I am not in a good space.
I am trying to fight back against the depression that is knocking on my front door, that is trying to sneak in through the cracks of the house and consume me. I cannot run away from it and I don’t know what to do. I live somewhere new. I have no one that I feel close to. I left the shrink I was working with – with incredible results – and I am back in a State where the medical profession has little to offer. I see a new shrink now, so I can get the ten different medications I take throughout the day. She is not warm, like my last one. She is clinical – I sat in her office 3 weeks ago, tears streaming down my face and all she did was prescribe me an anti-depressant. I hate anti-depressants. I was on Paxil for more than 20 years and spent an entire summer weaning myself off of it and I thought I would die. It was one of the most excruciating experiences of my life – I truly thought I was finally going completely mad. Some days, I wish I had.
What always amazes me is that some doctors immediately get out the pad and write the prescription, thinking the little blue/pink/yellow pill will help. And then I visit other offices and they are dumb-founded that someone who is bipolar would be given an anti-depressant. It might make me manic (please, please let that happen) or it might send me into a deeper ring of the inferno. No one knows how to effectively treat this disease and I am exhausted trying to live a “normal” life everyday. I have a full-time job in a profession I thought I would always love. But it no longer makes me happy, it is not what I thought it would be when I began 13 years ago. I find myself counting the minutes before I have to get out of bed in the morning. I drag myself into the shower, so I can look somewhat put-together. For someone who has always looked immaculate, combined with others’ expectations of that fact, it is torture every morning trying to gather the strength to get through another day, while looking perfect, while acting as if life is balanced.
I am so unbalanced. I come into the office. I sit in front of the computer, but I don’t really know what my place is. What am I doing here? I thought this would be my dream position and instead, once again, I feel it is slipping through my fingers. I count the hours before I can go home, and think about how I can close out the world. The world has once again become my enemy. Everything, everyone feels demanding. It all feels like too much pressure, and I am breaking.
I do not know what to do. It feels like a cancer running through my body, my bones. It centers itself in my head and will not let me go. I am chained to this, body and soul for the rest of my life and I am close to the tipping point. Agoraphobia is starting to take over again, as is the paranoia. I am creating illusions of people whispering about me, criticizing me, seeing through the facade of what they believed I was, only to see what I truly am.
A monster. A fake. A phony.
I just want this all to end.
© Sorrow & Kindness