My first meeting with the new ARNP Psy. wasn't as encouraging as I had hoped. She wants to rule out bipolar and I feel like I'm never going to get off this shit-medication-merry-go-round. The hubbo was also suspicious I might be bipolar (he loves to webmd it all) and so the appointment felt like a trial of my dysfunction and not very therapeutic or encouraging for me at all.
To add insult to injury not only is my mood horrible I've also been plagued by fat-awareness. I'm inching towards 250 lbs and feeling worse and worse about myself and having such a slow recovery. Being down in the dumps for months on end is one thing. Adding extra pounds in sets of tens until I have nothing but dumpy capris and sweatpants to wear makes me feel like I need to return to my trailer park and disappear forever.
I'm disappointed, frustrated, angry, distraught, ashamed, overwhelmed, over-slept, and dangerously low on self-regard and worth. My depressive logic equates my current condition to that of the dregs of society-worthless addicts, murderers, and dealers that no conscientious citizens would miss should they die alone and cold. I'm simply a burden and an eyesore.
No wonder I have so few readers, this isn't encouraging or even that interesting-unless you're some sicko savoring the darkest thoughts of the walking dead, and even then I don't provide adequate panache to hold any attention.
Today was horrible. Arguing with my husband, curling up into small dark spaces trying to mute the world, and sobbing until my body gave up and seemed to reboot in safe-mode, numbed and dim.
Tomorrow I have work to do. I don't know how but I seem to have enough energy for a meager facade of sanity and cheer, however fragile that may be.