So I've been looking at my old journals today and it seems that the last year and a half of therapy has helped. Just to explain, I spent 7 weeks in a psychiatric clinic in 2007 and once they finally let me out I agreed that yes, maybe I did need to see a psychiatrist after all.
Here I am. Need the meds to get me out of bed and to get me through the day. Meds to get me to go out and interact with people. Boyfriend (J) is luckily very supportive but even he says he doesn't really understand what is going on which is strange seeing as he was in the army and was (his account) pretty mental himself. But we have this understanding (?!) kind of balance that when I cry he is always there and when he is at work I do eff all because it's comfy lying on the sofa all day watching CSI Miami DVD's.
Not too bad today, just very tired. Couldn't sleep last night (probably because I took my meds at 10 p.m. instead of 8 a.m. but don't tell my Psychiatrist), J fast asleep. Cat on floor so that he could stay cool, me wide awake. Dilemma: a) wake boyfriend so that he can't sleep either, b) grab more drugs and let them kick in or, c) try a distraction technique and let me "naturally" wind down and go and watch some TV. I had a combination of b+c, J has to work today.
I found myself watching the True Movies channel and got engrossed into a film about a mother who dies of cancer when her child is just over a year old. Really cheery stuff, just right for a depressive person. So I cried some more and went to bed, only waking up about 10 a.m. (I LOVE my bed) when my work colleague knocked at the door. I pretended I had been doing some exercise and was just off for a shower hence the reason I am in my dressing gown.
My point is, the therapy has helped - I no longer dread facing the day because I have lots of lovely lovely drugs to help me. I'm not proud I'm lazy - I could try changing my diet, natural supplements, lots of exercise, meditating etc etc and all the other ideas out there that I have researched but it's just not for me at the moment. Just give me the drugs, I have a wobble every now and then and life goes on. (Actually that last sentence has depressed me already). Before I spent EVERY DAY crying about I don't know what, would stay in bed all day (I still love my bed), would feel physically sick and panicky if I had to leave the house and meet people and explain why I wasn't drinking (more lies) to people I didn't like anyway.
Oh well, off to watch more DVD's and enjoy the sunshine, it's supposed to a better cure than my happy pills.