This is not what I had in mind
So far I've had about two weeks of vacation. I've been fucking crazy for about half of it.
It isn't a big shock that I suffer from depression to you guys. I've talked about it a lot. But whenever it comes back, it is always an enormous goddamn surprise to me. And this time around, it got me with a killer right hook, out of the blue.
I had envisioned this as the perfect summer. Fourteen weeks of freedom to sew, cook, play guitar, work in the yard, learn to sing, take the dog to obedience school, run, read... For the last week, though, I've been having panic attacks, crying uncontrollably (at several points during the last 72 hours, had you come by my house, you would have found me damp and shrieking things like "please stop" or "help me" or "I don't want to be crazy" in various rooms of the house), and having absolutely zero desire to do anything. No fun. What's the point. If I move, I will cry again or panic again. All various reasons why I have been unable to do much of anything, and this was so sudden. One day I was chopping bushes, and the next, I had lost the will to do anything other than leak from my face holes.
I cooked dinner for my parents on Monday night. I had to take a Xanax, and even then, I ended up just sitting at the table shaking and sweating and watching everyone eat homemade pizza that I assume was good. I could barely taste it.
I have been insistent that this was all because of the birth control pills I'm on. My fertility doctor has me on them to keep my system regulated for when we decide we're ready to try the IVF again. I never do well on them, and once a few years back when I was on them, I thought I was going to crack up completely, and since this current insanity corresponded to the first cycle of pills, I blamed the hormones. Even Tuesday, when I spent most of the day crying and panicking, took a Xanax, and then finished the day with just crying.
"I'll wake up and things will be better." I said this to myself repeatedly, and I kept insisting to my husband that no, I didn't need to go to the hospital, I have a therapy appointment on Thursday, I'll just wait it out and see what happens, I'm sure I'll be better by then.
This afternoon, my mom came over and asked how I was feeling. Within thirty seconds of her walking in the door, I was crying. Within ten minutes, she was calling the doctor for me and making me an appointment immediately following my therapist's and telling me to have my therapist fax over any information that might help the doctor figure out what to try for me. I finally gave in. My mom asked if I wanted her to make me an appointment and I gave in.
I worry that my husband will think... I don't know. For days, he's been offering to make that call for me, or take me to the hospital, and I've kept saying no. I'm worried he'll be upset that I took my mom up on the offer but not him. But honestly, it was a matter of timing. (And I hope you know that, Husband who is currently asleep next to me). Whoever walked through that door first this afternoon was going to make that call. I finally realized that even if this is just hormones and it will sort itself out in time, holy shit, I can't keep sitting on my couch crying.
See, this afternoon was the last straw in a whole bale of last straws. I wasn't enjoying watching "Ghost Hunters" or QVC. I've been staring at the boxes of our new patio furniture in the dining room for three days and I can't even get up the desire to put it together. And I was so so so excited about that furniture. And I was sick to death of crying and howling in fear every few hours. Seriously, I kind of worry what the neighbors might think at this point.
Tomorrow is the day. Therapy at one, doctor at three. I have to believe that I will come out of tomorrow with at least the ability to make it through a day without bursting into tears, and that by next week, I will be sewing, baking, running, etc., once again.
If not, well, maybe I can find my own shriveled corn.
It isn't a big shock that I suffer from depression to you guys. I've talked about it a lot. But whenever it comes back, it is always an enormous goddamn surprise to me. And this time around, it got me with a killer right hook, out of the blue.
I had envisioned this as the perfect summer. Fourteen weeks of freedom to sew, cook, play guitar, work in the yard, learn to sing, take the dog to obedience school, run, read... For the last week, though, I've been having panic attacks, crying uncontrollably (at several points during the last 72 hours, had you come by my house, you would have found me damp and shrieking things like "please stop" or "help me" or "I don't want to be crazy" in various rooms of the house), and having absolutely zero desire to do anything. No fun. What's the point. If I move, I will cry again or panic again. All various reasons why I have been unable to do much of anything, and this was so sudden. One day I was chopping bushes, and the next, I had lost the will to do anything other than leak from my face holes.
I cooked dinner for my parents on Monday night. I had to take a Xanax, and even then, I ended up just sitting at the table shaking and sweating and watching everyone eat homemade pizza that I assume was good. I could barely taste it.
I have been insistent that this was all because of the birth control pills I'm on. My fertility doctor has me on them to keep my system regulated for when we decide we're ready to try the IVF again. I never do well on them, and once a few years back when I was on them, I thought I was going to crack up completely, and since this current insanity corresponded to the first cycle of pills, I blamed the hormones. Even Tuesday, when I spent most of the day crying and panicking, took a Xanax, and then finished the day with just crying.
"I'll wake up and things will be better." I said this to myself repeatedly, and I kept insisting to my husband that no, I didn't need to go to the hospital, I have a therapy appointment on Thursday, I'll just wait it out and see what happens, I'm sure I'll be better by then.
This afternoon, my mom came over and asked how I was feeling. Within thirty seconds of her walking in the door, I was crying. Within ten minutes, she was calling the doctor for me and making me an appointment immediately following my therapist's and telling me to have my therapist fax over any information that might help the doctor figure out what to try for me. I finally gave in. My mom asked if I wanted her to make me an appointment and I gave in.
I worry that my husband will think... I don't know. For days, he's been offering to make that call for me, or take me to the hospital, and I've kept saying no. I'm worried he'll be upset that I took my mom up on the offer but not him. But honestly, it was a matter of timing. (And I hope you know that, Husband who is currently asleep next to me). Whoever walked through that door first this afternoon was going to make that call. I finally realized that even if this is just hormones and it will sort itself out in time, holy shit, I can't keep sitting on my couch crying.
See, this afternoon was the last straw in a whole bale of last straws. I wasn't enjoying watching "Ghost Hunters" or QVC. I've been staring at the boxes of our new patio furniture in the dining room for three days and I can't even get up the desire to put it together. And I was so so so excited about that furniture. And I was sick to death of crying and howling in fear every few hours. Seriously, I kind of worry what the neighbors might think at this point.
Tomorrow is the day. Therapy at one, doctor at three. I have to believe that I will come out of tomorrow with at least the ability to make it through a day without bursting into tears, and that by next week, I will be sewing, baking, running, etc., once again.
If not, well, maybe I can find my own shriveled corn.