down the black hole

Last time I posted was just the scariest day. Since it was so early in the morning (well, for me, anyway), I didn't know just how scary it would get, but for a while I thought I might end up in the hospital. The Krazee Hospital.

(Pretend Levity. It's great.)

In all seriousness, passive thoughts of suicide have been drifting across my consciousness, but they were frighteningly frequent last Monday. I'd been having them for a while, but (and I've already recounted this for Angi, so she'll have to forgive the repeat) I was struck by how deeply depressed I was when my mom's best friend from when I was growing up came to visit and we all went for a boat ride. They kind of had to nag me into going, as I had big plans to Read Books and Sleep In A Dark Room. I shrugged and went...didn't fight them but wasn't enthused about going (and I normally really enjoy boat rides). I sat between my mom and Kathleen and stared at the shore the Entire. Time. I remember wishing I could get onto that deserted stretch of shoreline and just sit on a rock until I ceased to exist. Then I stared at the water, which was cool and deep blue-green and beautiful--and anyone who is familiar with water in Central Texas knows the kind of water I'm talking about, it's just so lovely--and I thought, "It would be so nice if I could just drown."

And then I couldn't stop thinking about how everything is useless and hopeless and everyone would just be better off if I weren't around, and what do I have to live for anyway, with my mother and her friend yapping and trying to get me to join in the conversation and it was just so surreal. All I wanted to do was stop living and they wanted me to talk about my new apartment! And isn't it exciting! And we went home and I went upstairs into the aforementioned dark room and cried, because that's all I wanted to do and I couldn't while there were people around and what would my mom's friend Kathleen think if I couldn't hold it together? But I couldn't hold it together. Every time I had a moment alone, I cried. And I finally stopped crying and started reading, because any fantasy land is better than being in my mind right now.

Then my mom came in and it all came pouring out. I had been trying so hard to pretend I was okay and nothing was wrong and I was firmly pulled up by those stupid bootstraps my dad keeps yammering about, when I wanted to scream, God, I'm in so much pain. Can't sleep, can't eat, want to die. And I told my mother I am having suicidal thoughts, even though I didn't want to, because I may bitch about my mom and she sure does make me mad sometimes but there are so. Many. Times when she and my dad are the only people on earth who keep me bound to it. I don't like to scare her, but she knew anyway, she always does. She told me to tell the therapist that on Wednesday.

I went to therapy. Oh, yes I did. And I am FUCKED UP, y'all. I was a good fifteen minutes early even though I missed the turn twice, and I sat in front of her house, wondering how in the blue fuck I ended up needing therapy. Randy called and I told him what was going on, and he was freaked; I mean, he's been very intimately involved in my life for a decade now and never has he heard me talk about suicide. And he keeps calling, people keep calling, but I don't want to talk. I don't want to hear it. I just want to get well or fucking end it already.

I have a standing therapy appointment every Wednesday and I can't get in to see a psychiatrist until August 16. Yeah! Make the suicidal girl wait a month to get her meds evaluated. I'm not going to DO anything, y'all. Just so you know, I'm too chickenshit to kill myself. That doesn't mean I relish spending a month thinking about it.

I talked to Debbie about how it just seems like I keep getting worse since I started the Wellbutrin, and especially since I started taking the 300mg Wellbutrin like clockwork. She told me her shrink said the wrong med can have the opposite effect and make the anxiety/depression worse instead of better. So I have stopped the Wellbutrin and I do feel better. I called Carol Lynn and I'm back on Lexapro until I can get in to see the shrink.

I feel better. I am not well, though. I felt loads better after therapy on Wednesday, but woke up Thursday morning feeling like I was going to lose my mind. I went to work that day--the guilt was killing me--but I told my supervisor I still wasn't feeling well and she sent me home. I did not tell her what my ailment was. I decided to take the rest of my sick leave for this year so I don't use up my vacation days. This has not been a vacation, that's for sure. This has been a sanity-retaining break.

I think I'll feel up to going back to work on Thursday. I hope I will. I also hope Carol Lynn will refill my Xanax scrip when I run out, because TAKING ONE EVERY DAY. Some days I would like to take two. I talked to my therapist about how I think my depression is second to my anxiety. I am always always anxious, not always depressed, and I feel like the doctors have been ignoring my anxiety. She said I probably need to be on some sort of anti-anxiety drug as well as an antidepressant. THANK YOU.

And to take more of a load off of me, my mom is going to pay for my therapy, because it's going to be a hundred bucks a month. Thank God I have good parents, that's all I know. My dad is even for me getting therapy...I think I have sufficiently terrified everyone who loves me. My work here is done.

Sorry, I know this entry is all over the place, but I wanted to let y'all know what's going on.