The first sign of trouble was that I stopped washing my face.
Some days I'd go to bed with my makeup on, and just...smear away the raccoon streaks with my fingers the next morning. I knew this wasn't great self-care, so just I stopped wearing makeup most days.
But I still didn't wash my face.
Other bad habits crept in after that. The laundry went unfolded. My hair went unwashed. Texts went unanswered. Work deadlines were stretched to the absolute limit, and I started working from bed again. I gained more weight, so I rarely changed out of my pajamas because I couldn't face my actual clothes.
I was tired -- so, so unbelievably tired all the time, and I would regularly sleep through most of the afternoon.
I told myself it was just fatigue from my antidepressant. That there was nothing wrong with wanting to work while nice and cozy and curled up with the cats. That I'd get to the laundry that afternoon, that night, that weekend.
And then one night, it was there again. That flash of inevitability, a hopeless swirly thought of no other way out.
So...it's been a rough few weeks. I was fine, and then I wasn't fine. And it was really, really hard to admit that I wasn't fine, even though I'm not supposed to use that word in the first place.
Depression is a goddamn whore bitch, is what I'm trying to say.
I sacked up and made an appointment with my doctor for last Friday, and I've added Wellbutrin to my morning cocktail of Lexapro and Buspirone. I go back in a few days, and she suggested that if things don't improve quickly, it'll be best to find an intensive outpatient program. I'm really hoping it won't come to that, and I did legitimately feel a little better over the weekend -- probably too soon to say whether it's the new med or just an uptick from Doing Something About the Thing. But I did feel better.
This is obviously not an update I ever wanted to write, but it's an honest one. Recovery can be precarious and fragile, especially when you're dealing with an illness that has full squatters' rights in your brain and can lie lie lie to you all day long. You're fine. You're fine. You're a worthless piece of shit, but you're fine.
At the same time, there was an unbelievable outpouring of love here, from you (and you and you and you), and everybody who donated towards Ike's reading program. He started it last week, and will attend two intensive sessions a week for the foreseeable future. He really, really likes it already and is so beyond ready to just...READ. His IEP meeting is tomorrow, and I'm feeling strong enough to fight, thanks in no smart part to knowing how many other people have our backs and believe in us to do what's best for him. I still owe a few individual thank-you emails, but I wanted to publicly say it here. THANK. YOU.
Ike is gonna do great. And I'll continue to take care of myself too, I promise.