Tried so hard last night to get to sleep before my crying jags started up again. I had taken a Seroquel and was waiting anxiously for it to kick in. My partner, lying behind me was rubbing my back which made me start to cry again. It’s so frustrating and embarrassing. I hate for her to see me this way. Not just because I feel so ashamed and guilty for acting and feeling this way, but because I hate having her worried about me.
I have been off work for almost a year now. Money is tight, trips cancelled, grand plans put on hold and its all my fault. The guilt is becoming so unbearable and I am crying again as I write these words. I have had depression on and off my whole life but lately it is anxiety that I’ve been treated for. Now, my depression has come back full force and my psychiatrist does nothing but stare at me while I cry for my weekly 20 minute appointment, then ask if I need any refills. It’s a real wonder why I’m still here…
Decided during my feeling of hopelessness this morning, to call my regular doctor to find out how I can fire my psychiatrist and get a new one as mine is a fucking idiot! Sorry for that. Usually I would have to wait months for an appointment but as luck would have it, she was on urgent care tonight (she works in a clinic with other doctors) and there was an appointment available tonight. I booked it! I need to gather my thoughts and figure out what I need to bring up with her without dissolving into a puddle of tears, rambling on and on about my issues.
- Get a referral to a new psychiatrist.
- Discuss my Cymbalta withdrawal problems.
- Let her know I am afraid I am deteriorating and my thoughts of suicide.
Took a break from writing this post to go outside and pick up dog poop as it is zero degrees Celsius and sunny (nice for March in Ontario, Canada). I promised my partner I would go outside today. Things were going well till I couldn’t chisel the poop out of the snow as it has melted down into it. I usually do this every 2 days or so but in my Cymbalta withdrawal this week, I have left it. Again, my fault and I began crying. Tears were rolling down my face as a was getting more and more frustrated at the encapsulated poop just beyond my reach. I did the only sensible thing and gave up. What if my neighbour sees me crying, picking up poop. It’s not the poop, its me!
This is why I need to do something and go see my doctor tonight. I realized that depression can be fatal.