Heavy days

What is it that makes certain days so much harder to get through? Could it be something as trivial as a bad tooth? Is it the antibiotics? Or the infection? The fight inside my body?

Or is it finishing The Shepherds Crown? Because now it really feels like Terry Pratchett is dead. Like The Discworld is dead. Like the portal to that place is gone and lost forever. And that place is one of my favourites. I love his last ten or so books. I like all of them but they did get better and better.

My feckin tooth. Let me tell you about it. In may, while in England, I got a crazy infection in my jaw. I went to a doctor who gave me antibiotics and told me to see a dentist as soon as I got back. I did, they immediately pulled out a wisdom tooth and gave me more antibiotics. They also told me I needed a root canal. However since I was moving to Denmark social services didn't want to pay for it.

So I moved to Denmark. I tried to figure out if I could still get the root canal in Sweden - if I paid for it myself - but I never managed to find out.

So the problem was that "me paying for it myself" meant that Chris pays. I knew that I had to find a dentist, my tooth was hurting more and more, I couldn't eat or drink anything colder than room temperature but I kept putting it off. I knew it was going to cost.

Finally I called the closest dentist. Just around the corner. I got an appointment and went in for a consultation and x ray. Yes, I needed a root canal. It would probably take a couple of go's. Fine. I came in for the first step of the root canal last week, got an injection of anaesthetics (the thing that makes you numb, not the thing that makes you fall asleep). They started to drill. I screamed. It was horrible. More injections. More drilling. More mind shattering pain. I was crying and apologising. They told me not to worry, we would try again on Monday.

On Monday morning I took a diazepam and a citodon. I went in, had 5 injections of anaesthetics (one in my jaw and the rest around the tooth) and then got to wait more than 30 minutes for them to kick in properly. Half my face was completely numb but, of course, the second that drill touched my tooth it felt like an axe hit my lower jaw. I was crying again. They stopped, because there was nothing more to do.

They told me to call my doctor to see if there was any way to figure out what was going on with my anaesthetic receptors, or something (the diazepam had me pretty lost at this point). I called my doctor and they said they could not help me at all (they literally said "this is not our problem" and I said "that is not helpful at all" and hung up). I called my dentist again and they called my doctor and then my doctors office called me and told me to come in an hour later. I slept for 40 minutes and then went to see my doctor, who talked to an anaesthetic...ologist? She told me that there was no way to find out why the anaesthetics didn't work (they had worked before, I have several teeth that have "mendings" in them) but they were confident that it would be possible to put me under (the only other time I've been under anaesthesia - the sleep kind, not the numb kind - was when I was 12 and had to pull out a tooth that hade grown out in the roof of my mouth, super freaky. The thing was that I got a double adult dose and it still took me hours to fall asleep). A lot has happened in medical science during the last 20 years, according to my doctor.

So. I'm sure my doctor told me some more stuff but I was too woozy to understand much. I went back home.

On Tuesday I didn't call anyone. In the evening I realized that I probably should have, but I wasn't sure who.

On Wednesday I called my dentist. They said that they can't do anaesthetics (the sleep kind) so I had to contact a specialist-dentist. I tried to process that information but felt confused and had no idea how to find a specialist. A while later my doctor called me (maybe she's a bit psychic?) and told me where to call and what to say. Today I called that specialist and got an appointment for a consultation for Monday. So we'll see what happens after that.

Until then I'm still in pain and my half-drilled tooth is not making me happy at all. My face is still swollen and everything feels completely horrible.

BUT! I have gotten a time at the psychiatry!

Trippin and coughin

So I did bake that thing, I wasn't very pleased with it unfortunately.

I went to Sweden to get the last of my stuff, and I'm happy to have it all in one place even though the stress from traveling and moving killed my immune system and I was sick for about a week after.

By now the complete chaos is subsiding. There's still a few boxes standing around and some things that don't really have a home yet but most stuff is sorted.

My curling iron wasn't there, and a few other things that I thought I'd get back, but there was a lot of stuff that I'd missed and that I'm really happy to be reunited with! And a lot of stuff that I'm giving to welfare.

I've started knitting christmas gifts! And today I went to the doctor for the first time since I moved over. I hope to be able to get a therapist here but it might be tricky and take time. I feel worried and sad about that. Even though we're surrounded by large cities here - Gothenburg is right to the East, North of here is Oslo, and Denmark is small so Copenhagen is just a 40 minute flight away - it feels like we're close to stuff! But we're in North Jylland (jutland?) and there's not much of anything here. (Except students and bars.) Doctors and psychologists are thin on the ground, unfortunately. We're pretty much in the countryside.

---EDIT---

Uhmmmm my curling iron was one of the first things I did unpack. Depression forgetfulness is SO MUCH FUN.

WHAT UP MY WITCHES

Okay so after another day of not taking my happy pills I feel even more calm and happy. My thoughts are settling in my head and I finished the sky bit of my mural and did laundry and stuff. All good.

The last few days I have been researching "no poo", the practice of washing hair without shampoo, since shampoo is actually pretty harmful to your hair. If anyone can remember that far back I used to wash my hair with only conditioner for a year or so. I stopped about two years ago because I wanted to use styling products and stuff but I almost never do anyways. So intense research has been underway! I'm really exited about it, since I get really exited about stuff in general.

At the moment I'm experimenting a lot. So my hair looks like.. I don't know, troll hair. Zero shine and stuff but really structured? And it smells faintly of chocolate. So that's nice. The interesting thing here is that the internet is full of people who have no idea what they are talking about. I mean look at this. I've seen this tip about bleaching your teeth at home with hydrogen peroxide loads of times. Like... No. Dude. "Just keep it in your mouth for 20 minutes" - that's corrosive chemicals that you're mixing together and putting in your mouth. Your mouth. Just... No.

I'm trying to go by "if I can't eat it I don't want to put it on my body". I know it sounds a bit dirty hippie, but, well, okay. I might be. I'd rather be smelly (chocolate smelly! It feels okay!) than fucking eating hydrogen peroxide. I know those are two extremes but whatever. Shampoo is a really new invention, people have always had hair. I washed it with coffee grounds and baking soda yesterday but that might not be a great idea since on a different page the same mix is used to remove hair. So maybe not that. I also put a lot of lemon juice in it, which was a popular thing for girls to do when I was in eighth grade because they wanted to bleach it but they also made it really brittle, so that might not be super clever either, even tho it might? I'm not sure yet. I think the hair mask of coconut oil and honey that I put in my hair before "washing" it probably protected it a bit. Also it didn't really wash out. Heehee. After arriving at really kind of oily but still clean-feeling and completely odorless hair I wanted to go out, so I put some more baking soda in it, mixed with arrow root and cocoa powder and some cinnamon. I reached the current state of big, matte, curly, fluffy troll hair. I think I'll leave it until some kind of mix of corn starch, arrow root and cocoa powder stops feeling helpful (maybe within... I don't know, a few days, a week?) before subjecting it to more experiments. (I seldom wash my hair more than once a week, even with shampoo.) I'll keep you posted, whether you want me to or not. I'm also going to make my own deodorant! Ever more dirty hippie-warning!

Don't distrust, I still love science. I still own zero cats. I still don't love lentils. But it's a slippery slope, and being an artsy, slightly "eccentric" (if that's possible for poor people to be even), crafty woman over 30 it's easy to go all the way and just start wearing all linen and not eating pizza and maybe taking a pottery class. I already spin yarn and paint murals, so I mean this could just be a question of "when" rather than "if".

And my extreme distrust in doctors probably doesn't help... Welp, tomorrow is shrink day! Better get some sleep so that I can stride in there like the radiant lunatic we all know that I am, full of energy to change my behavior through understanding it! YES I also have zero trust in cbt. As mentioned. Vigorously.

I understand my behavior and I can change it at will. I would prefer to solve my problems. But we'll see. Tomorrow is the first actual treatment meeting. I wonder what he will say about me deciding against chemical warfare on my brain? (And also my body I guess! Altho I really don't give a fuck about my shrink's opinion on my hair.)

Calm

So the day - and the week - is over. I feel pretty good right now. The whole day passed and I (almost) didn't even cry! I did the things I wanted to do. (Most if them at least.) I went out with a friend who's visiting from the cold north, where there's snow. (Uppsala.)

I didn't manage to force myself to take my meds. I know it's important and it takes time and blah blah but it feels like walking around in a dark cave. I'm safe from the dangers of the outside. I have no idea what those dangers are but I'm safe in my cave. "I can't see or hear anything in this bloody cave!" I call out into the darkness. Far away there's a voice calling back: "if you stay in there for like... Two or three more weeks your eyes will get used to the dark!"

"But I don't want to get used to the dark. Can't I just go outside? I can see the exit from here."

"NOPE"

My life might actually be some kind of experiment?

So my beloved readers; some depression news. I have seen a new doctor. She was quite young I think, it was hard to tell. Her face looked pretty. On her desk was a picture of her, a man and like five children. Anyway. She was, like most doctors I've met the last few years, quite rude and superior. I think it's easy to be superior when you honestly think that you are. Is that something they teach you at med school? That you are literally better than every other person in the world? Or is it just that kind of person that decides "I should be a doctor"? Or is it specific for those who work with us head cases? Most eye doctors and general physicians and people who work in the ER and stuff have seemed less inclined to treat their patients like crap.

Anyway. I told her about my sadness and frustration and feeling of meaninglessness and powerlessness. She didn't seem to like my attitude, questioning wether I actually wanted her help or not. I told her about my past and (some of) the difficult things that had happened in my childhood, youth, last few years. She asked me why I was bullied in school. She asked me why I got locked in a small room by my teacher. I felt exasperated. I told her I wanted to quit my meds. She told me she agreed and that I should switch to a different kind. The switch would make me more depressed and my suicidal impulses would be more difficult to ignore. She told me to go back to the psyche ward if I felt more suicidal. I set my suicide-o-meter to alert me if I got too suicidal. (No. No I didn't. There is no such thing. As a chronically depressed person it's difficult AS FUCK to tell when a feeling is right or wrong, true or imagined, real or just a product of the depression. Too suicidal? What?) I explained to her that I couldn't afford to commit myself again. That the last time, more than a year ago, resulted in bills I still haven't been able to pay and a "marking in the register" that means that I won't be able to rent a car or buy a house or shop on credit or get a loan or anything for several years. She said that didn't matter. I almost laughed. Almost. Death would at least solve my economical situation. 

I told her that I wanted therapy, not just new drugs all the time. "Oh, has no one explained?" She asked superiorly. "The wait for cognitive behavioral therapy is several months long." "Oh," I answered, "but I don't want cbt. I want ordinary counseling. I want to talk to someone." 

She looked at me. Arms crossed. Face empty of emotion. "No." She said. She explained that I needed cbt and new meds. Not talking. Cbt and meds. 

I told her several good reasons why I needed not cbt. I don't want it, I don't feel that behavior is the reason for my depression but the other way around and I don't think changing my behavior will effect my depression, several doctors (nice ones and superior ones) have recommended counseling and not cbt for me, et cetera. 

"No. Cbt will help. Cbt and new meds. Your depression stems from your behavior."

I felt stunned. Why force me to wait for months for a form of therapy that I don't even want? While at the same time making me more suicidal? (I kind if feel that suicidal is something that you either are or aren't. Like pregnant. Either you manage to stay alive and then you deserve applause or you don't and then you deserve sympathy.) I told her I personally would prefer counceling if that was at all possible. "I'll raise the question at the next staff meeting" she said, which I've heard so many times I know by now that it means yeah whatever kid you're not a doctor and I am. 

She gave me the number for a suicide prevention thing or whatever. I left feeling like shit. Why where you bullied? Well gee wiz missus doctor mam, I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE. I still wonder. Why do I inspire hatred in people? Why did my teacher lock me up? Why do "friends" still turn around and stab me in the back? What's wrong with me? I don't know. All my life I've been trying to conform, change, fit in, not be awkward and scared, be nice and pleasant but also cool and confident. I'm great at small talk. I think. But still people start hating me. All my life. Hate. 

So yeah doctor. Cause I suck maybe? Cause I'm just not likable? Cause I'm some kind of freak?

Today I started taking a lower dose of my meds and in two weeks I'll have quit them completely. After that I'm supposed to start taking that other kind. I don't want to. I probably won't. If she calls me before then telling me I get to go to counceling, then maybe I will. Otherwise I'll give up on a system that has abused me for three years and start trying... Homeopathy or some shit. Needles maybe? What's that called? The Chinese thing? Or maybe like telephone healing or vitamins or working out or whatever. 

Probably just painting and painting and painting. Like now. But without welfare and meds. (You can't get welfare in Sweden unless you look for work or have a doctor saying you're not fit for work, and if I don't take the drugs that will make me want to kill myself even more they'll just say that I'm not trying to get better and thus I'm obviously not depressed enough or something like that. And I won't try to find a job that I know I can't do. I can't get up in the mornings, I can't see any meaning with life or being awake or eating food or breathing so I know I won't be able to go to work without constant panic attacks. I get panic attacks from trying to go down to the shops for heavens sake. I'm pretty sure I know my depression by now. So yeah, my future holds zero income, again, and with that comes total freedom from having a place to live and I'll be homeless, again. I guess just talking to that doctor for 40 minutes made me more fucking suicidal, yay! 

Seriously. I'm in a catch 22 and I can't see how I'll survive. 

home...sick

Homesick?

Just sick. I think.

Tinariwen was absolutely great and I had a great night with Afrika. We had thai food and went to Scoozi for dessert. They refused to give me the recipe for marsbar cheesecake but I still like them. Johan had Tiramisú which is probably ecually good, and afterwards I felt really sick from eating way to much. But the concert was wondergreat and me and Johan are going to dance the robot-dance on every concert ever from now on.

My head hurts and my throat hurts and I feel a bit nauceaus and I have no appetite. My friends tell me to go to the doctor but I truly believe that the only good thing that that could bring me is pay for today. And since I really don't feel like walking out the door and my bluecard is out I think I'll just try to live without todays pay. Nothing in this world can make me trust a doctor.

It hurts so much.