It had to be done.
It’s been a long time coming and there is just no denying the white elephant everyone wants to ignore, staring them in the face.
My aunt always said, “You have to be willing to help yourself first. You can’t get the help you need unless you really want it.”
Off and on through life, I have had times where I feel down in the dumps. And during those times, I either have to pull my head out of my ass, revamp my entire life (translated to run away) or see a professional.
I would like to say that I am pulling my head out of my ass and visiting a professional. I would love to say I saw the warning signs and acted swiftly. Unfortunately, I let the beast within get the better of me.
I have been ignoring all the tell-tale signs of depression. Dangerously binge drinking, risky behaviors, mood-swings, lack of interest in those things I once loved, piling too much onto my plate in an effort to ignore my depression. I feel like shit. Not just my depression, my behaviors towards life, my health, everything feels shitty.
So I decided to do something about it, the doctor prescribed Trazodone and Lorazepam. Have I taken them yet? No.
Why? I wanted to talk to my spouse about it first. Give him a heads up about being on meds. Also, I can’t drink while on those meds. I thought being upfront about it would be good.
Well, it turns out, he isn’t very supportive of me taking these meds. Which is all sounds like some sort of double-standard. Or maybe it’s a denial? For him,his son ‘needs’ to be on meds. Though I was resistant at first, the meds have helped the kid.
How is it hard to believe that I may need something of a crutch to get through a rough patch? He says, I am being a drama queen. If only I could have him walk a mile in my shoes. I don’t think he would care to and if he did, I am pretty sure divorce proceedings would start asap.
Well, as much as I don’t have his support, I am going to take the damn meds. It helped get me out of the rut I was in before, I am sure it can help again now. I don’t want to reach the point where I was last time.
Last time I found myself running through the streets in my pyjamas, crying, holding a bottle of vodka. How I managed to escape arrest is beyond me. I was seriously entertaining ending my life. I made a phone call, talked and was urged to get help. And I did.
Before it comes to that I am going to take the damn meds. Damned be what the husband thinks! The kid already has one mother that is off her rocker. I don’t need to be a repeat of what he moved away from.