Day 3 (Thursday):
- Woke up to the sunrise and my alarm, after the best night of sleep in a week.
- Tossed on jeans and a jacket, drove to work in silence. No tears.
- Set a goal for myself: create a to-do list. Not complete a to-do list, just create one.
- Silently flipped out when 2 coworkers talked about teenage depression as though it’s a phase and not a problem. I left the room rather than going on the offensive.
- Confided in two more friends — one at work, and one outside.
- Zucchini, pear, celery, and dehydrated cantaloupe made up my food (gifted from my lovely mentor). And a bottle of Mountain Dew (not gifted from my mentor).
- Solved problems, listened on conference calls, genuinely laughed.
- Made it home without crying.
- Hung out with Mom, wound down to an episode of Castle (the one where they finally got married–perfect wedding, by the way), and fell asleep with Pooh Bear.
My work friend, B, asked me what I’m afraid of moving forward. I told her two scenarios:
First, I’m afraid that if I don’t get help and I don’t go on medication, I’ll continue to cycle through these moods and continue causing damage to my relationships. I told her my history, as romanticized as it may be through the lens of my regrets. I explained how I know that “love at first sight” is real, and the tumultuous relationship that followed. I don’t want to keep hurting him–at the same time, I don’t want to keep hurting myself, and I’m afraid I will do both.
Second is my fears about going on medication. I’m afraid of the effects on my mind and body–what will happen to my IQ, my creative energy, my drive? Right now, I am so used to that incredible rush of passion when something strikes me–can I risk that going away?
But I have to get better. And the psychiatrist’s office didn’t call. B told me about a program at work that I think I’ll check into. Yesterday was better, definitely, but God only knows what today will bring.
I’ve been this bad twice before: once when I was on Depo-Provera in October 2011; once before that, when I was a sophomore & junior in high school (high school was rough, dude). Each dismal low came with few upswings, and then went lower. To be honest, my thoughts have been near their lowest since I was 14 years old. And even when things weren’t this bad, I’ve still done considerable damage to the trust between my ex-fiancé and myself, which wouldn’t be as big of a deal if we were at all a “normal” couple. If we weren’t best friends, too.
The most comforting thing right now is knowing that Mom and Jenna are praying for me to get better. No matter my thoughts on religion, no matter how vain it feels to admit it, knowing that two women who have walked this road before me are in my corner . . . knowing that they’re calling on their faith because they love me . . . whatever mind games I have to play with myself to walk through the doors of the psychiatrist’s office, their support and love and faith is what’s going to keep me there when reality really crashes down.
So yesterday brings my team to six. Well, five-and-a-half. I’m going to leave it there for awhile, until I can get into the doctor.
One more day. One more day.