I'm at a loss. I'm continuing to titrate up to the therapeutic dose of my new augmentation med, but each time, it brings on those, well, those things they warn about in the black box, if you know what I mean. I'm also getting some of those lack of coordination and bits of aphasia which is really, um... what's the... disconcerting. My use of language has always been something I could count on. One thing I felt like I could do -- I could find the right word, articulate my ideas, whether for school or otherwise. Actually, I'm even my typing is, um, hampered. Hard to tell if it's depression or the additional drugs. There are times when my thinking is clearer, or rather, as C says, I seem a bit more engaged. But, god, it just reinforces my feeling of all having all these holes in my head. I even forgot to tell Dr. Shrink until almost the end of my appointment this week. He said to pay attention to it and if it gets worse, we'll stop the med.
What would be next, I wonder.
I start my therapy via skype tomorrow, and not a moment too soon. I'm feeling anxious about digging through all the details, whether of my loss or past or I don't know what. Starting over again. She called to clarify about something on the intake form -- "looks like you've tried a number of meds." Yeah... No judgment implied, she was just asking about them. Something tells me I'm going to open up th computer and just start bawling my eyes out.
I worry about feeling better again. Isn't that crazy? I've had these ups and downs. I fear going up again because I fear coming back down again. Like down is the natural state. Oh, that sounds great. Down is my natural state? That just makes me want to cry.
The day I started the next dose up was was a bad day. Like thinking about calling Dr. Shrink and asking him about me going away somewhere. That feeling has passed, mostly. But when I took the dog out I just got the overwhelming feeling of guilt. I've struggled with this to one degree or another since my water broke. That really high period I had the summer my niece was born? Denial. Somehow I have to come to terms with it. Hoping this new therapist, G, will help with that. But I don't think it was a passing panic like I was feeling earlier in the day. This was hardcore, horrendous, scaring the dog, weeping out loud in the street guilt.
Dr. Shrink didn't even blink when I told him that I found someone long distance with whom I would meet via skype. I told him about her qualifications (Psy.D., IF, Health/mind-body stuff, and certified bereavement counselor) and he said it sounds like she's got the approach, covers the stuff I need to work through this stuff.
He also said that most of my symptoms were not ones he associated with the med, and it makes sense. I'm so twitchy and moody and oversensitive, sometimes fine, sometimes I can't stop talking. Hello, depression and anxiety and lord knows what else. I hate the way I feel. But you knew that.
I know the last few posts have been difficult and raw. I've hesitated to spew all this stuff all over here. Yes, I know, it's my blog, I should write what I want. But, as I've withdrawn from a lot of people, this is where all these thoughts and fears and insecurities and bitching come out because I don't really feel like I can talk about these things with folks, or want to lay this stuff on them. My family worries. I talk to C and I talk to my sister, mostly. I talked to B recently for about 3 hours, which was, god, like I have another sister. But I know people worry. I guess I would worry, too.
So, I've hesitated here, too. My new diary. To friends who understand a lot. But it still feels very naked. I know that I seem to have become the one who didn't make it. The DBM who hasn't moved on for one reason or another -- no subsequent pregnancy, no adoptive child, no resolution. Not yet, anyway. How's that for optimistic? I'm the DBM on every TV show, every movie of the week.
It seems that once again, I haven't asked for the help that I've needed. I didn't demand people do what they should. I didn't seek out people who could *really* help me. And my sons. Failure, again, it seems. Even C doesn't know what to say anymore.
There's a part of me that feels like this new therapist, this new approach can help me climb back up. Sort through the guilt and the trauma and everything else. So, you know, no pressure. It may be that just having someone who understands, who can put words to things, to talk with me about phenomena and feelings of loss and grief around IF and loss. And forgiving my body. Forgiving myself.
So, yeah, I still hesitate to write all this down. I feel crazy. I feel like there's no good way to respond. I feel like a freak show. Three years out, now, and everyone else has moved forward. Integrated things. Grieving still, but integrated. Like, the only reactions to all this dreck are, "wow, that's fucked up," and "man, how is it that she is still struggling, still up and down? What else is going on with her that she hasn't been able to deal with this?" Rational or not, that's the hesitation.
And yet I can't seem to write this in a notebook. I seem to need to share it.
So: Hey, everyone! Here's all the crazy in my head! Look out!