I didn’t go to work this week. Like, at all. I couldn’t muster the… ANYTHING to get out of bed. I stayed in my room, in my bed until Wednesday afternoon when, in my pajamas, I drove my son to the taco shop to get dinner. I came back home, ate some carne asada nachos and crawled back into bed. Everything hurt; my back, my hips, my legs, my ears, my eyes. I didn’t feel like doing anything – not even playing video games, which, if you know me at all, you know is one of my favorite things to do. I mostly just laid in bed, TV on but not really watching.
Thursday morning, I finally admitted to myself what was going on. I have had bouts of depression since my early twenties. I’ve been on and off meds a few times; I stopped taking them because I felt better, or I didn’t like the idea of them, whatever. I tried to control my symptoms via other avenues, diet and exercise, cutting out alcohol, but this last spell… well, it made me realize I can’t. At least not right now.
I called to make an appointment with my doctor, and when the lady asked me what I needed to be seen for, I burst into tears. Having to say it out loud made it more real, but it was also such a relief.
My doctor and I talked for a long time, and he asked me a lot of questions. He said that given my history, it is likely that I’ll be on meds for a long time, possibly forever. He also wants to check my thyroid, though, because apparently certain thyroid conditions can cause depression. I did bloodwork yesterday, so we’ll see where that all goes. For now, though, he sent me on my way with a prescription for Zoloft, Ambien, sunshine, exercise and a book. He told me to force myself out of bed and out of the house if I had to. Easier said than done, really.
But today, I did just that. My friend had some gifts for the kids from Las Vegas, so I showered (for the first time in an embarrassingly long time), put on make up and a cute outfit and met him for breakfast. I feel bad because I know I wasn’t all the way THERE during our meal; I really just wanted to get back home. But I went, and that’s a plus.
I know people are worried about me, so let me just say this: I will be fine. I am taking steps to make sure of that. I may just be a little quiet for a bit, that’s all.
For those of you wondering about my girly business: my biopsies came back WAY better than my pap. Like, the lab checked it twice to make sure they hadn’t made a mistake, because my biopsies were so good. So I now have to re-pap in three months. Leave it to me to have a complicated vagina.
xo – Heather.