So, as you all know, I've had a wicked rough year. After losing my mind on bad meds, I lost my two favorite cats, and this past month I've had bad insomnia. I don't mean to be so down. I try really hard to stay positive, but sometimes merely trying isn't enough.
Today I sat down with my therapist and talked about my mood. Lately I've just been in a rut that I can't shake. Even doing menial tasks has been hard. So, he's putting me back on meds. Nothing scary, just run of the mill antidepressants. And not permanently, just for "seasonal depression."
But here's the thing. I'm scared. I don't want to be reliant on any chemicals... Ok, I'm a caffeine fiend, so maybe that's not the best way to put it...
I totally detoxed off all meds and I kept waiting to feel better. I never did. I thought maybe it was just still trauma from what happened to me, then I thought maybe it was just mourning from losing my pets, then I thought maybe it was our country's financial crisis (including our own)... I kept trying to attribute my foul mood to circumstantial things, but no matter what I did, or what I experienced, I couldn't help but feel negative. I don't want to be negative. I want to be happy. I want to feel joy by my experiences, not look at the all the things others have or have accomplished and then dwell on what I don't have or haven't accomplished. I want to be inspired by what others do, not feel bad because I'm not doing the same thing, which is precisely what's been going on.
And it's driving me crazy.
Also, I got Jury Duty and completely freaked out. I think that started my whole not sleeping well thing. I kept having visions of horrible crime in my head and having to see terrible photographs of rape or murder. I mean, ok, not everyone who gets jury duty serves and even if they do, not everyone gets some nasty case, but, see, this is the problem, my head just kept going to the worst possible scenario.
Soooooo, here I am again with a pocketful of antidepressants coupled with sleeping pills. I am not stoked. I even tried to argue my case, but I really had no ground to stand on because I haven't been exactly functioning well.
Why am I so sad? Why can't I sleep? My therapist offered me some good anecdotes and I felt a little better, but I can't help but feel weak or like something is wicked wrong with me that I need meds just to cope with life -- something everybody does every day.
At least this time I have a psychiatrist looking out for me and not just a regular doctor tossing the latest fast tracked pills my way with a pat on the head and a "call me if you're suicidal." At least I have someone to help track my moods and make sure the meds are doing what they're supposed to do and really be there if they're not.
But I also can't help but feel like I'll be letting down all those who supported me in quitting meds. I'm wondering if I should even be blogging such personal stuff. Like I'm exposed. But I'm a natural born writer. That's how I express myself... Yes, I've been scribbling away in my journal, but blogging feels better because there's feedback... And you never know, someone else might be going through a similar thing or already have gone through a similar thing so it becomes a shared experience and not just something tucked away and private. I know a lot of people who prefer the privacy but I'm just not like that. I speak my mind whether people will like it or not... Often times causing a sort of foot in mouth situation, but, well, I like having things out in the open, y'know?
I don't know, maybe it's because I'm an only child and have no siblings to bounce things off of... The whole world is my family. Or maybe it's because I like the attention... Because I do. I love attention! Which is kinda hard on a writer since most of the time I'm on my own scribbling away or pondering new concepts. Just today I came up with an idea for a muppet musical inspired by a project I worked on over the weekend.
I dunno... End all be all, I just want to be happy and productive and right now I'm not so if the meds get me to that place, I guess it's a good thing.
Update: I have since learned I was misdiagnosed and the symptoms were blood sugar level related not mental. Thanks, Western Medicine! I only lost about 8 years of my life.