I saw my doctor this week. I told them the SSRI they prescribed isn’t doing squat – I’m still depressed and picking.
Doc said that picking is near impossible to cure, so not to focus on that more than the depression. So I guess I’m back to nail polish and hand lotions to prevent cuticles and seeing my nails in the first place. Great.
I mentioned that I’ve been getting angry and irritable more often – Doc reminded me that that’s indicative of either mania or depression, in this case Doc believes it to be depression. Doc has me back on anti-anxiety meds to prevent me from stressing out, causing the anger and irritability, Doc also suggested I go back to therapy.
I told Doc about my drinking more often. Doc wasn’t pleased; they told me not to mix my meds and they’d rather see me take meds than drink at all. I don’t know how I feel about that – it’s really about which is the lesser of two evils, but I do see the point. I’m going to try and increase my usage of coping skills to prevent the use of either.
I spoke with my mother yesterday to inform her of the doctor’s appointment. She said she hasn’t seen me manic in a while – she didn’t understand what I meant when I ran away during dinner earlier this week in tears, ashamed of my behavior. My mother, who’s known me longer than I have, and also suffers from the same illness (technically untreated, however is medication resistant), said “that wasn’t you being manic and I’ve seen you manic. That was you being happy for once.” I froze.
I haven’t been “happy” in months. I forgot what it looked and felt like. Holy shit. It took someone else to point it out; I’m so out of touch with myself – I think that may be on purpose.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs; maybe I’ll wake myself up.