Tuesday 1/16/24 No More School!

 School is done!! I ended up with a 95% in the class because I kind of bombed the final (got a 72% on that - every question had 2 right answers and I had to pick which one was most right, ugh). But hey - a 95% is damn good for struggling as much as I did, doubting myself as much as I did, and it being my first class in over 17 years. Go me! It's so nice to be done. Like, really nice. 

Anyway, I had therapy today and we're going to start working on my self esteem. Cause I kinda don't like myself all that much. I mean, I do, at times, but I'm really insecure, especially with how I look. Let's be honest - I could stand to lose some weight. Not just for looks - for health. On that thread, I'm starting working out again. And it's made me realize just how out of shape I am. I mean, wow. So I've got that to work on. And Becky gave me homework for our next session - to paint how I feel about myself. I have some ideas floating around . . . we'll see what I come up with. 

So yeah, that's about it. Another short post. That's okay. Maybe next week I'll have more to say. 

Tuesday 7/19/22 Trying Something Different

 Hey there. So, I saw my psychiatrist yesterday and we're going to try something different. He's weaning me off of my Pristiq, and slowly adding Lexapro. The weaning of Pristiq will take 3 weeks, to try and minimize withdrawal symptoms. During those 3 weeks I'll slowly increase my Lexapro dose until I'm at 20mg. Now, I've been on Lexapro before, but it's been about 14 years. So maybe it will work for me. Dr. Marciniak doesn't think the Pristiq is working anymore as I've been on it for 5 years now. We'll see. I start the titration tonight. I'm a little nervous because when I skipped a dose of Pristiq I had horrible withdrawal symptoms. Of course, I won't be skipping any doses, just slowly weaning myself off of it. But I'm still nervous. Fingers crossed this works.

I'm still feeling mostly down, with a little blah thrown in for good measure. Which is annoying. I still have no motivation for anything, though I managed to get a couple of paintings done today. Go me. I also have plans to work out, but I'm not getting my hopes up for that. I really just want to go lie down. And, knowing me, I probably will. 

I'm hoping to hear from Mike this week, so we can set up a therapy appointment, but I doubt I will. Maybe next week? I don't know. I'd just really like to be seen. I'm struggling. I'm doing stuff on my own, but I'm struggling. I joined a mailing list called "Esteem". Answered a loooong questionnaire about my views of myself, my self esteem, etc. It's run by psychologists and is supposed to help me gain confidence in myself, boost myself esteem, and help me change my negative narrative about myself. I get emails every 2 days with info in them and a task to complete. I'm hoping it will help. I'm also still doing ACOA work on my own. Which is hard. I'd love to have Mike's help with that. But instead I'm just floating along, trying to figure shit out on my own. 

Anyway, there's not really anything new. I'm tired, I'm depressed, I'm switching meds. That's about it. 

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.

Thursday 7/4/19

It's the 4th of July. Whoopie. I'm sitting on the couch listening to music, waiting for hubby's mom and brother to come over. So why not blog, right?

I actually feel like writing though. I feel like I need to get stuff out. I'm just not sure I can do it in a manner that makes sense.

Lets start with TMS. I met with Dr. H again on Tuesday. Hubby came. Dr. H informed me that he had spoken to my psychiatrist (Dr. M) and Dr. M  believes my appropriate diagnosis is bipolar disorder. Meaning he won't change my diagnosis to depression in order for me to be approved for TMS. I understand. That would be fraud. But it sucks. Because, as Dr. H informed us, there is a 99.9% chance that insurance will NOT approve me for TMS. Then starts the appeal process. Dr. H said that I would not be approved at the 2nd tier of the process, but there's a small chance I could be approved at the 3rd tier when my case would be sent to a independent reviewer. This would take around 6 months. Six. Fucking. Months. Apparently the FDA is working on possibly approving bipolar disorder for TMS which would mean that my insurance would have to cover me. But again, that's 6 months to a year out and it's not guaranteed.

You have no idea how horrible I felt, sitting there listening to this news. My heart dropped. I felt hopeless and helpless.

Dr. H then began to tell us about another option: paying for TMS out of pocket. I put my head down. I know we can't afford this. But hubby asked, "How much?" Are you ready? $400 per treatment and the standard is 36 treatments. That's $14,400. Tears welled up in my eyes. Now, granted, that's not as much as I thought it was going to cost, but it's still $14,400 we don't have.

"If you're paying out of pocket we cut the cost in half," Dr. H said. "And we can set up a payment plan." Hubby sounded interested and started asking questions. I zoned out, head spinning, knowing that my hopes had been ripped from my hands.

We left, me in tears, so much so that hubby said he would drive us home. He said we would figure it out. Figure what out? I'm going to be denied coverage and we can't afford to pay out of pocket. I felt like screaming. Hubby started talking about our money in savings, about trying to sell more of my paintings, of starting a GoFundMe. He has all these ideas about how we could make it work. How yes, we truly can afford to pay out of pocket. He told me yesterday that he wants me to call Dr. H on Monday to get everything set up for me starting treatment.

He wants me to start treatment.

Here's where we come to the second thing I want to talk about: how I don't feel as though I'm worthy of going through treatment. I don't think I should. I'm already a burden, a drain, and now I'm going to be a financial burden. Again. Me being a financial burden is why we lost our house 4.5 years ago.  I don't want a repeat. I don't want our family to struggle because of me.

This is eating me up inside. I truly don't think I'm worth the money. I don't think I'm worth the time or effort. I'm not worth it. This is me thinking I'd be better off dead. That everyone would be better off with me dead. I don't know how to reconcile this thinking. If I go through treatment with this mindset I'm sure to fail. I'm trying to counter all my negativity with positive thoughts. I'm trying not to catastrophize. I'm trying to remember all the good in my life, but these thoughts persist. I don't know what to do. I don't know why I don't feel worthy. I don't know why I feel as though I'm rubbish. I don't know why and I don't know what to do about it.

I have therapy coming up on Monday and my therapist definitely has his work cut out for him. I need to get this all sorted out. I need help. I need help.




























 

3/22/19

Well. I'm having a bit of a rough go of it today. Which is annoying. My mood is down - not depressed - but down. And all because my brain is an asshole and won't shut up. My brain likes being an asshole, and it's good at it. Too good at it. What's it doing . . .?

I was getting ready this morning and happened to really look at myself in the mirror. I look at myself in the mirror all the time but this morning . . . this morning was different. I was immediately filled with self loathing. I could see every flaw, every wrinkle, every fold of fat. I could see it all. The bags under my eyes, the dull grey color of my eyes, how my hair was just laying there, no volume, no real style. How ugly and fat I was.

You look hideous. You look old and worn out. You're fat. Are you even trying to lose weight because it looks like you're gaining more. You're so frumpy. You have no sense of style. How does Jeremy even still love you? Ayden is embarrassed by you. You have wrinkles every where I can see your pores you don't do anything with your hair look how your stomach hangs you look pale I'm surprised Jeremy hasn't leftyouyou'reworthlessyouhavenothingtogivewhydon'tyoujustkillyourself . . . . . .

All of the negative thoughts started running together. It was hard to even separate them. My eyes welled up with tears as I stood there looking at myself and listening to my brain barrage me. I couldn't move. I was frozen there, trying my best not to cry because Ayden was in his room next door. I didn't want him to hear me.

Even 6 months ago this would have gotten to me. This would have hit me hard. Now, that's not to say that it didn't hit me. On the contrary. My mood went south in a heartbeat. But the difference between now and 6 months ago is now I'm stable. Now I know how to counter these thoughts and practice self care. And that's what I did. I countered these thoughts. I told myself that I was beautiful in and out. That even though I was overweight and not where I want to be that didn't make Jeremy love me any less. And you know what?

It kind of helped.

That sounds stupid, doesn't it? I'm sure you were waiting for me to say that it worked. That I went about my day feeling happy with no more negative self talk. But that's simply not true. That's, sadly, not how my brain works. It has been barraging me with negative comments all day. So much so that I feel mentally exhausted. But I'm countering them. I'm keeping myself from going deeper. I'm writing about it in hopes that this will help.

Six months ago I would have felt like shit. Today I feel down and worn out, but definitely not like shit. So I'd say that's progress.    

2/17/19

I'm sitting on the couch drinking tea, listening to music. I should be content. I should feel good. But I don't. I'm not sure what's going on other than I'm having an identity crisis of sorts. I guess. I really don't know.

I was putting on makeup this morning and took a really good look at myself. Y'all, I don't even recognize myself. I've gained so much weight - so much fucking weight - that I don't recognize myself anymore. I'm not who I used to be and it brought me to tears.

I feel so fat and disgusting and ugly right now it's not even funny. My self esteem is nonexistent. It makes me feel so low. I'm trying to make changes in my diet and physical activity to combat this but it's proven to be REALLY. FUCKING. HARD. I'm trying. My diet is actually pretty good. I need to get active though, I know this, but it's so hard when all you want to do is sleep. I've been so exhausted the past few months so it's been hard.

I'm trying.

And you know what? It's not just the weight (though that's the main thing), it's also the fact that I'm getting older. I'm 40 people and my face is changing. I have more wrinkles, I have grey hair. I think this is harder for me to swallow  than I ever thought it would be. I just assumed I would age gracefully.

Apparently I'm not.