Today’s story is about thoughtlessness, uncertainty, fear, responsibility, and why I probably shouldn’t text with my therapist, even though I would hate to give it up.
I have my intake appointment with a psychiatric nurse practitioner. She seems knowledgeable, but the jury’s still out.
It helps me to bear this depressive episode when I tell myself it can’t last forever.
I gave up on the lithium supplement, since I’ve just gone from bad to extremely bad. I quit last night, and today was already a bit better.
I’ve now been on lithium for 12 days. It hasn’t helped at all so far. In fact, I think it’s making things worse. I feel even more tired than usual, and my thinking is fuzzy and confused or obsessive and self-destructive.
It’s been a hellish week. In session today, as I’m telling E how alone I feel, she asks me if I’ve been blogging. “Not so much,” I say. “There’s nothing to write. I’m very depressed. I can’t see a way out of this. Everything I’d been doing, things that I thought were working, have all…
I’m having a hard time with my depression, and for a change I decide to let my therapist know how I’m feeling.