My PTSD Dog

This post is brought to you by the anxiety attack that the Super PTSD dog Sadie interrupted last night.

So I am obviously still training my dog, but her medical training is all complete. She does amazing things for me (listed below), now if only I could get her to do the "little" things. LOL. She's a perfect example of a service dog, walking with me, sitting next to me, doing her medical duties, etc. But when not wearing her vest she doesn't always listen. *sigh* We're working on that.

I felt as though I should share her story with you as I love sharing her story. From scared abused dog who had to be carried into the yard to go to the bathroom to dog who walks proudly around campus when she has her vest on (without her vest I doubt she would).

She is a 3 year old abuse rescue American Pit Bull Terrier. Because she has PTSD and her momma has PTSD we got her a patch for her vest that says "PTSD DOG." :D Surprisingly I don't mind telling people that yes I do have PTSD, but I do get persnickity when they ask me how I got it. The patch on top of her back says "Service dog access required."

I originally just rescued her because I knew what an abused dog needed and I love pitties. But when she interrupted my first anxiety attack I knew that she may be able to help me in other ways with my PTSD/Bipolar/Depression. Here's what she did during my first and subsequent anxiety attacks: if I'm sitting or lying down she'll put her paws on my chest and paw at me until I make eye contact with her and start interacting with her. This brings me back to the present and out of whatever hell hole of the past I am stuck in. If I'm standing she paws at my legs and stands on her hind legs leaning on me (which she has been trained not to do) until again I start to interact with her - not just brush her off, but really solidly connect and interact with her. She knows when I'm about to have an anxiety attack (I don't know how, but she does) and she knows when I'm just going through the motions of interacting with her and when I'm really connecting with her and being pulled out of my head.

Since I realised she could do this, she has been taught to bark when it's time to take my meds, she nudges me in bed in the morning when my alarm goes off to get me to get out of bed at least to walk her which usually prevents me from staying in bed all day, and she comes out with me in public (we're still working on socialisation - that part takes about 6 months and she's strides ahead of where an abused dog should be, I've only had her since August). I feel like I can go so many more places now - I'm not scared to go out in public.

I ***HIGHLY*** recommend a service dog for people with PTSD. Here's a story of a PTSD dog. Let's just say I see my Sadie in there.

UPDATE: Here's Sadie's story on Stubbydog.org. And here's her complete background since she was rescued.

P.S. We went to the American Bully Kennel Club show on January 29th in Tampa. It was so fun being around all those pit bulls and pit bull lovers! Plus SADIE WON 1ST PLACE FOR BEST RESCUE:

I don't know what I'd do without her - she makes my life so much more liveable.

Creepy

SSI just sent me a form for WA Power of Attorney and the WA Health Care Directive.

I know it shouldn't creep me out, since it's a good thing to have and there are people I trust far more then my family (like my partner) and just because I have one does not me I'm going to fall into a permanent vegetative state or anything. It's just part of the loads of paperwork that they are sending to everyone on SSI Disability who all got automatically enrolled in the state Chronic Care Management Program a few months back.

They also sent me my "plan" which is really weird since it's so obviously written to my doctors or potential caretakers and not me.
To whit:
BEH HEALTH: Take out for regular walks.

Uhhhhhhhhhh, what? Did they even talk to me? I told them I was going to school, so they should know that I get out of the house regularly. I told them I took a dance class so I was getting exercise at least 2 times a week. But there's also this weird thing about a pulmonary rehab referral, so I'm confused.

Anyway, I guess I should open up all those other large 'time sensitive' envelopes that they've been sending me. But first I have to find some way to be in a room with two people (me hermit) so they can witness me sign my forms. Weird.

This is kind of cool: why anxiety means homework goes unfinished

My kick-ass rad fem therapist today and I were talking about (what else) the overwhelming anxiety I am having from my proofs class which is coupled with the fact that I went to see him today to ask for help and he just stared at me. (You should listen to him when people who are doing well in the class go in for help, he's super-helpful. All other C students like me say the same thing: when you ask him something he stares at you, but he'll help the people who all ready get it. Being one of 3 resources for the class (another one being his crappy definitions and the third being me, who can't figure out the definitions and is therefore struggling to stay afloat) this SUCKS.)

ANyway, back to my story. There is, of course, some PTSD triggers thrown in there as well. So much about this mirrors being in a house with my abusive mom: having to be somewhere I hate while being helpless and having no one to turn to (b/c yes I *can* get a tutor, but all the math fellows either a) tell me they did horribly at the class, b) took it from someone else and every prof covers different material, or c) blocked it out of their memory), and then there's the constant replays of my mom's voice telling me I'm stupid and a litany of other similar things. HOORAY! Isn't my head a fun place to be these days? My best friend begged me to leave the class (we have similar mental health (dis)Abilities and are always watching out for one another, but I can't. I have 2 friggin' quarters to go and I will have that BS in my hands. Can't change now, don't want to either. Like math, want to continue doing math for a very very long time. Must push through even though b/c of this class they've upped my Xanax AND my Lamictal. Heh. (and I had to double my xanax dose yesterday b/c one just didn't work)

SO, here's the cool part. My therapist likes to explain how these things work inside your brain by modeling it for me. I really like this. SO today she showed me how anxiety and PTSD affect the entire brain, not just how PTSD traps you in your midbrain (and how the techniques we use like EMDR try to put these things into words instead of just emotions which move them out of your midbrain and make them something that is easier to deal with and not an automatic reaction.)

She held out her hand in a closed fist: this is your brain (I know you probably all pictured the frying pan, but shake it out), she then opened her fist and pointed to the middle of her hand and said "this is your amygdala" and then to her thumb and said "this is your hypothalamus" and re-closed her hand. She then said "this is normally how your brain is, but when you get activated, or in a manic state, or in a mixed state (which happens to me when I get activates), or have anxiety this happens" and she opened her hand (which makes sense since in PTSD the midbrain takes over) "and your neocortex is unable to function properly."

I all ready knew that anxiety meant that I was not going to get anything done, but it's nice to have an idea of *why* nothing gets done. Although I'm sure if I had a more technical explanation I would just be confused.

Finals start the 17th, we don't have a final in this class, just a 2 hour class period of, yay, proofs that Wednesday. Everyone keep their fingers crossed that I don't have a nuclear meltdown before then, because it really feels like I am heading for a major one and I really REALLY hate the idea of having one because of something that I put myself through.

Looks like it's time for a med update

I've had insomnia for the past 2/3 weeks, bouts of depression and mania, and it is seriously interfering with school. I got 3 1/2 hours of sleep last night and I have a test tomorrow and can't fall asleep now and just want to cry. I want to go to the emergency room as I can't get in to see my doc during office hours until next week b/c they'll give me some valium and I'll be able to sleep at the very least which will make everything SO much more bearable. It'll just screw up my school stuff, and I really can't afford that, but if I don't get any sleep tonight I will definitely have to go tomorrow or Thursday b/c I don't think I could wait for Thursday, and it would be nice to *actually* be able to hang out with my partner.

Fighting mental breakdown

OK, so I have 2 math classes. One is a 400-level abstract algebra class that I am doing well in. The second is a 300-level proofs class where I am given a page of shoddy definitions and remarks, am not allowed to talk to anyone, even people in the class, or look at any other books on the subject. Most our grade is from presentation of correct proofs in class, I, of course, am not very confident in my proofs since I am so confused by his notes and talking to the prof is NO HELP whatsoever. It's not like I can't do proofs, 401 is all proofs and I am doing very well in that class. Everyone else has presented 3-4 proofs, and I presented a whooping 1.

I missed class on Tuesday because of a migraine, and I have gone to class with a migraine before, but the way I deal with the inordinate amount of stress is by avoiding the class. I missed class today b/c I missed my first class (she lectures straight from the book, though) and I just couldn't move to get to the proofs class. That's how I deal with anxiety (thanks PTSD), by freezing, or in this case avoiding. I know it's not helping, especially since on Fridays I have to turn in correct forms of all the proofs presented in class (25% of my grade).

ARGH! I need a better way to deal with stress, I know this, hence all the therapy and meds and accupuncture. I would drop this class (never have so many tears been shed over a class) except it's a requirement.

How can I do proofs for my 401 class but not for this one? (Although I have a sneaking suspicion it's because I am able to talk to people and get a better grasp on the material. Group theory, check. Whatever the hell we're doing in 312, definitely not a fucking check.) ACK!

The Moore method sucks. And you know what I remember from my last class that was Moore method? Nothing, except the extreme desire to throw the prof out the window.

mmm Finals, and what other then anxiety!

So next week is finals week. Mine are on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday.

So I've been getting migraines 1-2 times a week where I used to get them 1-2 times a month. My doc put me on some preventative meds but they also lower your blood pressure and it lowered mine way to much. I've spent the past 3 days feeling all woozy, dizzy, and airheaded. It felt like watching something and someone kept shaking the camera, and everytime they did it was like my brain was an etch-a-sketch that got erased as well. It made doing my last physics assignment hell. It took me 4 friggin' days to do an assignment that would usually take only two.

Is it right that I'm a math major but I spend all my time in the physics building? We have couches in the TAs office and food. It makes it really hard to have an excuse to leave before you're done with your work.

I thought that I was being fired from my TA job, but really the guy who assigns labs has very bad people skills, because I brought it up with Andrew, actually he brought it up with me, who I'm rewriting the labs for and he was nothing but praise, he only brought up his concern over my health issues (1-2 migraines a week since September) and I was really happy because I learned that I'm very enthusiastic about the labs, I'm very approachable for the students and well liked, and that I am very helpful. He then said he would talk to the guy who hands out the lab assignments because he was worried that I wouldn't get a lab b/c he felt that there may have been a miscommunication. He asked me to do the 101 labs with him this winter and then another calc-based physics lab with him in the spring. YAY! I'm a good TA (so said the anonymous surveys we received about the labs this summer).

Well I'm glad to know that after spiraling into a depression cycle for the next 4-5 days. yippie. I missed another quiz. gah.

I waited until after we talked about the labs, because I didn't want to make him feel bad or anything and then I gave him a teddy bear I knit for his 6 mo and some shark mitts (pictured below) I made for his 5 year old. He loved the mitts and told me that his whole family would. He's been under so much stress this quarter I wanted to give him something to pick up his spirits a bit. I love the mitts and really want to try to make them in an adult size.



Wish me luck on my finals! I will be, surprise, surprise, in the physics library all day Monday. I would be there on Tuesday if I didn't have a final that afternoon. whoosh!

Another week, more problems

So my insomnia has been acting up again. It's really fucking with school. And when I can't sleep my anxiety gets much much worse. I need to talk to my doctor because the 25mg of seroquel is not working anymore. I was going to go up for my friend's birthday in Vancouver, but I'm here and feel like I got hit by a mack truck.

I had tests in my Classical Mechanics class and my hard math class today. I was in the testing center for 7 hours, partially because I kept having mini panic attacks and almost started crying several times. It was very disconcerting. I'm still kicking myself b/c I know my physics prof would have let me take the test on Monday. I spent so much time studying for physics that I only did some damage control this morning (though I've been doing all the homework in my math class religiously).

I think I did well on the mechanics test. I feel that I did passable on the math test, even though I almost broke down several times during it.

I have to talk to my therapist about the sleeping thing, and the fact that lately my mom tapes have been playing repeatedly and every time I have trouble with something my immediate thought is that I'm too stupid and I should quit (she used to tell me repeatedly that I was stupid and that I'd never amount to anything. great mother, huh?).

It doesn't help that I have the math prof I hate who makes me feel like an idiot everytime I have a problem. And I've been doing the most moronic thing too: I'm madly in love with a total math genius. he never got anything but an A in any of his classes (though part of this may be that he probably has much better study habits then I do. I only really know how to study by doing the homework. Reviewing stuff is still hard for me) and it's the same when I can't do something, I think of him and feel like a complete idiot (but only in my math classes, when I asked him to check to see that my physics math was right he was totally lost, partially because of the dummy variables). But he's nothing but supportive. In fact he's awesome.

I know it's just my anxiety and my PTSD (mom tapes) acting up, but it's been this way for the past two weeks. I really need to do something about this. It's also seriously making me doubt grad school. I need to get this under control. I thought it was, but then it comes back to bite me in the ass. Having a mental health disability is so fucking hard. I hate my life sometimes. But I will keep trying and I will beat this fucking bullshit. (I hope.) I really want to go to grad school, badly. I'll just have to try twice as hard as some people, and let me tell you, I don't think it's fucking fair.

In other news I got a B on my DiffEQ test. We have another one next week. This week I'm going to finally open the book. I can ace this class if I study a little.

EDIT: I found a sliding scale accupuncture place and am going in because I've been having a lot of muscle spasms (in my neck) which lead to migraines and they've all gotten more frequent in the past two weeks. I can't go a day without a muscle relaxer and it's killing me (and turning me into a zombie). *Fingers crossed* I hope this works. I'm gonna see if they can help me with my insomnia too.

EDIT #2:
This is taken from a comment I refuse to publish, b/c I have before and I am sick of people telling me that my meds are harmful. Maybe they are, but they have improved my quality of life tenfold. I will answer all of you here, so don't bother to comment, it won't be published. I know what's best for me, not you. So sod off.

I take this medication because it is my informed decision. I am also on mood stabilisers which have improved the quality of my life by 100%. I don't want any more comments about how it's "unfeminist" to be on medication. Trust me I have tried everything for my insomnia (I've had it since I was a kid) and for everything else, although I am going to an accupuncturist on Monday to see if we can do something about these muscle spasms and migraines. My therapist is a kick ass radical feminist. While she did suggest I go on a mood stabiliser she never pushed and after two years I decided that I would finally try it. My meds are my business. Yes I think the drug industry is fucked up, yes I am loathe to support them (even though my medicaid pays for it), but nevertheless I am more then happy to take the medications that I do. I have spent the last 7 years fighting this and I finally decided to try meds, and they work. So kiss my ass, it's not unfeminist.

Would you tell a diabetic that they couldn't have their insulin b/c it would be unfeminist for them? What about a cancer patient? Those of us who live with an illness are the only ones who it should matter to what we do to help alleviate our problems. I will never be ashamed for what I do to help me sleep, help to manage my moods, or help me manage the pain from my muscle spasms and migraines.

Also my "mom tapes" are not a load of patriarchal bullshit. I have severe PTSD because of the abusive environment I was raised in. My mother used to physically and emotionally abuse me. My "mom tapes" are the thoughts that keep repeating over and over in my head that are direct quotes from her. I do not think I am stupid and I know that I will definitely do something great with my life. I have all ready have. I have amounted to a kick ass activist who has published feminist theory and who is almost finished with her schooling in math and physics and is planning on attending grad school. But then there pops up my mom's annoying voice telling me that I'm shit, that I'm worthless, that I'm stupid and that I'll never amount to anything. Those are not my ideas, those are things that *she* told me. I named them my "mom tapes" not my awesome therapist. Again, it is my choice, my decision.

If you come to tell me that it's fucked up and I'm just a victim of the medical community you are ignoring any agency I have and my ability to decide what is best for me. Whether that is medication, naming my traumas, or anything else I decide to do to help alleviate the problems my disability throws at me it doesn't fucking matter what you think. Only I know what it's like to be me, not you, not anyone else. No one tied me down and forced this medication down my throat. No one forced me to accept the idea of mom tapes, in fact I feel that it's pretty damn accurate.

They just won't accept it

This weekend I went home to see my brother graduate this past weekend. I forgot my medication and decided to tell my parents that it was my mood stabiliser. They, of course, asked why I was on a mood stabiliser. I told them I was bipolar, because I knew that they could accept this, because they won't admit that I have PTSD partially from the physical and emotional abuse my mother inflicted on me as a child, and heaven forbid I tell them about my Borderline Personality Disorder. The conversation went as follows:

Me: "I'm bipolar"
My mom: "What? Why are you bipolar?"
I start to explain
My dad: "It's a chemical imbalance."

That stopped the conversation dead, because it being something I can't control, wheras I can apparently pull myself out of my PTSD-induced depression, which I have told them that that is the reason I miss classes, failed a class, and dropped out of school winter quarter, and why I can't leave my house for days at a time. This they repress because it doesn't fit into their ideal of having 'the perfect family.' I know this, but I wish that they would accept the fact the I HAVE A DISABILITY and it's not all about the bipolar. Heaven forbid I try and bring it up and be honest and open about it. They just gloss over it, and five seconds later it's as if it never happened. I was surprised that they accepted it when I told them I was on Medicaid. I thought that would invite many more questions, but it didn't.

I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't tell them that I'm on SSI-Disability. Because I don't think I could take the look that they would give me, and the things they would say. Because I know they'd think that I was leeching off the state. (My parents are very big right-wing Republican Catholics who judge people on welfare, etc.) Because in their eyes, everything but the bipolar is all in my head, and I can snap out of it at any time. They won't talk about it, won't hear about my side of the story, won't even admit that I have PTSD. Last time I told them, before my mom shoved it out of her conciousness she asked me why I had it. Having brought up the abuse before and her responding with "But I never hit you" and I pointed out a few examples she just said "Oh, yeah" and promptly forgot about it. There was no bringing up that topic again. She wouldn't hear it; she wouldn't let me bring it up again. She shut me down everytime I tried to bring it up again, just as she shut me down whenever I tried to bring up the PTSD. I didn't feel like telling her about the abusive relationships, the sexual assaults, the scarring from all the abuses I have lived and continue to live through because of living in a society that views me as less then human.

It hurts. I'm sure anyone who has a mental health disability has gotten the denial or the outright refusal to believe that it's something that's not all in your head (har har har) from friends or family. Because they can't listen to us, can't hear that maybe something could be wrong with us that wasn't 'easily shaken off given enough will power.' They can't see it as something that is an actual disease like lupus or diabetes. No matter how much we speak out about this, people refuse to listen.

I personally know that my parents would shame me for being on disability, for mooching off the taxpayers for something that is not really a problem. As if I don't have enough internalised stigma to deal with on my own. Is it too much to ask that my parents support me? If anybody should, it would be them, right?

WHY WON'T THEY ACCEPT THIS?

I thought if anybody would, it would be my dad. He saw, what I told him was, a PTSD related breakdown a few years ago when my mom tried to take us out for a 'nice family dinner' and I had not healed enough for it. She got verbally abusive because I ruined her perfect evening. Just remembering that night makes me cry. My dad and I talked about it for hours, as he was trying to calm me down, and make sure she and I kept away from each other. I explained to him how I had PTSD and how her behaviour towards me as a child reminded me of her behaviour that night, and how I just couldn't pretend to be this perfect family when I was still so hurt inside. I mean forfuckssake we talked for HOURS. But if I even hint at bringing it up, the topic gets changed. (A few months later when I said I couldn't come home because of what happened last time he asked me "Why? I thought you had a good time last time you were here.")

I fucking hate this, and pissed off as hell that they can't, nay, won't accept that I could have a mental health issue that is real, and not something I'm pretending to have or a crutch that I'm leaning on to pull a paltry amount of money (that doesn't cover my bills) from the state each month. I'm so aggravated.

This describes my life so well

From Hoyden About Town

I first learned about spoon theory when I was poking around reading up about lupus. Christine Miserandino, a person with lupus, was trying to answer a question by her friend. The friend had asked her what it was like being sick - not about her symptoms, but about what it was like being her. Stuck for a metaphor, Christine grabbed all the spoons off the table, and explained that every day, she had a very limited number of spoons, unlike a healthy person who has a near-unlimited spoon supply. Each spoon stood for one chunk of activity. The friend started out with 12 spoons, and had to run through a day, giving up one spoon for every thing she did: including getting up, dressing, showering, and so on. The friend was down to half her spoons before she’d got to work in the morning - and the light dawned. It dawned for me, too.

Every day, every moment, is a tradeoff. Every piece of activity has to be a conscious choice. Normals never have to choose between cooking and cleaning up, between showering and playing with their kid. Never have to think ahead to the weekend, and say “I’m having lunch with a friend on Saturday, so I have to keep Sunday completely free to recover.” Spoons are always my first thought when planning out my life.

Me, Bipolar?

Well I am. But it took a long time to get here. I was so scared to be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. PTSD, fine. Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), fine. But bipolar? Not fine. Even after the government put me on disability I still fought my therapist against the diagnosis.

Why exactly? Well I'm not sure since BPD is more stigmatized then Bipolar is, I mean there are not many therapists who refuse to treat someone for being bipolar like they do for BPD. I know many people with bipolar disorder and never thought anything bad about it, or so I thought. But when I was first told that I was bipolar I wasn't aware of ableism in the way I am now. At that time I knew I had PTSD, but that was something I could get over given time. It was something that I acquired because things had been done to me, admitting that I was bipolar meant admitting that I had something that I was born with, that I would have for the rest of my life. It scared me. It made me think I was broken.

But I progressed. I applied for disability and got it. I started taking meds for the first time ever. I admitted that maybe, just maybe I *did* have a disability and I needed help. After all this I still fought tooth and nail against being labelled bipolar. As an anti-ableism activist I shouldn't fall prey to thinking of one diagnosis as evil and the enemy, right? Apparently not. How is it that I could accept some diagnoses and not the other? I admitted I had a disability, why couldn't I admit that I was bipolar?

It was the stigma attached to it. The thought that this was not something done to me. (I believe that BPD is a severe form of PTSD and I believe it, at least in my case.) The thought that this will never go away, that I would be labelled this the rest of my life. There was no getting over bipolar disorder.

While I was fighting the stigma against mental illness I was letting the stigma against bipolar disorder hold me back from being treated. I'm finally doing better, in no small part due to my mood stabiliser. It's a godsend. Since I have stopped fighting and accepted that yes I am bipolar I have been able to see how I let society's views of mental illness affect how I was allowing myself to be treated.

The stigma infiltrates all of our thoughts, even those of us who are fighting against it.

Here's more info on stigma.
My post on BPD is here

It deserves to be said again

Terry over at I See Invisible People posted last week about a study being done for people who are Bipolar. They are hoping to find genetic markers for people with Bipolar and to try to understand it better. I requested to be included in the survey and hope that they contact me. Anything I can do to bring us closer to an understanding of Bipolar and how it's passed through generations sounds good to me.

Today I learned of a study being done by the University of Chicago which hopes to sequence the DNA of 5,000 people with BPD and their family members, hoping to isolate the genes responsible.

Here’s the specifics:

Individual and Family Genetic Study Of Bipolar Disorder
Elliot S. Gershon, M.D., Project Chief

The staff of the Bipolar Disorder Genetics Research Project invites individuals diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder OR individuals with Bipolar disorder and having two or more immediate relatives with depression, mania, or mood swings to join our study. Parents are also asked to participate when available. This study is funded and approved by the National Institutes of Health.

Why Study Individuals and Families?

Why Study Individuals and Families? An inborn tendency to develop Bipolar disorder runs in some individuals and/or families. However, most relatives will never develop the illness.

In our family studies, we can find chromosome regions with genes that may cause some family members to be at risk for Bipolar disorder. As we discover the nature of each gene, we likely will be able to develop better treatments.

For testing specific genes, large numbers of unrelated Bipolar persons offer greater statistical power. So we are enrolling Bipolar individuals without available families as well.

We urge individuals suffering from Bipolar disorder, along with their family members, to participate in this scientific study which will help us better understand the causes of this disorder.

Why Should I Participate in a Family Genetic Study?

Many persons who suffer from Bipolar disorder, or who have a close relative with the disorder, have already brought themselves and/or families into the study. The reason most often given is, “If I can help prevent this from happening to anyone else, I’ll do anything.” These individuals and families share our hope that finding genetic markers and genes that increase risk for this disorder will help medical researchers understand more about its biological basis. As a result, we will likely be able to develop more effective medications.

You are an essential player in the research. Without the help of people like you and your family, no study of inherited traits can be done and little progress will be made. We depend on your participation.

How Does an Individual or Family Get into the Study?

Usually, someone who suffers from the disorder, or a close relative, contacts us. We do an initial screening on the individual previous diagnosed with Bipolar disorder or an individual that has symptoms of Bipolar. We also inquire about immediate relatives with depression, mania, or mood swings. We must receive verbal or written permission from the immediate relative prior to our contact to them on study participation.

Participants contribute the following:

1. an interview session which may be completed over the phone or in person
2. a sample of blood
3. family history interview which may be completed over the phone or in person
4. self-report questionnaires

Confidentiality

All of the information obtained by the Bipolar Disorder Genetics Research Project will remain completely confidential, even among family members. When research papers are published, no names or other identifying information about individual participants will appear. The study has a “Certificate of Confidentiality” which provides further privacy protection. The interview and blood studies are not part of any clinical medical record.

If you’ve been diagnosed, I hope you’ll consider participating. You can read more details and arrange contact by email at the link above.

Bipolar II

I have been diagnosed with bipolar II disorder and have been given a new mood stabiliser. Apparently it's the new kid on the block and is an anti-depressant as well. Hopefully this will work well and I won't get the horrid rash that means I have to stop taking it. *fingers crossed*