(Not up to a long post* today, but wanted to check in. Thank you for hanging in there with me.)
So, a week ago yesterday, I saw my shrink. Then, the pharmacologist. He said that he'd like to treat me aggressively, as he sees me moving into a major depression. We talked for an hour and a half.
Two therapy sessions in one day. A girl could get used to that. I left feeling still sad, but better. Somehow, having someone who is outside of my life, but spent at least a little bit of time listening, asking questions, carefully listening, and giving me a name helped. Not crazy. Not entirely.
And talking, hearing myself. Listening to my sad voice reel off the events of the last year or so. The challenges I've had my whole life. My parents' depression. My grandfather's misdiagnosed bi-pol.ar disorder.
I knew I was depressed. Am depressed. Don't get me wrong. I know I hit bottom, or I could see it from here. I just didn't realize how low bottom is. Was. You know what I mean.
Even though I'm seeing a great shrink, have a great husband, family, friends. All of whom had been urging me for weeks. I guess it was the culmination. Maybe I was ready.
I think what it was, was that he gave me permission to feel what I've been feeling, somehow. That sounds fucked up.
Somehow taking that step allowed me to acknowledge how bad I've been feeling. It was scary to hear some of the words leaving my own mouth. What a fucking mess.
I'd like to treat you somewhat aggressively, he said, after 75 minutes. Increased (okay, doubled) the dose of what I've been taking. He gave me new 'scripts for A.tivan and Am.bien. If it helps, take it. Sleep is important. It's okay to take something so you feel better, until you feel better.
So we titrated the L.exap.ro, I drove straight to the drugstore to get everything filled. Started that night.
Had some side effects, but not too bad. I feel incrementally better. As in, able to focus for 5 minutes at a time. Not horribly, weepily angry. Well, not so much. Have had a couple of good days teaching, even. A few weeks for full effect and getting past plac.ebo.
I'm holding my breath still. I'm not better yet, but I'm not as bad, if that makes any sense. And, just like 6 or 8 months ago, I'm shaky. Not comfortable anywhere. Sad. Really sad. Not quite so awfully sad. As the sadness, or depression or whatever it is, wanes just a teeny bit, the anxiety rises. Afraid of feeling better. Afraid of falling again.
We'll see, I guess.
*Okay, so I lied.