Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: hypothyroidism

Sickness, Hypothyroidism, and Depression, Oh My!

constant criticism running through my brain.
Weighted by the world.

In the past few weeks, I’ve been feeling depressed. I have no idea why as there is no logical reason I should be any more depressed right now than I was, say, a month ago, but depression isn’t logical. I know that having suffered from it for most of my life, but it’s still frustrating to feel it descend upon me and not be able to do anything about it. It’s also weird to actually realize it’s happening as it happens because I used to just live in it before. It was like a warm coat that suffocated me as it clung to my every curve. I didn’t know what it felt like to be depressed because I never felt anything else. Now that I’ve gone several years without being chronically and debilitatingly depressed, I know what it feels like to be depressed.

You know how it feels? It sucks. It drains all the color from the world, leaving it a drab gray. It doesn’t help that the environment around me in the physical world right now is also a drab gray, so it’s matching my interior mood. The grass is brown, and the snow has melted. This is the shit time of winter, which is my favorite season by far. I love the cold and the snow and the crisp bright air. But, I hate it when it starts warming up and everything is dead. All the bugs are flying in the air, and it’s easy to get sick during this time.

I feel as if I’m going through the motions, even with things I enjoy. I’m tired all the time, no matter how much or how little I sleep. This is how I used to feel all the time, and I don’t understand how I dealt with it at all. I hate feeling like this, and it’s not nearly as bad as it used to be. I remembered days when I had to force myself to brush my teeth, and that was the only thing I did all day long. I hated myself and my life, and I wanted nothing more than to not exist. I didn’t want to die, per se, because I was convinced that whatever existed after death was worse than life itself. However, everything in my being was telling me that life was a chore and that I shouldn’t be alive.

I’m feeling whispers of the same sentiment now as well. Why am I alive? I don’t want to be alive. I don’t want to die, but I can’t be stuffed to actually care about being alive. I have good things happening in my life and in my friends’ lives, and I know intellectually that I have a lot to be thankful for, but I. Just. Can’t. Care. I try to talk myself out of it, but to no avail. To someone who’s never suffered depression–are there any people who haven’t any longer?–it’s incomprehensible that someone can’t just shake themselves out of a bad mood. That’s why there are so many annoying pieces about¬†Top Ten Ways to Beat Depression!¬†and such shit.
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Hypothyroidism and Iodine: 4 out of 5 Ghosts Agree

I have dealt with hypothyroidism for over thirty years of my life, so you can imagine the surprise and delight* I felt when I learned that famed endocrinologist, Gwyneth Paltrow, decided to share her knowledge on the subject. Now, you would think that means she consulted experts or read several studies on the subject, right? Ha, nope. Scientific data is for nerds, yo, and we all know Gwyneth is too cool for school. She doesn’t need to talk to an actual doctor on the subject. Why should she when she has the Medical Medium, Anthony William, to tell her all she needs to know on the subject? You think I kid? I do not. He is a man who claims to have access to a high-level spirit** who disperses medical knowledge that will stun and amaze you! For only five payments of $29.99 each, you, too, can have the secrets to eternal li–oh, sorry. Something about him just brings out the huckster in me. I’m sure it’s not related to him being a snake oil salesman. Anyway, his solution to hypothyroidism is to take iodine supplements, and he has a lot of gobbledy-gook to back up his claim. No actual studies, mind you, but plenty of gibberish that sounds as if it might be plausible. Did I mention he’s not an actual doctor? No? Well, he’s not, but I guess when you have a high-level spirit on your side, who needs a measly piece of paper that says MD on it? Not Anthony William!

I’ve decided to talk to my own high-level spirit, my great-great-great-great (pauses, counts, adds one more great) aunt whose name translates as She Who Causes Cherry Blossoms to Swirl Around Your House in English, but I call her Auntie Cherry Blossom because who’s got time to say all that? I pull out my crystal ball and focus all my energy on the astral plane. Not the Serengeti Plains, by the way, which is what happened last time, and wherever my honorable ancestors may be, that ain’t it. I chant her name softly while I play a recording of a pipa playing in the background. I make sure my phone has the Taiwanese-ghost-to-English translation app (ghosttoenglishtranslator.com) installed so I can actually understand what my Auntie Cherry Blossom is saying to me. I wait impatiently, but she’s running on Taiwanese time, which means she shows up twenty minutes after I called upon her. She’s a tiny, ancient Taiwanese woman with her snowy white hair bundled on top of her head. She’s staring at me with a gimlet eye because I woke her up from her sleep. I’ve always been shitty with time zones, especially when they are thirteen hours apart, or is it fourteen? And, why do ghosts need sleep, anyway? I dismiss this as unimportant because I don’t want to waste Auntie Cherry Blossom’s endless supply of time.

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