Back to black

I thought about writing this post for so many times, even started it, then erased and kept thinking again. May be it's just hard for me to understand that - come on! It's my blog, my little on-line universe and I don't have to shrink on anyone and think if they will like it. And if writing can make me feel at least slightly better - it totally worth it. Hard thing to realize to say the truth. It's like shrinking on other people opinion about your life or appearance, I always say to myself that I don't care, but anyway feel injured when I hear something unpleasant about it. 

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So, in my post about lasik surgery yesterday I mentioned that I had to cancel my psychotherapist twice because after operation I couldn't reach her in other way then using taxi, and the surgery already was way too expensive, so... I just canceled my visits. And probably it was a mistake.

I already wrote a few posts about fighting depression, about my previous experience of trying to fix myself, but when I was writing them I was in less or more normal state, and this one I'm writing from the complete "Back to black".

Not so long ago I failed with my psychiatrist. It was about a month ago - I just stopped taking pills and stopped visiting him. For a good reason - he just failed with the correct treatment. First of all I must say here that I live in a country where psychological problems is kind of a stigma, and if you say "I attend psychotherapist", or, God save, psychiatrist, no one will understand. It's normal to suffer here. If you feel shitty and you say it aloud the best result you can expect is that someone will say "Everyone does". And here, in this country, really 80% of people do, but for different reasons. So, as a result, I even couldn't explain my problem properly even to a doctor with medical license. I said that I feel no joy, that I can't sleep, can't breath, and have multiple hysterical attacks with no reason. And he gave me antidepressants without even asking if this statement is permanent. May be if he would - I would say that between these statements I'm over-productive, can work 24/7 non-stop and move mountains with my single hand (I'm lucky that I don't drink alcohol - who knows how that may have been looked if I did). Now I know that I'm describing bipolar disorder here. But he didn't, and I wasn't sure that it's important. Well, I even didn't think about it. I just wished to get back to normal life again.

So, I started taking antidepressants, and they worked. Worked for a month, may be, or a little less. And then, despite the pills, everything returned with tripled force. I was shocked, has no idea where to run, refused taking pills anymore, and when my husband was on a business trip had one of the heaviest depressive attacks in my life. A normal woman can't cry for 8 hours. I felt like I was dying from sorrow (no reason, as usual), and felt like if I will not stop - I will actually die from something like heart attack. I found the only way possible to calm myself (worked 50/50) - I write a letter. A long letter, trying to tell about how I feel. Plus one more short for my husband - begging for help, begging to find me a good specialist.

When he returned home next morning I was absolutely exhausted. All my muscles were filled with pain, so was my poor head.  I couldn't even get out of bed to welcome my hubby home, neither could I talk. So gave him my second writing, and on the next day he took me to the therapist. 

Here I can skip 1,5 months that I've been visiting her. It was a talking therapy, and too bad that it took me 1,5 months to understand that I'm just loosing my time. Even more bad that it also took her 1,5 months to send me back to psychiatrist, for another type of pills. At the moment, since I canceled my previous two visits, I'm no longer sure that I should go back to her. I just can't see any sense. If I would need to "complain" - I would call my friend and tell her everything, so I'm not in a situation when I need "free ears to listen". But I'm definitely in a situation when I need help, and need it now. And already don't know where to look for it.

The only thing I learned after this period of attempts to find help is to track my state. The cycles are pretty simple. You're super-woman for a couple of weeks, then for a couple of days your're almost normal, and you hope that it's over, and then for the next couple of weeks you're a lump of mucus trying not to forget how to breathe. And then you're a super-woman again.  

Today I'm the lump of mucus, back to black, as I said in the title. I felt that it'll be so already yesterday in the evening. I cooked delicious supper to eat together with my husband, but then just hid in the room with my bowl, alone. The closer I am to this state, the harder it becomes to communicate, even with people I love. 

And one more here... My husband asked me a question: "Hey, you just got your eyes back to perfection, you love your work, ect, ect, (paste here all the pleasant things in life) - and you still feel badly?"

I do. And I hate it. But I still hope to fix it.

P.S. No "yoga and healthy food" advises, please.