The Dysfunctional Family

If you read the #Diagnostic and #Statistical Manual of #Mental Disorders, which is the psychiatric bible for those in the helping professions, you see a lot of medications. Google those medications and you'll pull up some fascinating side effects: impotence, headaches, nausea, #fatigue. The list goes on and on. Ad #nauseum. I've had a few side effects, which often border on the comical. On one antidepressant I had extremely vivid dreams. They involved a lot of physical movement, and several times I fell off the bed onto our tiled floor. Ouch! I have been really lucky not to have hit my head. I wouldn't want to complicate my chronic depression with a TBI. My husband joked that I should wear one of those bicycle helmets---at least I think he was joking--but with a change in antidepressants, the exciting, #aerobic-stimulating dreams vanished. I wouldn't have minded nearly as much if they were fun dreams like necking with Pierce Brosnan or sipping Merlot with Jerry Seinfel

In a small oaken display case sitting in the hallway near my bedroom is a #shrine of sorts. It's not absurdly #morbid or over-#sentimentalized, but it does contain the cremains of all the pets I've cared for during my #marriage. If I continue to live on, there will eventually be eight more containers to add to the ones already there. The containers all are unique in that some are bedecked with favorite toys, leashes, and collars, and others have a winter coat or sympathy cards lying alongside. The cremains themselves are in separate receptacles, some plastic, others metal. Most are small since they house the ashes of cats and #schnauzers, small creatures that take up little space in the real world and even less space in the in #memoriam world. The #crypts give me some comfort, but nothing really takes the place of a kiss on a wet nose or a #vigorous shake of water from a terrier just out of the tub. One worry I have is not outliving my pets. In that case, we really don't