Today I have an appointment with the psychiatrist. I have written a letter, but that doesn’t take the fear of possibly having to talk about everything away. I’m afraid of having to talk about stuff, not just because I don’t know her that well or whatever, I’m just plain afraid of talking about it with anybody. It’s like I have these things I want to say, but I get so dizzy and afraid of talking about them.
I’m still taking the medicine the doctor prescribed. I’m groggy 24/7 and I have a constant headache. I’m exhausted, and the depression has actually gotten worse. I’m tired of having to fight the side effects of the antidepressants, the medicines that are supposed to be helping me. I’ve lost all hope of ever getting better. I honestly don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to keep trying. What’s the point in putting so much energy in to something when it just seems like I’m spinning my wheels? I feel like a hamster on one of those wheels that just spin and spin. No matter how much they run on it, they’re still where they started at. That’s how I feel. No matter what I do, how much work I put in to it, I’m right where I started at, except exhausted. I know I’m just spinning my wheels, that I’m not going to get better. I have just been fighting this for several months or several years. Almost 20 years now. The thought of having to face this for quite a while longer is hard. For so long I’ve been fighting this, and trying to get better. What happens if this is as good as it gets?
One of the side effects of this new antidepressant seems to be wanting to die again. No not wanting to die but wanting to actually do something about it. But this is okay. I’ve been here for such a long time in my life that it’s a normal feeling for me. At this point, there have been just as many years suicidal as not. In a way, I want to stay on the new antidepressant causing this feeling. I want to explore it more; to actually come up with a decision I can accept.
I wish I could talk to my husband about what is going on. I wish I could tell him how I am feeling. Hell, I wish I could tell anyone how I’m feeling. The words escape me, though, when I need them to be there. I’m left wondering how I’m supposed to tell someone I love how deeply depressed I am when I don’t understand the feelings. All anyone can see is what is going on on the outside, which apparently I appear okay. No one understands how I feel inside. I want them to, but I don’t know how to convey everything I’m feeling to another human being.
Right now, as babyish as it sounds, I just want someone to hold me when I cry. Not to ask questions, but tell me, even if they don’t believe it, that I’m going to be okay.