1 Month, 9 Days – Start the “Days Since A Seizure” Clock Again!
Yep. Had a seizure today. It’s not the end of the world. Not even close. But I had dared to hope for a moment that I was seizure “free.” That’s too much to ask for in this life. Days without, sure – but to think that I was done with them was just childish.
Today, I saw my psychiatrist. He agreed that being off of Cymbalta and Abilify was very likely the reason that I was no longer having seizures so regularly. Both medications lower your seizure threshold. Because of that — and because of the fact that Adam and I *do* still plan to have a child sometime this year, we’re not looking towards medication to help me, regardless of the fact that I am still depressed.
So how are we planning on handling the persistent, awful thoughts of suicide? Talk therapy. And after our discussion, it seems far more likely that my ideation trends more to the “obsessive” side of things and less towards the “depressive,” since I genuinely don’t want to die. I just keep thinking about suicide, and I don’t want to.
If anything good has come out of today, it’s been gaining the knowledge that Adam and I are solid partners, not on anyone’s time table but our own, and are doing everything the right way concerning my health. I’m doing the right thing getting back to seeing a psychologist, despite the fact that it costs money that I feel bad about spending. Adam says he doesn’t feel even slightly bad about spending money on my mental health. If I don’t have good mental health, what good is my physical health or money? I know that I’m incredibly lucky to have him as a husband.
I wish I weren’t messed up. But the only way to get better is to take the steps necessary in therapy, so, once again, into the breech, boldly, I go.