On Friday I ended my week of non stop doctors at the psychiatrist's office. To say I was going into this appointment exhausted is an under statement. Not only was I legitimately exhausted from lack of sleep because Lucy had been running a fever and a chest cold for three days, but I was absolutely sick of leaving the house. I swear if one more person tells me that getting out of the house is going to be good for my mental health, I'm going to officially lose it.
Having never been to a psychiatrist I wasn't sure what to expect. All I knew going in was that I had exhausted every avenue my regular doctor had as far as anti-depressants, my psychologist said it would be a good thing to try, and I'm suicidal, so at this point I don't really have anything to lose by trying something new. As it turns out, this was kind of an interesting appointment. It was the first one in awhile that I left there feeling like someone actually got it, they haven't trivialized it, and they aren't treating me like I'm a fun experiment.
Which was just.... refreshing.
It was a two hour appointment and while I couldn't give you the blow by blow of what we talked about, but it was a lot. I learned that I was on a pussy dose of my anti-depressant so he increased that for me. I learned that I am grossly deficient in vitamin D, so I have a prescription for that. He's hoping that this combination is going to help me step back from the ledge of the bridge, so to speak. But the best part of the entire appointment was feeling like all of the things I have been feeling aren't necessarily normal, but more so that if I wasn't feeling those things, he'd be more seriously concerned about the stability of my mental health. It's like someone giving me the free pass to actually feel horribly about my situation.
I also left there being told that I have to stop feeling guilty. That when I feel like I can't do it today, it means I can't do it today and I need to not feel bad about it. I need to tell someone that hey- I can't do it today, and I just let people take over. I struggle with this because I feel like these are my kids, this is my house, I should be taking care of this. There are people out there who have it worse than me and I need to not be a baby. I feel like although it's been drilled into my head the last five months on repeat, it's just now starting to sink in.
It's OK to struggle. It's OK to not be able to do it.
I also learned that all of my fatigue isn't depression so much, it's my actual brain telling me it's time to shut down. It's on overload and it needs to restart. (Which explains why I don't feel in control of myself and I feel confused when I start getting tired.)
I now struggle with not feeling guilty with Matt. Because god knows, he has got to be at the end of his rope. He works SO many hours just so we don't get behind in bills. Not only that but then he has me, and I'm basically useless right now. Sure, I am taking care of the kids and I'm trying to stay on top of the household things but I'm not doing a good job at all. Honestly, my house now is nowhere near what it would normally be like. I feel like I'm failing as a mom. I'm desperately trying to tread water and I feel like most days by nose is barely above the water. So for me to say, "Oh hey Matt- I realize you just worked 12 hours but boy am I fried, I'm going to bed!", it feels unfair and unrealistic.
So that's where I'm at.
At least I feel like my anti-depressant change might make a difference, I go back in six weeks to the psychiatrist to give him some follow up. By the time I go to that appointment, I will have seen my therapist a few more times, my neurologist, and my regular doctor. Oh, and had my appointment at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. But more on that another day.
Until then.. just keep swimming.