Because I like to continuously use metaphors (but talk like a valley girl, so it should technically be similes), my life right now could be a little bit like ‘Out of Gas’ in that I’ve shut down basic functions and sent the shuttles off, but I do know where the big red button is, and there’s that other ship just about to turn up and I will win and get my happy ending. I am not in the phase of strapping dead bodies to the front of the ship, smearing red paint all over an heading for a one way trip out into the Reaver space. It’s a manageable limbo. And in fact now I have myself a motherfucking entourage to manage it for me!
So you know I’ve been seeing a counsellor on and off for ages, and in my last entry I was all about the stack of hollow white bread who was failing to do anything, but since then things have somewhat improved exponentially. Both my workmate that I work closest with and also the head of our organisation made me cry at our work party by telling me how awesome I am and how valued I am. I went to see my counsellor, and she suggested that I need to change my medication, and I agreed because I’m not sure if it’s too strong or not strong enough, but it’s definitely not right, so she recommended a psychiatrist, and I waited a couple of weeks to get an appointment and this morning I found myself up and out of the house by 8.30ish, on my way to fork out $350 to spend two of the most painful hours of my life.
I say it was painful, but that wasn’t because of the shrink. He was actually very nice, as I had expected, and he even had rochard prints on the wall, and a nice leather couch, but oh god, do you know how hard it is to go through your entire medical history, and discuss what factors contributed to the bad times, and compare times when you felt suicidal with a plan to the times when you were unactively wishing for something to remove you from your situation (he phrased it much better), and then you have to talk about any other medical failings, and then you have to talk about your drinking, and admit that yes, there are occasional very small blackouts, but no, you don’t wake up in places and not know how you got there, and no, you don’t put yourself in danger – anymore. And then there’s your (light) drug useage history, and indignation when he mentions P because dude, no, and trying not to giggle when he says “Smokin’ weed” in that American accent, and just man, ick. I kind of wish that he could have just read Hubris.
But the thing is, at the end of all of that, we have three plans of action in terms of my medication, which are dependent on some blood test results. He thinks that it is possible that I have an underactive thyroid, and if that’s true, there is medication that will fix it quickly and easily, which will mean that I can drop my dosage of citalapram, because having a fixed thyroid will make the meds work better and release more energy so I’ll be able to do more than trudge between bed and couch. If that’s not the case, I can introduce a new member to my entourage in the form of a GP he’s recommended because there’s no way I’m going back to the douche doctor I got my last script from. There’s a correlation between my severe downs and PMS, so if I was to go back on the pill, I could even that out. I’m reluctant to try this one, because of how the first time I was on the mini pill is the first time I became depressed (this is what being a grown-up means, I know it wasn’t ALL Ass’s fault), and when I was on Estelle35 to try and sort out my PCOS, I got blinding migraines that I thought meant something had exploded in my head on the sugar pills, so that scares me. But perhaps it could be a stopgap until I am able to function and get to the gym more often and restore my periods myself. OR, as the third option, there is an unsubsidised drug I could take, which is called something like S-Cipramil, which is the med I’m on, except it IS A MOLECULE SPLIT IN HALF to make it more powerful and with fewer side effects, and the super bonus of that, apart from that I’d need less to do more would be that I could switch to it in a single day rather than ween off this, then ween onto something else. So yes, it’s good to have options!
After all that, I met up with Brad who I hadn’t seen in ages cos he’s been doing plays in Palmy, and he gave me Ten on vinyl for my birthday pressie, yay! There was a half day of work after that, and with all that talking, and the early-for-me morning, at the end of it all I ended up feeling like the bones leftover from the chicken pieces I made soup from for Maree, and when I went to throw out the bones after a couple of hours of simmering, Stephen asked for them to make stock with, and I was like “but there’s nothing left in them”. There’s nothing left in me for today, so it’s just as well all I had to do tonight was skip quiz in favour of Lisa coming over and ordering pizza and pissing ourselves at Nevermind the Buzzcocks. So fucking tired. But happy that there may be solutions. I just never want to have to talk again.
Oh, oh! But there will be much talking and funness on Saturday at our Pretty Pretty Pretty party that Amy and I have been working very hard on the giftboxes for, so do sign up to come along!