I've had some rough days the past few days. And I mean rough. Like losing my shit and sobbing and pounding my head against the wall in the break room at work last Friday and almost completely giving up last night. My depression has been bad. My friend wanted to have me admitted on Friday but I . . . well, I basically talked her out of it. I was with my hubby all day Saturday and Sunday and then worked yesterday, the 4th. It was a very long day putting on my happy face, trying to convince everyone that I was alright. But I did it, and then broke down when I got home.
Anyway, today I saw both my therapist and psychiatrist. This morning my therapist, M, agreed that I probably needed to be in the hospital to keep me safe (the whole banging my head against the wall worried him). We agreed that I would see my psychiatrist first and then go from there. So I saw Dr. M and he said that he would prefer to have me at home if I could be safe there. My hubby and I talked with him, called M back and talked with him, and we all agreed that I could stay home as long as I could stay safe. Well, I can stay safe. And I will stay safe.
Dr. M is also doubling my Latuda dose and seemed confident that that would help the depression. I sure hope so, because I'm so fucking tired.
So yeah. I really don't feel like writing anymore.
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