so i just wanted to announce…i’ve pierced my belly button. with e’s help of course. but i did it! i kind of half sat up, half laid down on the floor and pierced my belly button. e held the clamp and i stuck the needle through.didn’t really hurt. in a way, that was disappointing. oh well though. i have this cute little ring. one that kind of looks like a dove flying holding a little cz.
I wish I could talk to my counselor right now. Even then I’d probably chicken out and waste his time though. Things aren’t going so well. I’m not sure I can keep up with life very much anymore. I’m so tired and depressed, and my husband is just making things worse. He pouts constantly, which makes things for me harder. I have so much stuff to do at work, and at home. He claims he is too tired to help out at home, or that he has to study for his test and that is why he can’t help. I’m tired too, but I guess that doesn’t matter. I’m so completely scared and alone.
I wish I were a better client for my counselor. I try so hard to talk. But it’s like the words get blocked. I start getting dizzy and not able to concentrate on what I want/need to tell him. Even though apparent progress is hard to pinpoint, it helps being in his office an hour a week, to have someone who will listen and not judge me, to have someone that at least half way cares about me. I don’t get that with too many other people, so it means a lot. However, I still feel like I am wasting his time. That he could be using the time he spends with me on someone who deserves it, someone who has a chance of getting better. I’m pretty hopeless as far as getting over the depression, being happy, even actually wanting to live. I’ve been abandoned by so many people. As much as I trust my counselor, I’m afraid he will give up on me. Though I guess that would be alright. Everyone else usually ends up giving up on me, or I end up pushing them away.
So the first one I went to was right after I had graduated from grad school. My counselor in grad school had pretty much told me all throughout that I needed a psychiatrist, but I was too afraid. Finally I conjured up enough courage to go see one. She started me on Lamictal. Said I had treatment resistant depression (no, really… I could have told her that!). After several months, she finally deduced that my fatigue was associated with eating too many carbs (I had a bagel that morning for breakfast, the week before I had yogurt, go figure), and that I should go on the Atkins Diet. She said that she couldn’t help me anymore, so that was the end of that psychiatrist.
It took me a while to work up the nerve to go to another psychiatrist, but I finally did. I was hoping for better luck with this one. I went in to see her, and before she prescribed me anything, she wanted me to have a psychological assessment. So I did. I spent an afternoon doing all these neat tests. I really liked the patterns I got to work with, but I’m weird 😉 So the psychologist said that I was definitely not bipolar. He felt that my brain was too complex to understand something as simple as being happy. Nice. So I go to see the psychiatrist a couple of days later. She hasn’t had a chance to read the psychological assessment report, but figures I’m bipolar 2. Puts me on symbyax. Month later I’m a bit better, mainly because I just got engaged and closed on a house. I’ve gained 10 lbs from the symbyax, so she puts me on Prozac. Tells me to come back six *months* later. Claims I’m stable. I tell her I’m worried that it’s not the meds, but just being a little better because I just got engaged and closed on house. She claims it’s the meds. When the euphoria from engagement and new house wears off, back to depression.
Haven’t been back to psychiatrist since. I’m working with a really good counselor. It is hard for me to open up to him, but it’s my fault. It’s just hard for me to talk to anyone, just saying the stuff out loud is hard.
I’ve not been having good days lately. Things just seem like they keep crashing. I’m so overwhelmed at work. Overwhelmed at home. Overwhelmed with the depression. What do you do when your life feels like it is falling apart? How do you keep hanging on? Why do you keep hanging on. It’s not like I haven’t been in this same place for 16 years. I should be used to it, but I’m not. The depression is my fault, if I worked harder at it, then I could make it go away. But apparently I’m not trying hard enough because I am still depressed, even after all the counseling, I still don’t feel better. I feel like a failure. I can’t even be happy right. I guess I have another hard confession to make. I know people won’t understand it, but I have to say it anyway. I cut. I know I’ve said that before, but I cut in a certain place, a private part inside of me. I don’t know why I do it. I have a ritual that I usually do, but I’m too embarassed to tell it here right now. It is one of the few places I can hurt myself and my husband not know about. But I think it goes deeper than that. I think I think I deserve to be hurt there. My husband will be out all next week. It means it will be harder for me to keep composure over my emotions. Really no friends to help me through it. I’ll be alone with no help. It’s scary facing that fact. It’s also scary facing the fact that no one may ever care if I die.
It’s been a pretty uneventful weekend. I don’t know what to type. I have all these things I want to say, but it’s like they are all tangled up and I can’t straighten them out. I am still on Cymbalta, but I want to quit. I can’t because when I go off of it for more than a couple of days I get dizzy. I made it up to a week, but ended up having to start it again. I’m such a failure, I can’t do anything right. You know what’s so pathetic, I want someone to hold me so much while I cry. I’ve never really had that, where someone would hold me while I cry. But at the same time, it would probably be too intense for me. Maybe it’s better being alone. None of my family knows about the depression, besides Erik and his aunt. I don’t want them to be disappointed in me. I was known as the strong one in the family. I don’t want my mom to know that everything started after her surgery, that I felt guilty because of it. It’s just better if I go through this alone. I can’t even be happy right. It’s my fault I’m like this, maybe I deserve to be like this. I really have no hope things will get better, maybe I should just stop trying.