What's The Matter?

Oh, the tough questions. They must be asked and they must be answered. Both asking and answering are absolutely terrifying. A few months ago it dawned on me that I am a survivor and because I survive I can and have had to reinvent myself.

The problem is that I have reinvented myself so many times I'm not sure who I am anymore. I feel fragmented. To what end am I striving for? Yes, the medication helps and so will therapy when I start it next week. Truthfully, I'm scared to tackle these questions. I am expecting an emotional tidal wave to hit. 

The best way out is always through. I know this. And even though I would much rather avoid these issues,  they will not go away and they would only compound. If I want a shot at a healthy life, this is my last chance.

All You Need Is SLEEP

For the first time in a YEAR, I feel awake. My insomnia had been going beserk for months. Constantly sleep deprived, trying to get through a productive day was just near impossible. I haven't been able to concentrate, everyday tasks wore me out quickly, and for the last month I haven't been able to work. I do freelance research at my home office. The ability to focus is crucial and lately its been impossible. So, I slept all the way through the night for two days in a row! I know that sounds like no big deal, but it's been months since I've been able to do that.

What has changed to allow me to catch z's again? Valium and 100mg of Seroquel. My last psychiatrist took me off benzodiazepines (Ativan, Xanax, Klonopin, Valium, etc.) entirely. I was skeptical since I do get panic attacks from time to time, but he had a medical degree and I did not so I gave it a try. The Effexor/Seroquel combination was a good effort, but didn't address my anxiety adequately. I suppose I had just gotten used to my anxiety being high. I tend to feel tight in the chest, tense my shoulders, and I get a little oversensitive about things. Feeling like this non-stop is exhausting and I am finally getting some relief.


I also had my appointment with my psychiatrist that my husband accompanied me on. It went well and wasn't awkward like I was afraid of. The doctor is from India and has a thick accent but what really makes it hard to understand her is that she speaks so softly. She told my husband that I need extra support when my depression is not appropriately managed. And he is very supporting. He wanted to ask her how to deal with the gauntlet of craziness that I tend to throw at him when my medication wasn't working but she is a bit intimidating and he had never been in a psychiatrist's office before. I told him the therapist's office was a better setting for learning to deal with that stuff.




I am starting to believe that I can get my life back on track again. I'm beginning to feel myself again. It has been so long since normal that I was worried I'd just stay at 20% the rest of my life while my friends accomplished great things and went to new places and evolved. I had gotten used to my apartment doubling as my cave of despair. I really hope all of this is behind me now. I've lost several years of my life. Life is too short to waste and I really wish I had found a good psychiatrist before now. The haze is lifting and I am starting to believe I can have a normal life again.

Here I Am Again

Yesterday I had an appointment with yet another psychiatrist. The previous one did not take insurance and the $256 per session price tag was just too steep. I have been dealing with clinical depression, insomnia and anxiety disorder for 11 years. Suffice it to say: it's been a bumpy road. Lots of highs, lots of lows, occasionally actually high, but mostly just down. I've been to therapy as well. It helps. This time around I will be tackling my illness with both a psychiatrist and psychologist. I'm so done with depression taking over my life. I want my life back.

The latest incident that has sent me scrambling to the doctor's office is pretty scary. Last Saturday afternoon my anxiety level had reached critical mass. Trigger #1: My father who was visiting for a few days had to leave to go home which reminded me of him leaving for home after a visit while my parents were separated for some reason. Trigger #2: My insomnia was really out of control and that made me frustrated. I was exhausted yet could only manage 3-4 hours of sleep a night. Trigger #3: Finding out my husband's recent week of vacation would not be paid time off after all leaving us with $40 in our checking account after the rent was paid.

My last psychiatrist didn't feel anxiety medication for panic attacks necessary for me. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I tried sleeping, I tried taking valerian root, chamomile tea, lavender candles: no dice. With no healthy way to calm my anxiety I went for a different approach. Wine and cigarettes. I know! So classy! Just one glass to calm my nerves turned into a bottle, and then a six pack of Lone Star, two Lynchburg lemonades, and a few screwdrivers. Oh, and let's not forget the two packs of cigarettes. I drunk dialed some of my friends. I even drunk dialed people I didn't even like that much.

At one point I did a tarot reading for my next door neighbor and apparently had a real deep conversation about women sticking together with another neighbor. I say apparently because for the last five days I've been worried I had been a horrible bitch to her. I just didn't remember anything we talked about. An hour ago she knocked on my door wanting to know if I needed anything from the store because she was making a trip. Very sweet of her. A weight off my shoulder as well. My husband did not fare well as my neighbor did. He didn't give me all the details and I don't remember any of it, but I went on a tirade about how unhappy I was in the marriage etc. etc. Which isn't even true. My unhappiness has nothing to do with him. He described my behavior as "abusive". He couldn't even look at the next day.

I was so put out with myself I didn't get out of bed for 3 days. I was lost in a thick cloud of guilt, self-loathing, and embarrassment. I concluded that I did in fact self-medicate with alcohol too many times. Although it has happened less and less in the last two years, I still slip every now and then. I also realized that I have gotten used to living with a high level of anxiety. I don't even realize it's affecting me sometimes and then I binge drink and wonder why afterwards. Luckily I already had an appointment scheduled with this new doctor.

She is pretty hardcore. She took great notes, asked very good questions, and I felt very comfortable talking to her. But then she did something very unexpected. You see I hadn't told my husband everything about my drunken bender. It had happened once before and he didn't know how to handle it so he didn't do anything about it. So I figured "why bother?" My psychiatrist had me phone my husband and tell him what I had done and then she spoke to him herself. I was stunned. Mortified. Later I felt angry about it. How can I answer her questions truthfully if she is going to turn around and rat me out? Didn't I have the right to tell my husband in my own time? Was it even lawful for her to discuss my medical issues with anyone without my express consent? Isn't that doctor-client privilege? She scared the bejesus out of my husband too. Made it sound like I could commit suicide at any second. And yes, I get that I did harm myself. It is serious and she was concerned for my safety. But I am wary.

My next appointment is tomorrow. My husband is coming with me which is kind of weird to be honest. I'm a bit nervous.