it's a diamond bracelet
for my mommy's memory
i said that's all she wrote boy
that's all she wrote for me
I spent a long time in a state of almost paralyzed numbness, then felt enormously victorious when my chant of, "Get up. Call doctor. Make appointment," finally worked. The clinic has no openings for depressed exhausted strung out mommies until July 30, leaving me an entire month during which I'm pretty sure I could wreck a marriage (or a car- concentration non-existent) if untreated. I cried all over again, then finally got my shit together enough to call their partnering psych clinic myself. Asked if a referral is necessary and found out it isn't. Rejoiced. Well, no. Felt a tiny bit less panicked, which was something.
It's a pain, like all health care in this country is. I have to take off work Tuesday, try to show up really early. The process by which they determine who sees a doctor, a counselor, or a social worker is deeply intricate and seems to depend more on the order in which I arrive than the state of my fragile psyche. What? Then I have to prove I am me and my income, which actually falls well below their cutoff. I then have to apply for Medicaid and provide a denial letter within 90 days. It's a bunch of fucking hoops for someone who spent the better part of an hour trying to walk to her telephone and punch in some numbers.
OK, so it's a drastic thing that I didn't even lead up to, right? Kinda quickly went from I'm-just-wiggy-I'll-be-OK-just-need-better-time-management to a point where I think I'll accept a prescription for SSRI's if at all suggested.
I feel conflicted already. I have been thinking for a while that talk therapy indulges the worst part of me. (That overly introspective navel gazing trap thing.) But the junk I'm trying to sort out would probably be more sortable with some steering. And yesterday the physicality of it knocked out my breath and slammed me. It felt very chemical. Very illness-like. I mean, it's circular probably. The stress b0rks the brain, the brain responds with bad chemicals which stress.
Making help-me plans is good, though. Today I feel weird but not as two-dimensional flat gray leaden mess as yesterday. Trying to let go my worries and meta worries. I don't have to feel like a walking Disorder*. I didn't commit to taking meds or even seeing a therapist long term. I just made a direction to take one step.
A list of previous psychological diagnoses:
- Moderate Depression with recurrent severe episodes
- Substance Addiction (it was just hinted at; and I told her she was full of shit, and that the entire Pitt campus had addiction if I did.)
- Depression and Anxiety together
- Adult ADD, but not ADHD
- It's OK to use technology, a.k.a. lab-created drugs to treat depression because technology helped create it. Like my lazy ass American lifestyle gives me the time to indulge in thinking enough to get depressed. Just a thought.