I don’t know if this will help. I don’t know who will read this. But I need some way of expressing all that I’ve been through and continue to go through physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I’ve told the story so many times. To friends, family, strangers, and, oh,…the countless doctors, nurses, physician’s assistants, specialists, psychologists, psychiatrists. I will tell you how I got to this point, but not today. Maybe not even in a week or a month. I don’t have the energy to.
No one understands. How can they. Is there really anyone in the world out there like me? How can anyone relate unless they’ve been through what I have? It’s just like I couldn’t relate to someone who has had breast cancer and been through chemotherapy.
Sometimes this may seem like a big pity party, but once I explain what I’ve all gone through, sometimes a pity party is earned. You don’t have to agree with that thought.
For the past four and a half months, ever since I came back from the University of Utah at the beginning of November, with no solutions, my last hope in solving one of the biggest issues I’ve been suffering from, I barely get out of bed. In fact, I stayed in bed the entire month of November. I can count on one hand the number of times I left the house that month. I made a brief appearance to eat turkey at Thanksgiving, and then I retreated back to solitude, the comfort of the darkness of my room with the blinds down and door shut. Christmas was the same ordeal.
My longtime psychiatrist knew I felt suicidal…he knew all of the medical problems I’d been going through for 10 years. On my last visit to him in November, he called the police, who arrived at my home. I didn’t go with them. But that night and the next few days, I did a lot of research on “involuntary holding” at a mental institution. I felt betrayed and like my basic human rights were violated.
An appointment for a new psychiatrist was scheduled, but I couldn’t get in to see her for another three months. I obviously stopped seeing the former longtime psychiatrist and went off my fairly new depression medication that he had put me on as I didn’t think my longtime drug of Cymbalta was working. Lesson learned that I should always stick with what has been working. In December, twice I landed in the E.R. because I felt panicky and like I was literally losing my mind. I felt like I was going crazy. It’s something that I NEVER want to feel again. After going to the E.R. the second time, I spent hours upon hours looking at mental institutions in my area, both in state and the neighboring state. I was ready to be committed. I printed off information of what to expect when I was committed and even called a facility at 4 a.m. and left a message saying I wanted to be admitted. The former psychiatrist put me back on my old prescription, and that got rid of the insanity feeling. Though if I ever feel like that again, I’m not afraid to commit myself.
Back then and right now, I didn’t and still don’t care about anything. Why should I? I have nothing to look forward to. Nothing to live for. I still don’t. Last month it seems like November and December are repeating themselves over again. I have no motivation to get out of bed. What is there in the world for me to do? Everything that I was once able to do has been taken from me. No reading, no horseback riding, no finishing college, practically no exercising at the gym, no friends, no plans. Just face every day with drudgery.
It has been almost four months that I just lay in bed. Sometimes I don’t get up until noon or later. I can lay in bed half the day and switch to a couch. Other times I just stay in my bed and dark bedroom all day, only coming out to eat…and even then I frequently miss meals. I used to be super fit. I loved going to the gym. I was so proud of my lean muscle mass and 14% body fat from lifting weights. Now, I’m just wasting away. I can’t find any motivation to go to the gym. Other medical problems like severe tachycardia, which has severely limited me and gotten progressively worse in the three years I’ve been dealing with it, combined with my frustration of not being able to do what I once was able to, and now my lack of motivation and depression of knowing and seeing all my years of hard work at the gym just vanish within six months. My parents say that doing something is better than nothing. I disagree. It’s sort of like telling a pro golfer that they can’t play 18 holes and need to go back to playing mini-golf.