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ZAP

September 12, 2024by joannetickle1 Comment

I’ve been on anti depressants almost my entire life. It’s just a normal thing to take a small white pill everyday. I call them my nice nice pills. I’ve tried to ween myself off many times but realized when I couldn’t stand the way my partner was breathing or I had a desire to peel off my own skin that things weren’t going as planned. Some people just don’t have brains that produce the balanced chemicals they need to function at a somewhat normal level. I’m not saying that being different or weird is a bad quality. The contrary. As a dyslexic depressive I have found an amazing collection of creative and hilarious freinds who raise the freak flag with pride.

The Covid outbreak was a bizarre two year period where we stayed inside making cocktails and watching everything on Netflix. We weren’t allowed to get together with our usual number of friends, except for a lucky ten that were part of our bubble. Some of us were still employed, like myself who work in the film business…. we had to keep cranking out material for Netflix…. and some people had to stay at home; trying to define who they were without their normal routines and titles. It was a petri dish of anxiety and fear for the depressives. Some relished in the reality that they had an excuse to stay inside and not have to torture themselves with small talk and fake smiles at dinner parties and agoraphobics felt vindicated and encouraged to follow their need to stay at home. It wasn’t bad for everyone. Some of us were thrilled to stay in bed all day and not feel guilty.

Of course, even the plague eventually finds a treatment,; a vaccine; a way for the world to continue and get back to normal routines. When this happened, we all crawled out of our caves and suspiciously. eyed our fellow man’s eyes, because everyone was masked up.

For me, things became a bit overwhelming. My routine had been disrupted and I had felt comfort in my home and suddently I was thrust back into the crowded city streets and traffic ridden roads and expected to navigate them like the “before tmes”. I felt myself suddenly slipping into a uninspired, lazy, lifeless, lump of lard, refusing to get off of my couch. In my head, I was planning to conquer the world, but if it meant. moving in the slightest, I’d redirect to mustering up the energy to open the fridge. I was feeling frustrated as the months went on and on and I wasn’t feeling any better. I was sick of television and my concentration level was so low I couldn’t retain anything from the books I was reading. I decided to try therapy again. I started to seek out what was offered in the world to help deal with anxiety and depression and what I found was a giant waiting list. Every program I thought might be helpful had a year long waiting list.

I didn’t take any comfort in knowing that there were thousands out there just like myself. I’d been in therapy more than once and I started to think about how it was helpful but it didn’t change my situation. You can talk about things; feel like shit, cry and then leave feeling drained. At some point, you feel like you have pushed through the crap ,and that you are amazing and can go back into the world. Press repeat.

I started doing my own research using google. It’s a slippery slope going down that rabbit hole. If you can somehow resist the urge to google symptoms and stick to treatments then you might just find something that interests you. That’s what happened to me. I found a treatment that had been approved and was offered at a local hospital. It was a brain stimulation using electrical currents. In some people there was a significant improvement with how they felt on a daily basis. I asked my Dr. to put in a referral for me and miraculously I was approved. I had to go every day for six weeks to have a “brain zap”. Before I started, I was imagining electro -shock therapy from film noir movies like “The Snake Pit” or even “Francis” where they gave her a lobotomy. In my head I kept playing the song”Teenage Lobotomy” by The Ramones. I couldn’t believe I was going to actually try this. Sometmes you just get to a point in your life where you say, fuck it. …. I might as well. I was at that point.

I went in to the hospital to have a skull cap fitting. It took about an hour. They did a little test run on my brain to see what strength they needed to use to stimulate some involuntary movement. I figured they’d have to go to Frankenstein monster level to get any reaction from my abnormal brain. They placed a large disc on my skull cap and turned the machine on and started sending little zaps of current to my frontal lobe. My baby finger starting moving on its own. I’M ALIVE!! I’M ALIVE!!

I started going in for my treatments a few days later. I would come into the hospital and head to the mental health wing where a technician met me everyday to strap on my cap for three minutes. I started out at 80%, then moving to 100 and then 120%. I could hear the zaps and feel an electrical shock on my skull but didn’t feel anything inside my head. Not unusual. I didn’t suffer headaches, or any kind of side effects. I wasn’t sure if it was doing anything. Sometimes, if it wasn’t sitting perfectly on the cap, one of my eyes would twitch involuntarily. If that happened we would stop and I’d tell them to readjust. It didn’t hurt at all. As the weeks went on, I began to notice a subtle difference in how I was feeling on the inside. I was enjoying my day more and feeling lighter inside. I was able to live in the moment and out of my head less. When I had a fender bender in the underground parking lot and clipped a brand new BMW I didn’t freak out. I handled it really well. I called my partner and he helped me to de-escalate it quickly. At the end of the six weeks I was deemed a successful candidate for the treatment. Once you have completed it you don’t need to continue. You don’t need to come back and do it again. It just takes that long for the patient to notice a difference in how they feel.

I’m not cured but it helped me feel better and that’s all I could ask for. They say it doesn’t work for everyone but if you don’t try something you never know what the outcome will be.

Mental health discussions are not taboo like they used to be. It’s not a shameful thing to admit you need a little help with all the stresses in the world. Don’t even get me started on family! So this is why I’ve decided to write about another new treatment that could be helpful to you or someone you know.

The treatment is called Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation or TMS. Whatever treatment you seek out please don’t give up hope on yourself.

Life is a weird roller coaster so just keep riding it because every day is a new day.

Cheers!

laughs at 50

Colon-SOS-copy

March 31, 2019by joannetickleLeave a Comment

There has never been anything that has instilled such intense fear in me than the time leading up to my first colonoscopy. I could not wrap my head around the fact that there was going to be a camera shoved up my arse, for approximately a mile, while I was only sedated.

It didn’t matter how many people told me, it was really nothing, and that, I wouldn’t feel it, I was simply overwhelmed with panic.

As the days grew closer I was thinking of drastic measures to cancel or delay the procedure… forever… giving way to visions of myself accidently driving the truck off the road into a ditch on the way to my appointment or seeking out a friend whose baby was projectile vomiting with the flue because adults always catch that shit.

I knew, however, that I was not going to get out of it. The day before, as I was preparing to take the pre-procedure, poison-powder mixture, for “expelling” anything that might be lingering in the colon, I called the Dr.’s office to confirm that I would be showing up.

I was greeted by an odd recorded message.

“The office is closed and will not reopen at this time.”

I was really confused. Later that day I watched the news in complete disbelief to hear that the Dr. who was to perform the dreaded deed had been found MURDERED!!

Now, this is going to sound horrible, but, I actually felt complete and total relief … followed by a horrible sense of guilt thinking that maybe I’d, unknowingly, made a deal with the devil when I had prayed for something……ANYTHING …. to stop my having to go to the clinic that day, which lead to a pang of fear, thinking I could actually become a suspect in the slaying.

This is how my insane mind works. My usually lazy and dormant ego kicks in when something horrible happens and that voice in my head says, “You made this happen.”

Unfortunately, even murder, was not enough for me to avoid having my colonoscopy.

My appointment was rescheduled and, this time, instead of a half hour drive to the clinic, I would have a two-hour drive. I decided that, I would no longer use my strong psychic powers to de-rail things, given what happened to the last Dr. When the time arrived, I drank the horrible concoctions the night before and spent a few hours in “my office”. I had thought about driving into the city a day early and staying with friends, so I would be close to the clinic, but who would do that?? I had to be in my own home sweating and pooping.

When we were babies pooping our pants gave us an immense sense of pleasure. I remember cradling my nephew in my arms and saying to my sister, “Oh look he’s smiling at me!” And she responded, stone faced, “He’s pooping.”

As adults we have all had the horrible “shart attack” and it is the most humiliating , embarrassing and awful moment. My friend, Julia, told me her father used to say, “I just squitted.” That made me laugh out loud. The complete surprise at what you have done, combined with the task of hiding the paint ball splatter on your bum, as you dash into the nearest washroom is the worst. Anyway, for me, it has happened in Mexico, Cambodia, Cuba and Greece. The unpurified water is a killer. Maybe I’ve had more incidents than the average person but, what can I say, I like to travel and I’m too trusting.

On my two hour drive the following day to my appointment I was clenching… the whole time… I had not anticipated the likely hood of an accident prior to my arrival. It was mortifying.

With the two hour drive, I had to leave earlier than most so it made sense that my body might not be ready.

Next time I will bring along an emergency change of clothes.

Once I arrived they whisked me in right away. That was such a relief because I was starving, , terrified, and a bit cranky.

OK, here is the good part. I told the nurses to give me the ultimate dose of sedative and they did.

I have no memory of anything other than waking up and letting a fart the length of the song “American Pie” and I am not kidding. I was taken into the recovery area and placed behind curtains where I proceeded to have “contests” with the other victims. I believe I was the winner.

My poor partner arrived early to pick me up, and was in the waiting room of the unholy stench.

He said he had never experienced anything like it and next time he will be waiting for me outside in the car.

I realise this post won’t be for everyone but, honestly, you will all have to experience this at some point in your life and I’m here to say, it’s really not bad at all.

I know… I know… you won’t believe me but I have another one coming up and the only thing I’m dreading is the night before because I won’t lie… that part sucks… but the actual colonoscopy is a piece of chocolate cake.

Party on readers!

Uncategorized

Neck Transplant

January 25, 2019by joannetickle1 Comment

I was filming my parrot, Lord Blimey Pickles, on my shoulder, while he was whispering “give me a kiss”, like a pervert making an obscene phone call, and I saw something even more horrifying…my neck! I honestly had no idea that it has been quietly turning into some sort of alien, artery infested, wrinkle snake… more commonly referred to as a turkey neck. I googled neck transplants. I actually found out that there is a man who had one in Poland. He had cancer of the voice box and giving him the new neck cured him. I’m thinking I may not qualify for the same procedure. Oddly enough there are Doctor’s in China who are working on performing head transplants. I’ll keep that one in my back pocket for the future. It’s a fact that we can maintain our faces and body’s but the neck has a path of destruction like no other. I remember Bea Arthur’s character in Maude wearing high collared dresses and scarves in every single episode and now I get it. I’m not one for wearing things around my neck. I wish I was blessed with one of those long, swan, ballerina necks but I have the… a couple of inches above the shoulders model. I came up with a solution for New Year’s Eve and that was a feather collar. I removed some feathers from a hat from the ’80’s that I no longer wore. I tried it on one day and my head seems to have shrunk because it was sitting too low….covering my eyes to be exact. I looked like someone from an ancient tribe called the Crow People that emerged from the jungles in the 1990’s…but I’m getting side tracked. The feathers all came off on a seam, which was great, and so I used them as a collar. I had some feather scrunchies that I bought at Value Village on Halloween and I used them as cuffs. I also wore one of my favorite things; a 1920’s inspired feather head band that I found in a vintage shop in New York City. Some of my favorite outfits have been accessorized with two things that I love… feathers and flowers. I have a lot to say about flowers and I will do that in a future post. My feather-collar inspired outfit needs to be photographed because almost everything from New Year’s Eve is blurry. Go figure. I have, however, posted a photo from the Memory Ball that I attend every year, for Alzheimer’s research, and I am wearing the feather head band. My crystal necklace belonged to my mom and my earrings were made by Lauren Martin who works in the film business in Winnipeg. I’m also wearing a black faux fur stole that I bought at Winners.

Now I’m off to pickup a vintage dresser I won at an auction. I have no idea how I’m going to fit it in my bedroom but I will get it in there, even if my partner and I have to sleep in one of the drawers.

Fashion, laughs at 50

Fifty Schmifty

January 23, 2019by joannetickleLeave a Comment

When I turned fifty it was weird. There was a big surprise party and music and friends and family ,and yet, I felt a bit creep’d out. I felt ashamed for being that old all of a sudden and I had a flash of my mother, at 50, as she began her descent into the older woman syndrome.
Close cut short permed hair, stretchy pants, an overly embellished sweater and sensible flat shoes. The saggy bum of those shapeless, navy polyester’s, lent the observer to picture a loaded diaper beneath. The gorilla shaped sweater with the huge pieces of reflective mirror,
and plastic gems bedazzled all over it, and those black, faux suede, men’s- slipper inspired ladies’ shoes will never be erased from my memory banks.
My mother had gone from a fashionable woman who bought expensive crepe and silk dresses from Italy to a Sears bargain hunter. It was the 1970’s.
I still have her oldest dresses hanging in my closet. They are gorgeous and timeless …and I can’t fit into a single one. The last time I wore them was at the age of 18 and after that I became “big boned” with “lovely skin”.
When I was very young it was important for me to look like my friends and we all shopped at the same stores and bought the same clothes. We went to the same hair dresser and had the same haircuts. Here is the thing though; everyone has a different body type and skin tone and just because hot pink looks good on my best friend does not mean it looks good on me. In fact, it brought out the rosacea that I didn’t even know existed until it was highlighted by a hideous pink neon.
As I got older, I realized that freedom of expression and creativity could be blasted out to the world through our appearance. A light bulb went off as I entered my punk phase. Stealing my mom’s red, pointy toed, curling boots; shredding a couple of miniskirts; slapping on fishnet tights and hair spraying myself into a spikey rooster, I’d hit the clubs to pogo the night away. I’d look around the scene with my black coal rimmed eyes and see another 75 carbon copies of myself but I still felt like I was a rebel and doing something different. I was an individual.
I then had a chameleon phase in college where I would be whatever the situation called for. If I was going to see The Grateful Dead I would be a hippy. If I was going to see Elvis Costello I was a new wave punk. If I was going to see the B-52’s I had the biggest bee-hive. It allowed me to experiment with different looks and find whatever felt more like me.
At some point, I realized that they were all me.
Turning fifty. Turning fifty gave me an epiphany. I see that with age comes absolute freedom to express yourself. Some rules do apply though: do not wear something so short that you are exposing your sagging arse and, at some point, you’ve got to cover up that Neanderthal wrinkler cleavage. Getting older sucks but there are ways to celebrate the, “I no longer give a shit” period of our lives.
Working in the film business has allowed me to present myself at work in whatever phase I was going through, finally landing where I am today.
My philosophy is this. Dress for how you are feeling. Don’t let your best dresses hang in your closet waiting for the right opportunity to wear them. Combine fancy with casual. Experiment because, at your age, you can be eccentric now.
With some laughs and fashion ,and loads of makeup, I think I’ll get through this next stage of my life,
I hope you enjoy my posts geared for those of us who are in our “golden years”. Barf.