That’s what my doctor said to me this morning at about 7:45. Why do I make appointments so early?!
I am depressed.
All that aside, I put the stigma on it. My parents didn’t assign the stigma, in fact both of them had depression and treated it at times, I’m not close to anyone who stigmatizes depression as a “made up” condition.
But I do.
And I don’t like myself very much. I wouldn’t treat other people that way, but for me, I don’t want to be a card carrying member of the depression tribe, and yet, I am.
I’m kind of bitch in that regard.
Also, a downer.
I thought I was a “new” person. I didn’t have “conditions” anymore. I was free of “-” and loving life. Slimmed down, dating, happy with my job, free of prescriptions, and then BAM. I started to binge drink again, then stopped that, and started to binge eat. That is a scary thing, let me tell you. What an out of control feeling.
All my “anxiety” conditions came back — the psoriasis, the IBS, the emotions that spill out of their hiding places at the WORST possible times, and the inability to sleep.
I was married and depressed. Then I was single and depressed. Then I was single and happy. Now I’m single and depressed.
The fact is, whatever’s going on, it could happen on top of depression. Or not. It’s very often the denominator under the good and bad numerators on top.
I started calling in sick to work. Lying very often about battling migraines, which I used to have, but don’t have any more. It’s one of those excuses that works. People usually just say, “Respect. Get better.” Even though they were seeing signs of depression in me before I was.
I knew I had to see my doctor when I called in “sick” to work one day, but also had to cancel my appointment with my therapist. Also an early morning thing…but I LOVE to talk to her. If I wanted to hide from even her, I was sliding down that sinkhole again.
I ran out of Ativan. I ran out of Bentyl. I ran out of Prozac. But, today I got all my prescriptions renewed. I will ask to see my therapist more often for a while. I have a follow up with the doctor to see how the meds are working for me this go-round.
What took me so long? Didn’t I used to shake my head at “bipolars” and “schitzos” who went off their meds because they felt better? They were FINE? Who does that to themselves?
I did that.
I need to tell myself I am treating a chronic condition I have — an imbalance that must be corrected — not so unlike diabetes or high blood pressure.
I have things I want to do. I can’t do them because I’m so exhausted with myself. Another depression sign. I hope, and my history has shown, if I introduce some missing chemicals into my ecosystem, I can probably get up and take the steps.
“Better living through chemicals,” a friend of mine says. It’s funny, but I feel resigned. I’m a depressive.
I wish I could stop judging myself for something I can’t control, but I can’t. There’s no one to blame for judging me anymore. Except me. The person who put four “I”s in the previous sentence.