late bloomer

Stories, musings, and pictures… a little bit late.



After I graduated from college and before I started my “real” job, I spent some time as a substitute teacher. K – 12 if you wondering. On one of my middle school days I got to go on a field trip to Tryon Little Theatre for a concert.

Some time before the music started one of the teachers (that used to be my 6th grade teacher) looked at me and out of nowhere said, “It can’t really be that bad”. I feel like she said it in kind of a joking manner, but a bad joke just the same. Immediately I had 2 thoughts: 1. You don’t know how bad it is. 2. What gave me away?

My face. (The bike helmet is not an indicator of my mood. Well, rarely…)

I’ve never had a good poker face. Anyone can pretty much tell, with 95% accuracy,  how I feel about something.I found my seat and began to panic a little, thoughts began racing through my head. “I thought I was doing an ok job coping. How many other people know? How is saying something like that supposed to be helpful anyway?”

Once the music started I was able to calm down a little, hold back any tears that “It can’t really be that bad” came through and unleashed from the cage down in the pit of my stomach.

Then, the musician spoke.

The pianist turned toward his audience and told us that the composer had written this song for his girlfriend. Not for her to hear necessarily, but for him to show her and other people what she is to him, in the best way he knew how to portray her – musically. It was a beautiful song and it made me think of meadows and sunshine and flying insects glittering in the light. But not before it made me think what a song would sound like that portrayed me. It really wasn’t a song. It was more of a sound. A deep, rattling, sour sound – plunked out and let go until it faded.

For some reason that analogy has stayed with me. Now, when I feel I need to make a quick assesment I try to imagine what my song sounds like.

Am I a dork? Is this helpful/entertaining to anyone? Is my hair really that color? Is it lunchtime yet?


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Lexapr-Uh Oh

6 months ago I had an appointment with a psychiatrist for a re-evaluation. Basically, I took an hour out of  my day to spend 5 minutes in a casual conversation with an M.D.,  which resulted in another 6 month prescription. I’ve been doing this for at least 2 years, maybe 3.

A couple of days ago I ran out. I called the pharmacy for a refill a few days prior but it needed “Doctor’s Approval.”  Long story short – I’ve made several calls to the pharmacy and the doctor’s office, have an appointment for my re-eval, and am on day 4 or 5 without Lexapro.

Days 1 and 2 were fine. I foolishly thought to myself,  “Maybe I don’t need this…” 

So what is going on now? Am I depressed? No. Riddled with anxiety? Nope. Having trouble coping with clutter? Yep. Have a more acute sense of hearing on the decibel levels of extremely annoying? You betcha.  Are people suddenly less funny and more jerk-like? Oh yeah.

Had I not already spent time at the bottom of my own personal barrel, I would wonder if I was taking this medicine to act as a sort of allergy medicine – a way to defend against the uncomfortable/annoying parts of life. Those things aren’t what leads to the depression though. Those things are my warning signs.

Artist: Sherri Conley

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The “D” word

First off – why are my faces squished? I’m not so good with formatting, but in my preview window my faces looked fine. Oh well.

Wednesday was a great day. The morning at work went by quickly, I got to meet a friend for a lengthy lunch…I was feeling pretty good. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, my world went gray. All of the sudden my smile disappeared. I felt lost. Confused. Worried. Anxious.

Fortunately I recovered from this “lapse” in only a couple of hours. This happens sometimes and I chalk it up as a bad day. Bad days are necessary. They provide a way to recognize the good days. However, having struggled through depression, I immediately overreact and assume I am about to take a ride down the swirling vortex of sadness whenever this happens.

The overreaction is actually my preferred method of coping at this point. I’d much rather nip something like this in the bud than have it creep over me gradually because I was being stubborn/ignoring the signs.

The gray-ness is one of my signs, and usually I only see it in hindsight. Some of my memories have this heavy, gray-ness to them, like weeks or months of un-breaking overcast.

My 10 day forecast is looking good though. Mostly sunny and maybe a surprise rain shower.  (I am a woman after all, there is no telling what I might cry about.)