I am immobilized by depression now.
I cannot work. I can barely write. I am sleeping 100 hours a day.
Yet ANOTHER Visit to the Psychiatrist
Over and over and over I go, like on a loop, sitting in the Psych’s office, trying to form words that explain how I feel:
- Despondent
- Apathetic
- Useless
- Premonitions of Agoraphobia
- Infinitely sad (made worse by Aleppo)
- So, so, so tired
And words I do not share because they will toss me in the hospital if they fall out of my mouth. We’ll just let them sit in there and rot.
Medications
Another change in meds. Lowering the Risperdal, upping the Wellbutrin. Will it make one iota of a difference? Can’t I have some speed, please? “We don’t want you having those horrible hallucinations again, do we?” (Yes, please. If I can stay awake.)
Change cannot come soon enough.
Navelgazing Writer 