Who am I?

My name is Marta. From what I have been told, my name came from a woman my father dated. The story is that my sister 'Z' got her name the same way. I tell people I moved to the Atlanta area because it helps folks to get my name right. The transit system's name is Metropolitan Atlanta Regional Transit Authority. What a shock when I arrived in Atlanta for the first time in 1977 and every bus carried my name.

I am a middle-aged woman who is depressed and frustrated. Big deal you say, the grocery stores are full of them. I know that and it doesn't make me feel any better, in fact it makes me more frustrated.

Would anyone care about what I might publish in this blog? I don't know. I don't think I care if anyone is interested. I have tried talk therapy several times. It makes me feel better and then something happens that makes me feel crummy again. I guess that's the way it's supposed to work, but it would be nice to go to bed every night without wondering whether tomorrow will be better than today. I'm on Prozac too and it bothers me that I can feel so depressed when I am taking an antidepressant. Maybe I am expecting too much of the meds. Back to the question about blogging: I guess this is a place for me to get my thoughts out of my head and maybe get some feedback, even if that feedback is from me when I read my stuff.

I retired on disability in 1994. I blew out a disk in my back, had surgery, had complications and now live with chronic back pain. I used to be a systems analyst with a bank. It was a 20 year career that I enjoyed. I was good at it and actually loved the crisis's that would occur. It was early in the days of telecommuting. I not even sure I had heard the word "telecommuting" then. We could do emergency support through a dial-up connection. It was a life saver for me since I became a single mother when my son was 2 and would have to get my son out of bed to accompany me to the office at 3 a.m. It could be taxing to simultaneously deal with a major software problem and a toddler with a fascination with the restrooms at my office.

I tried returning to work in the office after almost a year of recovery and physical therapy. It just didn't work. I could not sit for more than 15 minutes in my office chair. (I think I tried 8 different chairs to find one that was comfortable. I even had one moved from the building I was working in before I injured my back.) Driving was dangerous because my right leg would go numb at times. I tried working 6:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. to avoid heavy traffic. The less I had to use the brake, the better. Anyone familiar with the Atlanta area knows that traffic problems can and do occur anytime of the day, any day of the week. I suggested the possibility of my working from home since I was absent from the office a lot due to my fear of driving and my pain level. I was actually working at home on those days when I didn't go to the office. It worked well for me. I could work for 15 to 20 minutes, then lie down for a while or move to my recliner to give my back a rest. I would get a full day's worth of work done by breaking up into chunks over a 24 hour period. My manager was not pleased; she was the type that needed to see faces in the office. It was not enough that I finished projects on time or early. When I broached the idea of formalizing my working from home, I was told that the "bank" would not open itself to the possible security exposure and that there was concern over their possible liability for any physical harm I might suffer while working. I put "bank" in quotes because I don't know who really made those decisions.

My trial return-to-work period lasted from October 1995 to December 1995. I was really sad on my last day at the office. It took months for me to get used to the fact that I was not going to my job everyday. It's boring being at home when you aren't used to it. My son was 10 by then, so he was pretty independent. My sister had moved in with me to help out and she pretty much took over my life. (There will be much, much more to cover on her.) I was seeing a pain management specialist and he put me on the Prozac. I still see the same specialist 12 years later. I'm on a bunch of medication. It helps as long as I don't over-exert myself. When I do and the pain becomes more intense, I get epidural injections of corticosteroids. I really hate those injections. I am squeamish about having someone put a long needle in my back. I have never seen one of the needles and never want to because I'm afraid I will freak out and not be able to tolerate getting an epidural when I really need one. I must have someone available to drive me to the doctor's office when I get the injections. The medicine causes hot flashes and I have to take it very easy for a couple of days.

Today was one of my bad days. I have been trying to come up with an outlet for my frustrations and suddenly the word "blog" appeared in front of my face. I guess I will pour out my stuff here. I tried writing a journal, but I have arthritis in my hands and writing is painful. (As if back pain weren't enough!) I could keep a journal on my own computer, but then it would not feel like the sharing that happens when you sit with a therapist. I could go back to my therapist, but it feels too soon to go back to her.

To the anyone that happens to find my blog, welcome. I'm not sure I will allow comments. I have had a couple of incidents in my life recently where I have taken comments and criticism too much to heart and it has caused me some really bad moments. I plan to pour my heart out here. I've lived through some stuff that some may not consider appropriate for publication. I don't plan to name names or give vivid and accurate descriptions. I want to be able to document how it has affected me. Who knows, maybe it will help someone else. I won't make it all about my problems and what is bothering me, I also want to document the things that make me happy and makes me laugh.

We'll see how this goes. I just wanted to start by introducing myself. There is lots more, but I figure this is like the part where you start with a therapist by telling them what is bothering you.