Last night I had a counseling appointment. What could very well be my last one. Ever.
I was already going to take a month or so break, just to settle in to my new job, my new routine. But I had every intention of actually setting up another appointment. I didn’t. The counselor told me he’d keep my spot open for me, but I’m tempted to email him and tell him not to bother.
I had written him a letter last time telling him how much I was hurting. His comment was that my writing is very consistent. (so, I’m consistently hurting, yes?) He wondered why I’ve been on so many SSRI’s with no luck. Or hell any kind of antidepressant or mood stabilizer. Even better, why I’ve been on so many with no side effects of any kind. Apparently quitting Effexor at 300 mg with no side effects is unheard of. "What happens if you’re happy and don’t even know it"
So me, reading between the lines… "I think you’re faking this" No he didn’t say it, but that’s where the conversation seemed to go. That’s what I got out of the hour there. I don’t think it dawned on me until the drive home, but that’s definitely where I think he was going.
The last time I saw the psychiatrist she spent less than five minutes with me. It helped me none. So I’m not going back there either.
I feel like a sham. Like no matter what, no one is going to believe me about how much I’m hurting. But that’s okay, because since my feelings aren’t real, the next time I feel like killing myself or cutting, I don’t have to fight those feelings either, right?
I had my last psychiatrist appointment on Tuesday. I kid you not it lasted all of about five minutes. AND I was told I smiled too much. I guess I smiled once, to something funny she said. Why do people assume that just because someone smiles they feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Rarely when I smile do I actually feel like smiling. I smile, well because I guess it’s an automatic response to something that I know socially, I’m supposed to think is funny. I do it with everyone. Even when I don’t think the person is funny, or I don’t feel like smiling. I do it because as crappy as I feel inside doesn’t give me the right to make others feel crappy. I figure if I can make someone else feel like smiling then maybe my life here isn’t in vain.
So, back in the psychiatrist office. Any side effects from the medicine… not really, but it’s not helping. Let’s increase the dose and come back in about a month. Any questions? No, well… boda bing boda boom (yes, I know I misspelled that phrase. At this point, I don’t give a rat’s behind) I’m finished. See aren’t I an easy client. And five minutes of her time only cost me let’s see $60. It was supposed to last 20 minutes. 20 minutes… and all I got was a quarter of that. Somehow I think I should have paid her a quarter of what I was supposed to pay her.
The first day I had an appointment with her I told her I had a blog. I was under the impression she was actually going to read it. So far she hasn’t. When I told her the name of the blog, she told me I didn’t have to go through this alone. Really, could have surprised me. Who’s going to help me?
Somehow I feel more lonely when there is someone I want to be close to but feel I can’t be then if I had never met the person in the first place.
A coworker brought in a little magnet thing that is a quote from Winston Churchill “If you’re going through hell, keep going” Question: what if hell is infinite? If it is, that just means no matter how much I walk, how much I run, how much I keep going, I’m always going to be there. At least that’s how I feel. Always. I have no hope of ever getting out of hell. Of anything ever working out for me.
Sometimes I wonder if I did something bad that God feels the need to punish me for. I just wish I knew what it was, so I could apologize and I maybe then I won’t be punished anymore.
So, another teary day. It’s hard to wipe the tears and keep going knowing how much everything is breaking inside. It’s like nothing fits together anymore, and I can’t keep this up. I have to be a strong person at work. A strong person at home. But all I feel like doing is sleeping and crying. I don’t want to be a burden to anyone. I know people get tired of talking to me about the depression. Of thinking I’m just a stupid person because I don’t get what is apparently obvious to so many other people. But I can’t help it. I guess I am just dumb.
I’m starting with a new psychiatrist today. About the only reason I am going is because my counselor suggested it. I’ve thought about calling over and over again to cancel the appointment. Heck, I don’t even know why I made the appointment in the first place. Maybe it was more to prove the counselor wrong, that nothing is going to work anymore. I just don’t want to try anymore. I don’t want to have to take any medicine and think long enough whether or not I feel any minute difference. I want everything to end. I want the pain to stop. The thoughts to stop. Me to stop.
I’m sunk unless the pyschiatrist has good forms to fill out. If I have to tell my “story”… well, what is my story. I have a great home, great husband, job, and want to die. I’m selfish because I have a great life and I can’t be happy. Yes, I had a rough life growing up. Who didn’t. Everyone else is getting along okay. I mean what am I supposed to say when someone asks me what’s wrong? I want to die. Why? Hmmm… How the hell should I know. I cut. What triggers it? Well, if I could remember that, I would avoid the trigger, now wouldn’t I? It’s hard going through this life. And it shouldn’t be. I have just about everything I could ever want, well except for 20 million dollars or so.
So what the bloody hell am I missing?