Monday 7/8/19

I was supposed to have therapy today. At noon. But my therapist forgot, somehow, and I didn't get to have my session. I sat in the waiting room with no receptionist, classical music blaring, until 12:36 - the time that I called my therapist, M, and left him a message that I had been there, apparently there was a miscommunication of sorts, and that I was leaving. I asked him to call me back so we could reschedule.

And I left.

And I didn't realize how much I needed therapy today until I didn't have it. I didn't realize how much I was struggling and needed to talk until I left M's office in tears. The slightest mishap breaking me down.

All I want to do anymore is sleep. I wake up looking forward to bedtime and that's it. I nap every day I don't work so that I can escape reality and my crummy feelings. Because sleep is like death without the commitment. It's my only escape.

I'm starting the process to be "approved" for TMS. I talked to D today and she sent me the paperwork I need to fill out and turn in. This causes a problem for me. It makes all my self-doubt, self-hate and self-worth issues scream even louder. I can't hum to myself and ignore the cacophony. No, I'm bombarded with a level of self loathing you can't even imagine, which brings my mood down even lower than before.

Why is this? Why don't I feel worthy of treatment? I know that I'm scared. Scared of what stable and well will look like. I've always been scared of that. When you've lived your entire life with depression . . . well, remission is terrifying. Is this why I don't feel worthy?

I'm also scared that I'll fail, that treatment won't work for me. And where will I be then? Because I can't keep living like this. I can't. This is no way to live.

Hubby has this grand plan that I'll start TMS, I'll get back in the gym, and I'll get better and lose weight and everything will be all hunky-dory. And I'm scared that I'll fail him. I don't even deserve treatment, let alone having it work well for me. I'm worried it won't work. That I won't get back in the gym. That I won't get better and/or lose weight.

I'm worried that everything will fall to pieces and I'll be left worse off than I am now because I will have lost my only shred of hope.

Damn I wish I could have had therapy today.

M did call me back, by the way, and apologized. He said I could smack him. And I might take him up on that because I have to wait another week to see him.

In the meantime I guess I keep plugging through, picking myself up by the boot straps. I just wish I knew how to keep doing that.