Let's take a break from the flashback-type posts and talk about today. Specifically, how I am feeling today.
I feel really, really good today. I felt really, really good yesterday. And the day before that.
I came home from the hospital with several follow-up appointments already made for therapy and my psychiatrist, and a lot of medication.
(Well, a lot of prescriptions for medication, technically. Which Jason dropped off at Target on our way back, while I sort of shuffled behind him in the flip-flops I'd been given at check-out [I'd shown up at the ER barefoot], blinking and marveling at all the colors and sane-looking people.)
I've dropped all but two of the medications from the daily regimen (because sleep is nice but so is being awake enough to like, function a level or two above comatose) and Jason keeps anything and everything with overdose potential hidden away in an undisclosed location.
(He did the same thing with the benzos at first but eventually we stopped that because I never really took them and also I was feeling fine! Totally fine! Nothing to worry about here, folks.)
(Back on the ward, we collectively declared "FINE" to be an unacceptable four-letter word. Because "I'm fine" is code for total fucking bullshit.)
I'd been on a newer antidepressant called Trintellix, which seemed to work okay at first but caused absolutely awful, relentless nausea and vomiting that never stopped. Eventually it was a struggle for me to even keep the medication down often enough to stay at a therapeutic dose.
Meanwhile, I didn't like how tired and extra-depressed the Xanax and Ativan made me feel, so I rarely bothered with either of them. So the generalized anxiety continued to run amok beneath the layers of deepening depression.
It was like a glorious onion parfait of medication failure, served up to a person who doesn't like calling doctors or admitting she's not doing well (DID U NOT HEAR HOW FINE I AM I'M FINE I'M FINE) or onions for that matter.
I'm now on Lexapro and Buspar, two old-school meds that are, so far, working really great for me. (The Buspar in particular is kicking so much GAD ass that it's hard not to feel some pangs of regret and anger that I wasn't on it years ago.) I burn to a crisp if I go outside without sunscreen, but other that that, side effects are minimal and manageable. I go to therapy twice a week, medication management appointments every two weeks, and am looking for a group setting to attend as well. I set little goals for myself every day, even if they aren't necessarily anything challenging.
Make the kids breakfast. Walk a dog. Answer an email. Text a friend. Write something. Cook dinner. Wash my damn face.
I want so badly to just be better, to really and truly be fiiiiiiine, that it's tempting to get really impatient with myself. But the days of endless self-bullying are over, of letting the meanest voice in my head yell the loudest, and instead I look at my modest little task list and let a sense of pride creep in. I'm still here, still trying, still fighting, still hanging in.