(unedited. unread. not even thought through. just putting words on the page because I don’t know what else to do with them)
I didn’t go well. I tried hard to say why I could not keep going with the depakote. I wanted so badly to get her to understand how devastating the combat with this drug is and how my day to day life has changed so utterly. I ate when I was hungry. I ran. I lived life. I didn’t think about ounces and calories. I didn’t fight the never ceasing urge to eat. I had the evening issues with seroquel, but I understood them well. This is very different. I eat, and eat and eat. It never feels enough. I fought hard to gain some mastery of it. Though in reality it was still the same. The hunger never changed. When I step on the scale this morning and it registered 130 I panicked. A cold sweat washed over me. I felt so crushed. I knew it was coming because I knew I had ate too much all week. I consumed and consumed. It is the most I have weighed since I took Saphris (so we are going back a good number of years). I had enough. Each day had become about hate and self loathing. Place that on top of stress from the farm and the other tough issues on my plate and I feel like I am drowning. When I ran to keep some semblance of sanity it was because I chose to not because I needed to. Now I HAVE to. There is no option anymore. A love will soon become like all the other loves lost to this place and my life. And they fall quickly to hate. I tried to get this across. It didn’t work. and so I got the talk about this was what had to happen. if not I’d just get depressed. and if depressed enough she’d have to 2 PC me. The recoil in my brain happened so fast. There wasn’t a choice, not is I wanted to make any effort at being stable. I felt like I failed. I had tried but it wasn’t good enough. To walk away from the depakote wasn’t a viable option. My world shrunk in my head. I cried. I cried for all the unfairness of this life, the shitty luck of it all. But most of all in resignation that I would continue to live like this hating myself. waking up every morning disgusted. going to sleep horrified at all I had consumed. It heart wrenching. It became about accepting this weight and doing more therapy to address another issue. Life is hurling along and I am hanging by my finger tips trying to get thru each week with Beatrice and now we need to get this sorted. To put the rest on hold? I was frustrated and overwhelmed. The work I do now seems impossible most weeks, now there is more. I know it needs to be dealt with. I know. God why does this have to hurt so much?
Why did it start out with my voicing my choice and end up with me feeling crushed beyond recognition? I don’t know what happened today, and I don’t begin to know where to start putting my head back together. I cried through session, and I cried most of the way home. For me, unless someone dies (and even then all bets are off) that is unheard of. How did I get so small and give up so easily? I guess ultimately I know it doesn’t matter. It is either miserable every day or cycling into depression. Which is worse? This. By a ways.
to be continued.