So, if you're crazy, how do you know?

Just came from a very non-rewarding visit to my MD. I battle depression as a part of my MS and it is really screwing with my good time lately. Could it be the fresh lesions on my brain despite my DMT? Or various family issues? Or my being financially tight and chubby and getting older? Or maybe the visit with my neurologist where he told me that yes, I was actually having new symptoms that affect my hands (AAUGH!) and eyes (DOUBLE AAUGH!)? Serious enough that he ordered a repeat MRI for me and I only had one six months ago. (unusual here in the hinterland). Who knows?

Or maybe my MS is just attacking my emotional centre as well. It'll do that.

Anyway, my doc is of course asking me what my problem is. "Don't you feel you have value?"

Um, not if I'm not contributing, no.

"So are you saying people in wheelchairs don't have value?"

Of course not. They all have their own value. It is MINE that isn't there....

It's nonsensical, but then those are the blinders depression puts on a gal. I can't even argue it anymore. My therapist is trying to convince me I have value in just existing, but hell, I'm not buying it. Funny thing is, I know others who just exist and I love them dearly and never ever think they should go tumble off this field of tears, but me, yep, the thought of not being here to deal with it all again and again and again is tempting.

See, it's all cyclical, and I don't even have periods anymore. I sink down into depression, I wallow, something jolts my battery (usually something/someone new) and I rumble to life again, but the battery light is still flashing on and off in a warning sort of way. I don't think I've ever had it go out completely since I was diagnosed, and I am getting SO TIRED OF MYSELF.

Fortunately, I only live with a cat, so the damage I inflict with my depression on others is necessarily limited to a few guilt-inducing emails now and then. My cat is an older fellow, declawed and neutered, so he can identify with my anomie. For a while he lived with my birds and was told not to pounce them. He's happier now that he has my permission to eat any moving small creature we come across, especially spiders.

I know exercise, music, sex, good food, cheese, and girly drinks all help. But when I'm depressed, I can't make myself reach for those things. I simply wallow. Surprisingly, the other day, I actually cried. Haven't done that in years.

Hate crying as I go all blotchy and red when I do and I develop a terrible headache. So then I feel awful about crying, which isn't helpful on the whole depression thing.

In any case, a lot of this is probably due to a MS flare-up so I know if I wait it out or do something, it will eventually pass. It's good to know that.

For any of you in my same mess, there's a pretty good book online about ms and depression 
symptoms, written by the same author who wrote "MS and your Feelings". Check them out, and get yourself some support. The one thing I've learned through all this is that it's your friends (and pets)who will see you through. Don't bother counting on family.

Blindness revisited, or how MS can spring up and mess with you just when you thought you were coping...

Okay, MS, I've got your number. I know you will make me tired, you'll give me muscle spasms, you'll eat away at my concentration like a deranged rodent. I know some days I'll feel so good people will look at my disabled sticker and mumble and gesture. I'll spring gaily along, overcommitting and overdoing because on good days I am almost manic, trying to crowd in as much as I can.

I know other days kids will offer to help me  as I bend over my rollator. Kids. Of six and seven. And old people will hold open the door for me, offer to carry stuff, fret about me. And I'll spend half the day lying on my couch with the cat kneading me anxiously.

But Cheesus Murphy, as the excellent Kitchener restaurant would say, DON'T TAKE ME F-ing EYES!

It's bad enough about the brain. I spent years and countless thousands educating it and for what? So I can misunderstand simple knitting patterns and never find my glasses? Honestly. If I had that tuition money back I'd spend it travelling the world while I still could, going to Africa and Madagascar and New Zealand and everywhere. Of course, hindsight is 20-20, unlike current sight.

Which brings me to yesterday. I've been having problems seeing for a while now - blurring vision, glasses don't work, etc, etc. I've become used to seeing things with furry edges. I now can no longer read small things without glasses - I'd blame it on age, but it's been a sudden transition, over the past few weeks.

Yesterday, though, I had a recurrence of what sent me to the hospital the first time five years ago - a creeping in of goo from the right side of my head, covering my vision, enclosing me in a swampy impenetrable fog.
Last time, it swept across both eyes, giving me intense claustrophobia. It came, lingered, left. Came back. Sent me to the hospital. Hung around a bit more, left me again.

Last evening, it crept in again, like a migraine aura, oozing in from the upper right corner of my eye, creeping ever so slowly until half my right eye vision was obliterated.

I thought I handled it well. I mentioned it to my companion, quickly, not lingering, in case I was having a stroke and he'd have to spring into action and do something with me. Like a distant foghorn. We continued chatting and working, and I quelled my panic. As with most MS things, there is little that can be done, when it comes right down to it. If I lose my vision, that's it. There's treatment with steroids, which shortens attacks, but really doesn't help with progression. If the bottom drops out of 'er, as they say, it drops out.

It came back, thank heavens and the gods above and all that is good and right in this world.

But it leaves me a little bit more frightened, a little bit more wary, a little bit in dread.
Sometimes I forget I have a progressive disease. I adjust to my current function, think it will always be thus. And then...

And then...

It's fucking terrifying.

"I have MS but it doesn't have me…"

What a load of malarkey.
Every time I hear this or read some cheery news about how wonderful life with MS is, I want to scream. Really loudly.
Except that I can't because I'd like to accomplish something tomorrow and extremes of emotion exhaust my fried nerves.
It's not that I'm not grateful. Honestly. If I had to have a chronic debilitating disease, MS is at least amusing. It changes and wobbles and is completely unpredictable. It makes every morning an exciting trip of "can I feel this" and "can I stand up without falling over?" and "will I need to nap half the day today?" It's exciting.
But it also sucks, absolutely.
I am tired of trying to live normally only to be hit upside the head with a flare-up or a sudden inability to do math or fatigue so intense I can't get myself out to buy milk, let alone do anything else.
I used to be a can-do type of gal, taking things on and throwing them about, accomplishing three things with my right hand while juggling another two with my left. I could multi-task. I could work with music on in the background
Now I find myself typing okay with one hand while the other lolls about and goes on strike or types at a different speed. My brain packs up and wanders off at odd moments and words go walkabout.
Most of the time I'm fine.
But I can't predict it, see. When my brain goes out on me, it's a sudden thing. I become exhausted in a moment, crash and burn.
And so I find myself limiting my activities, withdrawing from things, gradually detaching myself from positions of responsibility, backing off, choosing things that can be cancelled in a heartbeat.
So, I have MS, and yes, it does have me. By the throat.

Rain, rain, go away...

Well, to be fair, the sun that's been hiding for the last several days is actually making an appearance today. I love feeling it on my skin as I curl by the windows.

No, it's the internal rain that's getting to me.

Battling depression isn't pretty. When part of it is due to organic brain disease, that's even more fun. Sometimes I don't even know who I am any more.

I'm disorganized, I overspend, I do silly things with my short term life choices. Sometimes it's a bit scary as I try to negotiate around the me and me-but-messed-up parts in my head.

I probably should have a keeper, someone to be accountable to. But in my twisted mind, I don't want anyone to play that role.

I feel a bit like a badly behaved horse, trying to fight her way out of a stall, but resisting the halter that would lead me there.

I wish they'd get a grip on what was going on in our heads, we MSers. Some of us have no cognitive or emotional problems; some of us hide them and suffer in silence; some of us display them for all to see.

Last week I bottomed out and I still feel like I'm in an unreal state, not really here, not really present. It's bizarre, like I'm recovering from a bad cold or something. My brain is crowded around with clouds and mist.

Where is that sun?

The daily-ness of it all... walking, walking , walking

I linger in bed as long as I can, after a night spent tossing and turning, where I turn on my radio without knowing it and then wake myself when the volume level changes suddenly. I spin and toss as my legs ache. Finally I know I have to get up because I have a dog whose bladder is no doubt at the point of rupture in the next room. I stagger into the shower and/or pull on clothing, release the hound, and it's time for the morning ramble. It starts off easily enough, particularly if I remember to bring my cane, though handling leash, exuberant and desperate puppy, keys and poop sacs is an interesting dexterity challenge. Today I can see properly, so it's a bit easier. Last night the fog was internal and external. Weather and vision. That terrifies me and I spend a fair bit of my time praying loudly that the gods preserve my sight.
But about, say, 300 yards into the walk, it is no longer pleasant. Legs and hips remind me of the MS. They start, ever so annoyingly, to add pain to the walk. Like sands through the hourglass (as the soap "Days of our Lives" used to say), each step adds a soupçon of misery. By the time we're on our way back, the dog is dragging me, looking back to see what the problem is. My legs feel like they weigh 2000 tons, like the weights in Wily Coyote's plots.
I suppose it would be easier if I used my walker, but I'm fighting that. It's even bulkier than the cane and I'm not sure how I'd hold the leash. I suspect bungee cords would be involved.
But we get home and I stagger about feeding the beasts until I can slump myself into a chair.
Which, about half an hour later, is uncomfortable. So I stand to pain.
There's got to be a way out of this cycle. Other than scotch, which does help but which isn't recommended for breakfast, for some reason...

Swing low, sweet chariot...

Whew. These mood swings do lay a girl low. I'm already hepped up on antidepressants and yet I sink, lower than a frog's belly. Nothing tastes of anything to me. Music bores me. Sex is uninteresting (well, I'm numb, so, what do I expect?). Even the thought of a hot bath is too much.
I find myself oversensitive, tired of speaking to people, yet hungry for company and distraction. My body aches. I want chocolate but can't taste it.  I want wine, but it has no flavour.
It would all make me quite desperate except that I know it's just another sneak attack from the MS - I've been having more difficulty with my balance and my walking, so I know something sinister is afoot, and I expect the darkness in my soul is just a part of that.
I'm hoping to avoid the incontinence thing - it's a rare problem but when it occurs I am desperate beyond measure. I live in dread of wandering about, smelling vaguely of pee, yet I know when and if it does happen, I'll just have to dig deep and keep going on. Like those books that are proliferating everywhere that say "Keep calm and carry on". Or "Eat cupcakes and carry on", which I prefer. I might be able to taste a cupcake.
I know a woman who has terminal cancer. She's not in pain yet, she knows she is going to die soon. She is the most cheerful person I know - handles it all with aplomb, is kind and sweet to all, is the sort of woman who says I love you to her spouse 10 times in one phone conversation. I'm trying to learn from her, as I pray for her. I wish I had her jollies.
Ah, I'm probably just pooped from entertaining folks. And other, grimmer events. I'm sure it will pass, because I just heard a seagull scree outside my window and I had to step out into the cool night and feel the breeze on my skin. I can feel little cheery sunshine lines springing up from my heart. they're faint, as yet, and if I let myself think over the events of today, I'll squash them out. So instead, a cup of tea, some mindless entertainment, and early to bed - and the hope for a sunshinier tomorrow. It's about time for this roller coaster to head up again.