Great quotes.

It is so comforting to read something that makes you feel understood:


“Everything seems to be exhausting me, not matter how much sleep or how much coffee I drink or how long I lie down, something inside me seems to have given up. My soul is tired.” ~Unknown


“Depression is being colorblind and constantly told how colorful the world is.” ~Atticus


Has my head ever not hurt?

My mood is better than January. That’s pretty indisputable. I don’t feel like I have anything to live for, but I’m totally not in a headspace where I could commit suicide right now. So I’ll just stumble on, because I’m sure the depression will overtake me again in a year or two or three..

In the meantime,  i’ll just enjoy my head hurting every single fucking day. I got the pharmacy to fax my neurologist to ask for a refill on steroids, but he wouldn’t give it to me. I see him in two weeks, so hopefully I can talk him in to more. Otherwise I’ll just order them off the Internet. I really don’t give a fuck. They’re harmful for long-term use?  I super don’t give a fuck about that. My head hurts now. My migraines are affecting my quality-of-life now. So I can’t really be invested in something that’s not supposed to matter until years from now.

I… fuck… fucking weather… steroids

I have straight up had a migraine since last Wednesday. I should’ve gone into work over the weekend to make up time, but I just hang onto the bed and close my eyes. Today I took a steroid, which is supposed to be the last resort of last resort, and I managed to make it through the day but I still felt like crap, and I took a Gravol because I felt so nauseous it made my heart race for like five hours.

I cried on the bus on the way home, and then I cried on the walk home, and then I cried for like two hours when I got home, and I was working on trying to find another car but I would’ve had to have my dad cosign for me and it’s just not worth the stress…  and it’s not even so much the stress of having to deal with my dad as it is the stress of getting into a loan for years and years. I haven’t managed to keep a job for more than three years since I graduated, and I’m at 2 1/2 years for this job now,  and I feel like I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth, not to mention that my boss told me to be discharged and get back to work or he couldn’t keep my job open for me just two short months ago.  So I pretty much feel like I’m gonna lose my job again in six months, or a year, and then I’ll be on unemployment and looking for a job again, and I’ll manage to scrape through until I kill myself,  but I’m seeing  repossession or desperation in the future.

So I guess I’ll just basically never have a car again, because it’s probably not realistic to want to save enough money to just buy one with cash. I had a car 20 years and four months ago, when I first moved to the city. So now I’m moving backwards. As soon as my lease is up here, I’m going to look for somewhere smaller to move  and my life will just shrink around me until I’m an old maid in a boarding house room with nothing and no one. I actually hope to God that I have the courage to kill myself before it comes to that point.

Left psychiatrist without a prescription.

I went to my appointment today and explained that whatever I had taken was making me really really tired. He said “hmmmm” and started flipping through my file, asking me what meds I have been on in the past, before I came to see him, which I really don’t remember at all. Then I said why not just leave well enough alone, because I thought things couldn’t get any worse but when I couldn’t make it through a workday, that was actually worse. And that the world only cares about whether I go to work and pay my rent, the world doesn’t care how I feel about it.

So he said maybe we would leave it for a week, because I just tried two medications that didn’t go well for me, and that he would see me next week. I cried on the bus on the way to the appointment, and then pulled myself together to sit in the waiting room, and although I started crying when I was with him I still kept it mostly together. I think I know where that I have to go right back out in the waiting room in a minute so I’m trying not to lose it. I wonder if this gives him the impression that I’m doing better than I am, though. Or maybe now that it’s been two months since I got out of the hospital, that this is a sustainable level of emotions. I don’t know. He did ask me when I was seeing my therapist next, and the answer was today, as I had an evening appointment.

I started straight up full on crying in the waiting room, and continued crying during the whole session, and the therapist clearly gets how bad I feel. He manages to say stuff that makes me feel better, or at least understood, and I end up not really being able to remember anything specific after I leave. Like, I’ll talk about how I don’t see how I can go on, and he’ll say something like “you’re just surviving right now, but you feel really bad” and I’ll be like yes! That’s it exactly! 

He must be concerned for me, because this is through the employee assistance program, and I know those programs have a limit on sessions. If you have more than just a handful, you’re supposed to be in a special program where are you also have a limited number of sessions, but you fill out questionnaires about your symptoms and a bunch of other stuff. I was in that last year, but he just said not to worry about it and is happy for me to go see him every week, so he must be keeping the company off his back somehow.

It just occurred to me on the way home and I’m going to make a note of it to tell my psychiatrist next week, but my parents didn’t ask me if I was OK when I told them that my car was written off. My mom emailed me and asked if I was all right the next day. It didn’t occur to them at the time, because all they give a shit about is money, and when they heard the insurance was paying it that was all they cared about; that, and yelling at me. But really, when I say I was in a car accident and the insurance is writing it off, that could’ve meant that I was in a real wreck. I could’ve been talking to them with casts on my arms and legs. I’m sure if I put it to the bluntly, they totally would deny that money was important to them but the proof is in the pudding; their daughter told them she was in a car accident that resulted in the car being written off, and they didn’t even think to ask me how I was until the next day. So fuck them. Fuck them SO HARD.

Fuck insurance and fuck body shops.

I might have already written about this here. I don’t know. Anyway, at the end of last month it was super foggy outside and I was driving in the morning and as I turned to face east the sun was just lighting up my windshield and I couldn’t see where I was going. So I went to pull over, because the road I was on has cars parked on both sides so it’s actually only one lane wide. I rear-ended a jeep, and had what looked to me like a bend in my hood and a broken light lens. People recommended that I look into fixing it myself, but I thought I didn’t have enough money so I would do it through insurance. What the fuck does it matter to me, I thought, if my premiums rise for some future year where I may or may not even be here? So off to the body shop I went, where they quoted over $4000. They wanted to repaint fenders so it would match the hood and all this crap, and the insurance lady said that they had a duty to restore my car to the way it was before the accident so I couldn’t just say “straighten out the hood and I don’t care if it’s a different shade of gray.”

However, they don’t think it’s actually worth restoring my car to the way it was before, because it’s a 2005 with almost 200,000 km on it, so they’re just gonna write me a check and write the car off.

So now I don’t have a car.  Or at least I won’t have a car after tomorrow morning. My dad is going to be pissed, because he gave me this car when they bought a new car for themselves and I’m sure it was some sort of hand me down, like I’m never going to be able to buy myself a decent car so they’ll help me out. Anyway, I texted my sister to *please* call me today, because my parents often call on the weekends and my dad often asks how the car is and how the cat is just for something to say. Not bringing it up until it comes up is one thing, but I’d like to at least have some kind of game plan for what to say.

You can’t get a car, really, for what the insurance company is giving me. It would have to be a pretty old beater, with pretty high mileage, and I’m not really thinking I want to take a test drive with some guy off craigslist or whatever. So I got the name of a car salesman from a friend of mine, and it was clear that I need to get some kind of financing even if I got the most-used of their used cars. So I told the guy that is straight up over the phone, and said that my credit probably wasn’t great and I didn’t want to waste his time. They said they do a preapproval and expected to call me back by the end of Saturday afternoon, which they didn’t, which probably means I can’t get a car unless I go to one of those rip off places that say “have shitty credit? We will finance you!”

It’s so fucking depressing, because my ex tried his best to fuck over the finances when we were married, and then I took it over and I was being so responsible. And then he left me when I was on disability, and then I couldn’t get a new job, and the EI ran out and then I was on welfare, so I was starting from scratch.  Then a couple years later I went on short-term disability for depression, and got let go as soon as I got back, and I ended up finding a job before I got on welfare again, thank goodness, but I decided to go to the nonprofit credit consolidation place because I couldn’t keep up with the minimum payments for everything and I thought once I dug myself out I would be OK.

So now since then I’ve paid off over $10,000, and I’ve been on time every time except for last year when I paid two payments in one month instead of waiting for the first day of the next month and they wouldn’t count that as anything but a skipped payment for the month that I’d paid in advance for. Anyway, I would have enough to pay off the rest with what I’m going to get from insurance, and then all I would have for debt is some student loans. I’d actually have a positive net value if I dropped dead right now.

It doesn’t matter though, because now I don’t have a car and I live in an apartment where basically I just walk in the door and come to bed, and I have all the stuff for a life I’m not gonna live, and I so don’t want to fucking be here.

Migraine season is starting.

I’ve had a migraine every day since Tuesday. The weather has been really up-and-down here, and barometric pressure is a sure way to give me one, as if the stress weren’t already enough. I use the Migraine Buddy app to track my migraines, and last night there were almost 20,000 other people in my city with one, which is the highest number I’ve ever seen. 

My boss said I didn’t have to go in today to make up the time I missed yesterday, which is so awesome of him because I wouldn’t be able to look at a computer today. I’m so glad I can dictate blog entries and emails with my eyes closed. I have to go get some groceries, because I have literally nothing in the fridge except condiments and a small block of cheese. I’ve had a Percocet and a muscle relaxant, and I’m hoping everything kicks in soon, because it’s really stressful for me to feel like I only have one day to prepare for the work week when I leave everything until Sunday.

More concerning me though, I’m wondering if it’s beginning to shift into the summer weather pattern and if I can expect far more migraines far more often. I haven’t been tracking as diligently as I should have, lately, but I looked up last August and I had 12 migraines during that month. May to August was just horrible, because of the weather. I don’t feel like I’m in any shape to start having migraines all the time for the next for five months. 

Doctor thinks I’m bipolar.

This is really annoying me, because I am not. Bipolar. I’ve never had a manic or hypomanic episode, and I had seen my old psychologist for 10 years and she confirmed that I’d never described anything like mania or hypomania. There’s a strong family history of depression, with me, my sister, my mother, my grandmother, and my great aunt (my grandma’s sister) suffering from depression. No mania, just depression. I told the psychiatrist this, and he said that he has seen people who don’t have their first manic episode until their 70s or 80s. Well, my grandma is in her 90s now. And depressed. With no mania.

He’s hanging that entire hypothesis on the fact that I like to sleep a lot when I’m depressed, and I lose my appetite. I guess it’s more common for people to have trouble sleeping. I looked up the American psychiatric treatment guidelines for depression, which said that these atypical symptoms are still consistent with depression, especially in women, and that it’s not that unusual. So I guess I’m going to highlight that and take it with me next time. Actually, he’s really hanging his hypothesis on the fact that because I’m not responding to the typical treatments, depression must not be what I have. So he gave me some samples of some new bullshit pill that I’m supposed to take until I see him next week.

At least he knows I’m feeling shitty, because he asked how I was and I said that I’ve been crying all the time. He asked if there was any particular time of day that was worse for me, because in the past it felt worse in the evening when there was still so long to go before bed. I explained that it didn’t make any difference anymore, that I cried in the bus on the way to work, at work, on the bus again on the way to his appointment, and then I proceeded to cry when I was there with him. Edit

He asked me how my suicidal thoughts were, for the first time since the hospital. I was already sitting there crying, so it wasn’t like I could pretend I wasn’t having them, so I said but I really love Depeche Mode, but that I wasn’t sure going for another 200 days until their concert was doable.

I’m trapped between a rock and a hard place. The world doesn’t give a shit, wait, let me start that thought again. The world only cares if I go to work and do my job, and pay my rent. The world doesn’t care how I feel about it. So either I satisfy my obligations to the world, or I don’t. The nurse therapist at the outpatient department heads suggested that we think about the hospital again, because I had felt better for a time. Maybe I would still feel better if I had stayed there long enough to finish instead of running back to work at my bosses command. It’s so absurd, I’m certain that my boss thinks everything is fine. He probably doesn’t even think I’m depressed anymore. And meanwhile the nurse or my psychiatrist could tell him that an hour ago I was fucking crying and talking about how I didn’t think I could go on living. Theoretically there are supposed to be accommodations, but when push comes to shove he actually just wants somebody who will punch in every morning, not disappear for weeks unexpectedly. If this gets to the point where I can’t keep working, what am I going to do I ask myself? Then I remember that I was perfectly ready to go to work, (OK not perfectly, I needed to shower and was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans,) but I was going to show up when I was planning on dying five days later.

Ugh, I made Monday worse.

I was having a hard time getting up and out this morning (with no group in the afternoon to serve as a deadline) and ended up rolling in to work at 11, standing in the coffeeshop buying a scone because I hadn’t even managed a protein shake. I should have showered before I went to work and was in jeans that were too big and a top that was WAY too big and polyester to boot. Anyway my boss came in to the coffeeshop as I was in line; that was fun.

I felt just blechy and sticky and gross the whole day, and wished that I’d had a fucking shower and looked harder for something to wear. You know when you just feel… ugh?

So when I came home I showered and then threw in some laundry so I’d have something to wear tomorrow (I still have no pants that aren’t too big, or too small, but at least they’ll be clean and baggy) and changed the sheets on the bed.

That was fucking gross as I hadn’t changed them since being discharged from the hospital in mid-February. Like beyond college bachelor gross. I just thought, what the fuck difference does it make? And then I couldn’t muster up the effort to do it, so whatever.  Now I have clean sheets AND clean laundry, which I guess is an advantage of having a shorter day (minus group).  So yay me, I guess.

I’m going to buy some greens powder to dump into my shakes because eating is just not going to happen, at least it hasn’t in the past 6 weeks so it’s no use imagining that I’ll suddenly start. I might as well plan as if I am not going to be able to cook a bunch of stuff, and my skin is horrible at the moment – I have forgotten to take my antibiotics, cheated with a face wipe before bed, and basically had protein powder, coffee, and milk exclusively – so maybe eating a more well-rounded smoothie will help.

I feel immensely sad and lonely in a way that I don’t know if I can get anyone who isn’t a professional, or who hasn’t had their own struggle with mental health, to understand. I actually looked up the professional cuddler that I had seen last summer (yes, I know, it sounds super sketch) because I thought the hell if it does cost $90 an hour; I’m going to go insane if I can’t feel close to someone.  And the guy has stopped doing it; he is not on the website anymore. So I can’t get a cuddle for love or money?  Dammit.

I’m resolved not to share as deeply with Beth anymore, and I know I’ve said this before, but I’ve felt resolved for a solid week now. I talked to her last week and she had an instant answer for everything – I shouldn’t focus on myself, I’ll have to let such-and-so go, I should pray harder, there was nothing where she was able to say “I hear that you feel really sad about this. Could I suggest…?”  Which makes me value my training, because I damn well know how to sit with someone in their pain and validate their feelings and help them to feel heard and apparently that does NOT come naturally.

But again, as I don’t have a ton of “outlets”, deciding to cut Beth off means that again I’m largely leaving myself to the realm of professionals and I wonder wtf is wrong with me that I can’t find a partner in real life to walk beside me with this shit? Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, I can’t change it.  I’m going to suggest at my psychiatrist appointment tomorrow that I just stop taking the antidepressants and we plan to try out MAOIs because I’m crying all the time anyway, how much worse can it get?