She’s a post-doc in neuroscience, and she has posted in the past about various psychoactive medications and how they work.    She writes about the two major classes of ADHD drugs, [...]]]> I’ve been reading blogging by Scicurious (formerly of Neurotopia at Science Blogs, now at a blog called either “Neurotic Psychology” or “Scicurious”, I’m not sure which.

She’s a post-doc in neuroscience, and she has posted in the past about various psychoactive medications and how they work.    She writes about the two major classes of ADHD drugs, Amphetamine, and Methylphenidate, as well as SSRI’s.  If you’re on any of these meds you should check out her posts.

Usually, what this means is that I can count on April and May to be my good months.  The [...]]]> The weather in my neighborhood is usually fairly predictable.  Rain from January through March.  Sun in April and May.  Fog from June through August.  Sun in September and October.  Fog or overcast weather in November and December.

Usually, what this means is that I can count on April and May to be my good months.  The days get longer, and the sun shines.  As I’ve written before, both my depression and my ADD are highly responsive to the amount of sunlight I get.  I can usually count on April and May for a better mood, incredible energy, and the ability to really focus on getting things done.

Not so this year.  The winter rains just haven’t stopped.  California needs the rain, gods know; we’ve had a running drought for a few years now, and all this rain may finally be pulling us out of it.  But my own selfish needs are not being met.  I’m trying to juggle my online writing, a job search, and an art project that needs to be finished on a deadline.  I could use a little help from the sun right about now.

Since it’s already mid-May, I’m afraid that I may not get my sunny Spring this year.  We may just get rain, rain, and more rain, until the fog rolls in and covers the land for the summer.  This is not a good thing for my brain.

I say this in spite of having suffered from depressive and anxiety disorders for years.  These disorders are bona fide mental illnesses, and between that and a traumatic childhood, I spent several years in therapy sorting myself out.  I have always been and always will be triggered [...]]]> I don’t consider myself to be a neurotic person.

I say this in spite of having suffered from depressive and anxiety disorders for years.  These disorders are bona fide mental illnesses, and between that and a traumatic childhood, I spent several years in therapy sorting myself out.  I have always been and always will be triggered by things that other people aren’t.  I go through periods where I am absolutely unable to watch the news, because I know it will put me in an emotional hole I won’t be able to climb out of.  I have to avoid certain situations, like shopping malls, because the crowds and the various competing stimuli induce panic.  Casinos, I once discovered on a trip to Reno, are even worse.
I don’t feel that those things make me “neurotic”.  I know that because of my brain chemistry and my background, I react to certain situations in certain ways that other people don’t.  I know emotions are simply not subject to conscious control. I have learned to control my exposure to things that I know will trigger me, and I’m much happier and healthier as a result.  I feel pretty good about that.

Last night, though, I felt neurotic.  I say “neurotic” because it was a feeling that went beyond anxiety to a weird sort of unease, and one in which I my mind was telling me things that were clearly irrational, and that I knew were irrational, but that I was unable to banish.

For various reasons, it was 3 am by the time I went to bed last night.  I was already feeling vaguely uneasy for no good reason, and the minute I went upstairs the storm that’s been buffeting California all week intensified.  The rain pounded the roof and the wind picked up.  I could hear the gutters overflowing, and I swear I heard the wind wuthering. Since my bedroom is in a loft right under the roof, this was all pretty loud, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm was consciously trying to get into the house. I felt as if I was the only human being in the world, and the storm resented this, and was trying to destroy my house out of vengeance and hatred for all things warm-blooded.

I got into bed, but I didn’t want to turn out the light; I got out of bed and wandered around for awhile; I went back upstairs; I got out of bed again; I felt lonely; I desperately wished my partner were home just to have another human being around.  I felt a sense of dread that I just couldn’t shake.  It was like I was channeling Edgar Allen Poe, and all his characters with their morbid imaginations and “morbidly acute” senses.  It wasn’t the anxiety that had me telling myself that I was being neurotic, it was the paranoia, the attribution of malevolent, conscious intent to something that I know is just about warm and cold air masses.

This isn’t usually like me.  I haven’t been afraid of the dark since I was a small child.  My husband travels a lot, and while I miss him, I’m never afraid to be alone. Like Mrs Whatsit in Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle In Time, “wild nights are my glory”; I usually love storms, blizzards, and all sorts of severe weather, and I’m puzzled by people who are afraid of thunder.  I grew up in the Midwest, where thunderstorms are frequent, and kids are told from the time they’re born that “thunder is just noise, it can’t hurt you”.  Likewise, you’re safe in the basement during severe weather.  You’re safe in a blizzard if you stay inside.  Unless you live in a flood zone or a trailer park, weather won’t hurt you if you take precautions and use common sense.  Weather is something I can usually handle.

I don’t know what it was about last night that had me so worked up.  Ultimately, I was extremely grateful for my cat Piglet, a sweet and compliant Maine Coon mix who’s always willing to take care of me.  I went down stairs and picked her up, carried her upstairs, and got into bed.  She stayed where I put her, purring, half on my chest and half on my arm.  When my arm fell asleep (she’s a 16.5 lb cat, after all) she shifted obligingly, staying close and purring.  My other cat, CC, came up soon afterward and settled onto my legs.  I already felt easier.  But I didn’t fall asleep until I heard a fire struck lumber past, assuring me that there was at least one other person out there, awake like me, and ready to come to my defense if the storm tried to get me.

I [...]]]>

Rickie Sugars is glad the study proves a link between learning disabilities and poor mental health.

I have no idea when this story ran in the Vancouver Sun, but it’s worth a look.  The Learning Disabilities Association of Canada has released a study on the long-term effects of undiagnosed learning disabilities.  The results?  Lasting psychological harm.

I can certainly attest to this.  My LD went undiagnosed until half way through my junior year of college.  By that point, I was at a top-20 liberal arts college, surrounded by people who were able to do the assignments AND the reading for all of their classes, and my self esteem was not only in the toilet but flushed into the sewers.  Since my disabilities are in areas that are the focus of most entry-level professional jobs (paperwork, scheduling, filing, and occasionally light bookkeeping as well) I essentially have no career to speak of.

As a result of this, I’ve been diagnosed with major depression and dysthymia, anxiety and panic disorder, stress-related asthma, and even a heart condition.  It’s taken my whole adult life to come to terms with this. I have had to rebuild myself from my foundations.  In short, friends, it has sucked, and it has sucked mightily.

Mad props to LDAC for taking this issue seriously, and for getting the word out.