Received in email:

Congratulations! On behalf of Walden University, I am pleased to offer you contingent acceptance to the Master of Science in Psychology with a specialization in Social Psychology program. You begin your program with an online orientation on December 1, 2008. This email will serve as your official letter.

Hoo boy. Here we go. Guess since I’ve been talking about doing this for nearly 5 years, it’s about darned time.

After last night’s debates, the McCain campaign immediately went on to string together a web ad pouncing on the 7 or 8 moments when Barack Obama started a sentence with the words, “John is right…” Obama often seeks common ground (as a starting point) on any problem before diving into areas of contention. Perhaps because this is a tactic I use myself (like the good (iNtuitiveFeeler I am), it makes sense to me.

The McCain ad strikes me a cynical and as disrespectful to the intelligence of the American people. Anyone who actually watched the debate saw that “John is right…” was usually followed by a specific instance in which Obama agrees, followed by a vast wasteland of areas where their perspectives diverge.

Rather than blathering on about this, I’ll point you to two more prominent bloggers who reached the same conclusion that I did:

Hilzoy (Obsidian Wings): “John Was Right”

Nonetheless, the McCain campaign seems to think that pointing out the occasions when Obama said that McCain was right is a winning strategy. I think this is wrong, not only for the reasons I mentioned, but because it undercuts one of McCain’s main lines of argument: that he is willing to reach across the aisle and work for bipartisan solutions, whereas Obama is not.

…

John Cole (Balloon Juice): Tactics v. Strategy, Style v. Substance

Obama is clearly not agreeing with him on substance- this is Obama’s style. He works from a point of agreement, and then moves to differentiate himself and or to attack. Everything is”You are right, but…”

I know that this bothers some of you, but it is one of the things I like about Obama. I think it is a graceful and gentlemanly way of debating. Additionally, it works really well in the type of format they had last night, where they are allowed to provide lengthy comments and responses. It may not be as effective in a different type of format, where it really may seem that all Obama does is agree with someone and then get cut off by the buzzer before supplying the “yes, but.” Last night, though, it was exceptional. Obama was able to come across as a decent, earnest, and honest fellow of integrity who was confident enough to point out when his opponent was right before contrasting the differences between the two of them, while McCain sat hunched over the podium grimacing and unable to look his opponent in the eye.

…

My own thoughts…in writing, without having to type a darned thing. Rather than feeling chagrined that someone beat me to the punch, I’m just glad that there are others out there who see what I see.

I love new words, especially ones that resonate with my life.

The New, True, Eudaimonic You

Eudaimonia refers to a state of well-being and full functioning that derives from a sense of living in accordance with one’s deeply held values—in other words, from a sense of authenticity. Some characteristics of the eudaimonic life include:

• Being open to experience without censorship or distortion
• Living fully in the moment, so the self feels fluid rather than static
• Trusting inner experience to guide behavior
• Feeling free to respond rather than automatically react to life events
• Taking a creative approach to living, rather than relying on routine and habit.

Today’s focus at Psychology Today online is authenticity. The timing couldn’t be better, considering that much of my recent focus (in my head, even when not written up here) has been on trying to parse out reality from distortion, especially when it comes to my picture of myself.

You see, lately, I haven’t been enjoying being me much of the time. This isn’t an all-the-time phenomena, but it’s frequent enough that I’m puzzling over whether my life might need some big changes. Over the past 10+ years, authenticity has become the trait that I most desire in myself. Sometimes, that just means shedding away self-censorship and dancing without worry about who might see. Other times, it means recognizing and admitting — even embracing — parts of myself that aren’t so desirable. It’s this second item that has troubled me lately — troubled me enough that blogging has been sporadic at best. Yes, I’ve thrown up periodic parenting and political thoughts or humor, but that involves no risk. It doesn’t expose any of myself — at least not any tender spots.

Saying that I’m a cranky, mean, caustic bitch more often lately than I care to admit? That’s a little harder for me to swallow. But I’m a NICE person, damn it!

Last night, I was chatting with an online friend (hi, Linda!) about my lack of writing and how it’s affected my own mental state. As would seem obvious, she said, “Well, write, then.” “But, but…some people I know for REAL read this blog, even if it’s only every once in a while.” “Does that really matter?” (This is paraphrased. The actual exchange was much longer.) When I thought about it, I realized that no, it shouldn’t matter. Some of the issues I need to consider — ones that might hurt people’s pride and/or feelings — are important enough that I need to just dive in.

What this means is that things might be a little uncomfortable around here in the coming days/weeks/months while I try to get my head on straight. While I don’t like “uncomfortable,” I spent most of my childhood avoiding it, just to end up with severe depression in my mid-twenties. My sense is that in order to get the ugly to go away, I have to plow through it; there is no over or around.

Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

Sorry for the vagueness. I’m still steeling myself to strip off all the veneer and get emotionally naked. (Hey, will that word raise my hit count?) Here’s hoping I can swim through without drowning in my own head!

(nice visual, eh?)

Over the past few weeks, I’ve started to wonder (fear, actually) that I might need my meds adjusted upward. Anxiety has crept in. A general cantankerousness has joined my normally happy demeanor. I’m not excited about my life. And most of all, I find myself engaging in a thought script that involves a lot of doubt about myself, my life, and my choices. All of these are big red flag type indicators that something is amiss. But I’m only now spending the time delving in. Why?

For one thing, I’d be lying if I said pride wasn’t a factor. Yes, I might be on an antidepressant, but I’m on a low dose, and have never needed anything more than that. Pretty stupid, huh?

Beyond that, I have a case of fear-based “what if”s. What if I raise the dose, and that only helps for a brief time before I start tumbling again? What if I am *gasp* irreparably broken? If so, why fight? Why not just accept? Well, there is that teensy issue that life quickly becomes not worth much if I do give in.

Finally, I realized that if I’m needing a dose-boost, perhaps that means that there are non-medication fixes that I need in my life. Okay, not “perhaps” there are, but undoubtedly, there are changes that I need to make. And the biggest change I need to make is that I must — just must — get thoughts out of my head for processing more often. I rarely write any more, and when I do, it’s not of much substance, just a quote and a quip.

So, here I am, with a brain full-to-bursting of ideas, thoughts, emotions, and writing material. Why am I not writing?

Self-censorship.

This is a big deal, one that I’ve touched upon before. Wow, how much things have changed since those days, huh? What remains true is that for me to write well, I need to allow myself the freedom to write whatever strikes me, without worry about who’s reading. Does that mean I should just journal privately? Well, no — I don’t think so. Part of the fulfilling nature of writing for me is in having feedback (even the absence of feedback is feedback)!

Crap. I realize now, I’m censoring myself even in writing about censorship. Crap, crap, crap.

Moving on (since I’m a bit stuck), I moved to my current town (and it IS a town — only 20k people give or take, and an hour+ drive to Santa Fe) in February. As a result, while I have a few “friends” those friendships are more of the acquaintance variety. And, I do have a few very close friendships I maintain remotely, but how much do I want to dump on those folks with what’s in my head? At least one of my good friends, I’ve come to almost develop a complex about how much I’ve used her ear as I’ve struggled (yes, struggled) through the last two years. Yet, just the way my mind works (truly, I am very much an extrovert in how I process information), I must get thoughts out of my head in order to make sense of them. If I just think things over, it’s as if my brain is scratched CD. I’ll move on to other thoughts, just to have my current issue grab me again. If I write thoughts down, I can swim around in them a bit, picking them up and examining them one at a time, rearranging them until they make a modicum of sense to me. I can find patterns rather than being stuck with details. Telling my thoughts as a story, the story starts to take shape. I have a somewhat cohesive (if confusing) whole rather than a million discreet bits of mental debris.

But, if I write about my husband, he has this address. If I write about my beliefs regarding religion, it feels like I alienate people whom I love dearly, but who I know are believers. And in some cases, I have people I know in real life who read, but might not have the maturity of tact when sharing my thoughts with others.

Is it time for a new blog? What does it mean to be authentically myself, complete with the ugly parts and inconsistencies, and how do I balance that with kindness and compassion?

Whatever the answer, I need to find an outlet for all of this clutter that’s in my head. It’s making me crazy.

Happiness is not achieved by the conscious pursuit of happiness; it is generally the by-product of other activities.
– Aldous Huxley

Google “IUD Depression”

So Joy told me, and so I did. And damn. Just…DAMN. I screwed up, folks. When da Man told me that the Mirena is low dose ONLY delivered locally, I believed it. I didn’t do my due dilligence. Again…I fucked up.

What?

Oh, right. May 19th — I had a Mirena IUD fitted. I loved the idea of short or no periods — and since the hormones stay “local,” I wasn’t concerned about the side effects that I know MY body gives me from hormonal B/C. Within one week, I started having weird, dark thoughts and anxiety. 11 days after getting the Mirena, I had a full-blown anxiety episode. Yes, what I found were primarily anecdotes, but they sounded exactly like what I was experiencing. I read all weekend, and finally found one document from the Canadian division of Bayer that suggested that Mirena might be a bad idea for people who’ve experienced “psychiatric episodes, especially those of a depressive nature” — to a point where the Mirena may need to be removed.

Well, well, well. Document from Bayer in hand, I went to my 2-week check-up, and requested (okay, insisted) that the thing be removed. My NP had never experienced this side effect before, and was glad I’d brought documentation. She said she’d bring this up at the next staff meeting — so that even if my side effects were rare (I was the first she’d seen), at least they’d know they’re in the universe of possibility.

Within a few days I started to feel better. At about a week, I darned near felt normal again, I thought. At 10 days, I wanted to shoot myself.

I’d been warned. Along with all the anecdotal hoo-hah about Mirena side effects were horror stories of the “Mirena Crash” — this low, low point that could occur 1-1/2 to 2 weeks post removal, in the time between the loss of the synthetic progesterone’s loss and the body’s notice to start producing on its own. Yet, still, I had (have) no idea how long this crash might last. And what if this isn’t a crash, but the hormonal changes started an avalanche of symptoms that now can’t be stopped? What if I spent a year hating mornings and wanting to strange my 3-year-old? Or ready to punch a wall when the baby just. wouldn’t. sleep?

I broached it to Mike. In reality, I wept and sobbed to Mike, making a sad, sad case that “I know I’ll be fine. I know what it is, so I can push through it.” Somehow, hearing that along with the idea that I thought my kids deserved more (and that was the brightest, sunniest of my dark thoughts), didn’t convince him. “Please,” he said. “Please go see the doctor tomorrow. Go before I leave for D.C.”

And I did. And I wonder why I waited so long. You have no idea how bad you feel until you just don’t feel bad anymore. Heck, I might even say, I FEEL GOOD.

Effexor is a real bitch to discontinue. But she’s MY bitch again. And I’m glad. At least this time, when the time comes, I know what to expect: that it will take months of slowly ramping down and a switch to other drugs before Ms. E lets me be.

But you know what? It’s still worth it. Already, I’m more myself. Cliches and all.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

One of today’s quote’s from iGoogle:

Happiness is always a by-product. It is probably a matter of temperament, and for anything I know it may be glandular. But it is not something that can be demanded from life, and if you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness.
– Robertson Davies

Treasures from unhappiness. It makes an odd sort of sense to me, especially considering how my last several weeks have gone. On the 26th of May, I began to show symptoms of anxiety and/or postpartum depression (PPD). On the 27th, I had such a difficult time concentrating, that I decided to push off the grad program from my planned June 2 start date. I mean, if I couldn’t concentrate enough to write my entrance essay, how the &^%$ did I think I’d do grad work? On the 30th, I had a full-blown panic/anxiety attack, complete with fears I’d end up rocking in a corner somewhere in an institution.

Thankfully, I have a good friend who stepped in to my cry of “HELP!” and talked me back into reality, made me promise to go see a doctor about meds for PPD, and generally helped me step away from the cliff’s edge. After we got off the phone, I was simply exhausted — but at least back into my own skin.

Within half an hour, she called back with a command. “Google ‘IUD Depression’.”

to be continued…

From the comments on Hemant’s blog:

Reflecting over these events as an adult, I have come to the conclusion that deeply religious people are similar to individuals with personality disorders in that they simply cannot attach. They have learned to mimic the motions of normal human behavior but the hamster has left the wheel.

A little timeline:

• One week ago today, I got a positive result on an early (super early, like 10 days post-ovulation) pregnancy test.
• The weekend was a bit nasty in terms of the husband and I working out unexpected emotions re: said test — even though we were TRYING.
• By Monday, I warned the husband that with my temperature shift, I was fairly sure I was going to miscarry.
• Tuesday, I miscarried.

If I hadn’t been paying attention to symptoms, I’d have never even known I’d been pregnant in the first place. Annnnyway…

I had a meeting planned with my local counselor for Monday, and the timing couldn’t have been better — after a quick (eh, okay, long) rant from me about the weekend, I told her that I didn’t want to fuss about my husband, because hell…I can’t control him. I can, on the other hand, control me. What she pointed out that she sees in me is a bit of difficulty attaching. She also mentioned that she can see some of the same in my husband, but demonstrated in different ways (qualified that, of course, she only “knows” him through my stories).

So, me being me, I read. And read. And yeah, I saw some of myself — but not as much as I would have seen, say, 10 years ago.

Back to the quote from Hemant’s place, this comment really jumped off the page at me — as you might imagine, given my background and past week. I’m not looking for one more emotional issue to blame on religion (I have enough of those!), but it does shed a little light on myself as a younger person. I honestly think it took me until my early 30s (and my first work with a counselor — see the earliest posts of this blog) for me to learn to become a genuine, authentic person. Until then, I just kept role-playing, trying desperately to read what I was “supposed to be” and to try to “be that” (often unsuccessfully).

No conclusions from this. Just thinking out loud…

Back to my hole now. At some point, I should give an update on my life, huh? Or perhaps, answer the questions Sage asked me eons ago?