I have to keep reminding myself that the goal, every day, right now, is to just make it through the day.
I keep getting distracted by questions like, “Why am I here?” and “What am I any good for?” or “What is my purpose?” — questions that serve no purpose other than to leave a wide opening for Automatic Negative Thoughts.
Yesterday, I saw my psychiatrist. He was not pleased that I am doing so unwell that I’ve stopped wanting to have a child, but neither am I! He put me back on 5 mg of Abilify and put me up to 50 mg of Nortriptyline. I have to see him again in 3 weeks.
In other news, I found out yesterday that I can no longer see my new therapist because she is not Medicare qualified. That blows. So, I am going to go see the therapist at my psychiatrist’s office who I saw about a year ago, so that I don’t have to go through my entire psychological profile for a third time. I really don’t like that therapist much, but I know she works with my insurance, so I’m biting the bullet and am acting like an adult to get the care that I need so that I can move forward with my life.
I also saw my epileptologist yesterday, and we’re still working on weening me off of Topamax, as though the baby plan were still in motion. Right now, we’re dropping me by 50 mg increments every 2 weeks to see how low we can get without seizure activity starting up again. I see her again at the end of May.
So where does that leave me?
I still am home, alone, depressed as all hell, charged with the responsibility of keeping busy to keep suicidal thoughts at bay for 6-8 hours a day.
Why am I suicidal? Because I am painfully lonely, trapped in the apartment because I cannot even get on public transportation alone because of anxiety after years of seizures, and I have no idea who I am anymore or why I should keep living aside from the fact that I don’t want to hurt the people I care about and who care about me. I am often paralyzed to do even simple things, and I deeply loathe myself for it. I spend an inordinate amount of time trying to convince myself I’m really not as terrible as I think I am, and that my life is really worth continuing to work so hard to save.
I hate myself for being a drain on my family and on society, and I feel like I give almost nothing back. This blog is something, but it’s not much. Doing dishes and laundry is just part of the human condition, so it doesn’t count. I spend a lot of time on Facebook being a supportive friend because it’s the only outlet that I have that allows me to be kind to others and to foster any kind of loving environment. I was told from an early age that I was special and that I was meant to do great things… but I don’t see anything great about me. I want to make a positive difference in the lives of others. I just don’t know how I can.
Why don’t I just get a job? I would love to, assuming there’s work available that I could do, and someone would want me as an employee. But if I get a job, it’s got to be through the Ticket to Work program, or I’ll lose my Medicare insurance, which means I’ve got to find a way to get to the Department of Human Services and talk to a vocational counselor who would help place me somewhere. And in order to get to DHS, I’ve either got to be driven there or get on a series of buses. And I can’t get on a bus yet. So I’m sort of trapped for the moment.
I suppose I could take a taxi, but I don’t know what I ought to wear when I go, and to be honest, I’m really frightened of the whole thing. Even if I went, and even if they could get me a job straight away, I don’t know how I would get to that job.
So I’m really trapped by anxiety.
And that’s why I’m taking medicine and am seeing a therapist. I just have to keep going.
Patience has never been my strong suit.