I’ve neglected this blog for awhile, mostly because I’ve been having a really hard time, and I didn’t feel like I had anything worth blogging about (or worth reading).
However, I’ve decided that a) I need some catharsis and b) even negative struggles are part of the journey. So here goes.
I’ve tried every treatment there is for my particular brand of depression, and I mean EVERYTHING aside from the electroshock therapy. Yes, they still do that. No, I’ll never consent. I’m not getting very far. I got in a bit of a war last week when my well meaning but overworked psychiatrist criticized me for not having added on a drug that I’ve taken before, and that totally fucked up my sleep and gave me night terrors. (Yes, night terrors. Not nightmares. Those are for sissies. I’m talking about the “you wake up when someone is crawling through your window to stab you only to realize that you really haven’t woken up at all and someone is still crawling through the window to stab you only to wake up and realize”… you get the picture.) So, obviously, I’m slightly trepidatious in attempting round 2 with this new drug. It’s supposedly a good combo (google California Rocket Fuel… seriously. That’s what this combo is called), but it also has a chance of increasing suicidal ideation and anxiety in the short term. Feeling like I’ve been feeling, I’m not sure I’m up for an increase in those feelings. I wouldn’t consider myself suicidal, but… let’s just say it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that life was worth living for more than a brief moment. Anyways. Top that up with marital/familial issues and a lack of a good support system (or a lack of ability to call upon such when needed), and I’ve been feeling pretty fucked.
And then apparently my doctor picks yesterday as the moment I’m to go to the “contraception clinic” to figure out what my birth control should look like, since I have so many complicating factors. (Being insulin-dependent, all these head meds, and apparently high blood pressure, which isn’t even an issue. I just really hate doctors, so every time I go, it’s through the roof). My hubby had to surprise me with this appointment, because he knew had I have known that my doctor was cutting me off of my birth control, I would have probably smashed her windows in (not exaggerating).
So off we go, to the fucking hospital, and I hate fucking hospitals, because every time I go to one of these hellholes, I get a) mistreated (I’ve been left in a bedpan for over an hour, verbally abused to the point that the abuser got a week’s worth in anger management, no clean sheets or gowns for almost a week… the list goes on), or b) people forget I’m human, and that part of my physiology includes panic and anxiety disorder, as well as Dysthymia complicated by Major Depressive Disorder and SHEER TERROR BROUGHT ON BY WHITE COATS.
Everything goes… okay. I didn’t try to murder anyone, and I only broke down sobbing once. I had a complete breakdown before going, and my knees only shook hard enough that I could waddle to the building, instead of hubby having to carry me.
The part that gets me is this: as a kid, I was one of the lucky girls that had 10 day periods that basically looked like a murder scene. Cramps, mood swings, all to the nth degree. And they decide that this is something that’s worth changing, right now, at this juncture, when I’m having such struggles with my mood already?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Yes. Let’s take the person who is self described as unstable and who is never quite sure when she could legitimately be a danger to herself, and let’s fuck with her hormones.
So I don’t have any of my meds straight, I don’t feel okay, I straight up tell them that this is a terrible idea, but I still have to go back in 3 months to provide a blood pressure record.
FUCK YOUR FUCKING BLOOD PRESSURE. I DO NOT HAVE HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE. REMEMBER THE CUFF YOU HAD ON ME FOR A WEEK WHILE I WAS IN THE HOSPITAL???? FUCKING 120/75 BABY. CHECK YOUR STUPID FUCKING NOTES.
This… this right here… is the sort of thing I deal with *all the time*. I mean ALL the time. I’m always dealing with asshole doctors that are always trying to fuck with the way I have things set out that WORK for me. My methods may not be perfect, but have you ever tried getting traction in life when there’s not a single part of it that has steady footing?
And frankly, from my perspective, it’s nothing short of a miracle that I haven’t just taken a fistful of pills to this point, so a potential risk of 18/100,000 (that’s a 0.018% chance, ladies and gentlemen), does not frighten me in the SLIGHTEST. When you feel as though you’d be better off dead most of the time, (whether that is an accurate fact or not, perception is reality), you tend not to care about such inconsequential details. It would be much more dangerous for me to get pregnant. It’s more dangerous for me to be on the high dose of benzodiazepines that I’ve been on for over 2 years (only supposed to take them for a month or less at my current dosage). I am on too many Category X prescriptions, that I would have to have an abortion if I got pregnant. How’s *that* for adding to mental health? Not that I’m really interested in sex (see: anti-depressants and their effect on sex drive), but is this something that is in line with the Hippocratic Oath? Really?
Never mind the fact that I can’t eat half of the stuff that would allow me to be healthier. I have some as yet undiagnosed stomach problem that prevents me from eating pretty much anything raw. Sometimes vegetables entirely. My neck is in an absolute mess from an injury 10+ years ago, and I am in pain at least daily. My knee hasn’t been right in over a month and I have no idea why. My birth control method would be pretty far down my list of priorities. Or, what about all this ear pain and dizzy spells? Should we take a look at that? The fact that my thyroid is out of control?
So this is my life right now. This is one of many examples on how my life is spiralling slowly out of control. I thought I hit rock bottom 3 years ago… maybe we’re not there yet. And to think, the day before, I had got out my yoga mat and spent awhile chillin’, and I found that I could still do a lot of stuff. I was feeling hopeful. Apparently that’s not something that the universe is allowing me though right now: a moment’s respite.
And you want to blindside me, and drag me into the hospital, to talk to me about my 0.018% chance of getting a blood clot?