Et voila, I'm back. It seems it was a bit too difficult to temporarily quit this thing cold turkey, being as I couldn't bring myself to not post a couple of times in the past month. Despite appearances I am a private person, so I didn't feel I could share my anti-depressant prescription victory and subsequent passing-out-clutching-bloody-pad with anyone but you sympathetic and divine bitches.
The back story, whether you want to hear it or not, is thus - I was very, very depressed. For two years. Ok, since the birth of my kid two and a half years ago. As I've whinged about before, I could not, despite my very best efforts, get my GP to do anything about it. I had been mulling over going a third time for quite awhile, but I reached a point last month at which I couldn't carry on without something.
I can handle sadness and tearfulness for an extended period of time. After all, those who have been through infertility are well acquainted with such things. I was at times a weeping mess huddled under my duvet, but the very worst side of it was the feeling of emptiness that suffocated me every day. There was not a time I didn't feel detached from my life, from my family. The Dude has a habit of huddling up next to me on the sofa some nights, gently kissing my upper arm off and on as we watch TV. Within the past couple months that gesture made me want to crawl out of my skin. I couldn't bear to tell him to stop as there is no polite way to tell your husband that his sweet attempts to comfort you are making you feel ill.
I felt completely dead inside. Nothing was a source of joy for me, and it felt a chore to do anything more rigorous than getting up off the sofa. I was horribly short with P all the time, and how The Dude managed to tolerate my moodiness I'm not quite sure. The breaking point was the day I posted about my prescription success. I had scheduled a day off, a blessed break from work, child and husband for a brief period before my Mom was to arrive for three weeks. I had planned to do nothing but lay on the couch, watch DVDs, and seek out the most dreadful, guilt-inducing television possible. Unfortunately for all involved, P came down with a cold and was in no state to go to school. I'm not afraid to say, I lost my goddamn mind. I was so overwhelmed by it all that I snapped - screaming, crying, and hyperventilating at The Dude at 7.30am on a Monday morning. He managed to calm me down without the use of brute force, and being the dear man he is, left work as soon as he could at 10am to come and force me to go to the doctor.
I saw a different GP this time, a man who has in the past exhibited far clearer and more reasonable thinking than my usual GP. I didn't get any further than the first sentence before I broke down like the fragile fool I am (was?). I told him that I had tried for two very long years to keep my shit together to no avail. I read the book, I had enough alone time, I took up running. None of those things made that black dog go away, not even fleetingly. I explained that I felt as if I had wasted the first two years of my daughter's life in a haze of misery, sadness, and emptiness, and I wasn't content to keep doing that for as long as it would take for it all to dissipate on its own. I also told him that *not* getting help has been far worse for my physical health than any SSRI would be. My high anxiety over the past few years has had innumerable effects on me, and strangely enough I don't want to stroke out in my early 30s. He asked if I wanted to be prescribed an anti-depressant and I had to restrain myself from offering him a joy-induced blow job, so thrilled I was for this hard-fought victory.
Passing out aside, so far, so good. I feel much more motivated, and find myself content again even at this early stage. It has been a long, long time since I was truly happy, and I hope this contributes to me being on the right path again.
To those of you who have sent me lovely emails, Facebook messages, and Twitter-related niceties, thank you. I doubt I responded because I suck, but I greatly appreciate you thinking of me. See, I have to keep blogging because I love you all too damn much. Oh - also the time to mention that more than a few people thought I went on my blogging hiatus because I thought I wasn't getting enough comments. That's harsh. I know I'm shallow, but jesus gay, give me some credit will you? I'll have you know that I SPECIFICALLY avoided throwing something in this post about De-Lurking Day or whateverthefuck, much as I dearly wanted to. So there.
Onward and upward.