diet cokes, crushed ice, chocolate and many other loves. 

The topic of suicide is controversial at best.  I have no interest in debating anyone on the topic.  I can only offer my feelings and what I felt Friday, March 7^th.  Those cannot be debated.  This is a VERY BIG STEP for me in recovery --journaling and stating publicly what occurred.  Bear with me....  

A finger snapped, my heart rate and pulse were out of control and the harsh reality of the pills I ingested became clear.  Sheer panic swept over me and all I remember is the strong knowledge prodding me to get to the phone to call JT.  God had a better plan in mind.  His plan was to send JT home early that day.  As I turned the corner to grab the phone, I was met by a garage door closing and JT.  I cried in agony for help and for him to take me to the hospital.  The next 24 hours would be ones of grief, fear, reality, tears and love.  The sentence, “Suicide is a selfish act” is not one that I can agree with.  I cannot agree because I myself was not in any frame of mind to know what I did, the consequences, etc.  While I’m sure many do take their lives to complete an, “ok, I’ll show them” mission, I am not that person.  Some pain is simply too much to bear and some illnesses are too far along to comprehend the action.  For me, it was an overwhelming feeling of sadness, exhaustion, racing thoughts, no self worth.  It is an indescribable feeling of desperation no one can understand until you have been there. 

Friends and family are not equipped to help with this kind of help.  Not one person could have known I was in this state.  Sure, I dropped hints.  I told a friend at lunch in Griffin that I went to the Doctor and cried because my Drug "e" wasn’t working like it should.  I secretly was begging her to reach out to me, she didn't, but she also had no way of knowing my level of desperation.  I told my husband I was having a rough time sleeping and was sad and promised I would go to a therapist, get help and all would be fine.  He had zero way of knowing the depths of my pain.  I was a master at hiding it.  I lamented daily via text with another two friends who offered prayer, devotions, positive quotes, affirmations and any other sweet gesture one would think would help.  They were band aids for me.  These two had no way of knowing that.  I don’t know that even I knew that at the time.  

March 7^th was a day, an event in my life meant to ensure spiritual growth, a new church home, marital growth, mental fortitude, new friendships, the confirmation of old friendships, the dissolving of unhealthy friendships, new healthy habits, new hobbies and meeting strangers.  God doesn’t waste a hurt, does he Dusty Takle?  Rick Warren of Saddleback Church stated after his son's suicide due to mental illness, "One of the things I believe is that God never wastes a hurt and that oftentimes your greatest ministry comes out of your deepest pain."  Amen!      

This post has been overwhelming but in a good way.  I haven't been able to use the word overwhelming in a positive fashion in a long, long time.  I haven't been able to do a lot of things in a long time.  Follow along to see that evolve. 

Get excited!  More tomorrow on cherry charcoal and the ER.....