Walking in mud II
I felt like every step I took today was in mud. My legs felt so heavy. It felt like it took me ages to get to where I was going as I was going so damn slow. I couldn’t help it. Then I get to therapy and the therapist asked if I was me as I was a totally different person than I was on Tuesday. Granted I didn’t have 9 mg of Invega running through my veins either. I feel so slow. I don’t know how much is the depression and how much is the meds. We talked about me being sick and she said not to play the victim. I have no idea how I am playing victim if I am struggling with coming to terms that I am sick, that this isn’t going to go away on its own. The fact of the matter is that I probably should be in the hospital. But I got three weeks to go before my surgery and I just can’t do it. The therapist said that after I recover from surgery, I will be placed in a group and I will go. HA. I had to laugh as she was being so stern. I know she is younger than I am. She has to be. I know I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it but I could be a fricken doctor too had mental illness not wrecked my life. Twenty-five years ago I started college after spending two and a half months in the hospital on a psych ward. I was supposed to start college in the fall but I suffered a major depressive episode that landed me in and out of the hospital until I finally overdosed that landed me in the hospital for two and a half months. I never got over it and just when I was getting my shit together, working toward a bachelor’s degree, I got slammed with a psychotic episode that took nearly 7 months to control and then there was no going back off my antipsychotics. I fell into another depression and I don’t think I have ever recovered because CRPS entered my life and then I was permanently disabled four years later. My psychiatrist said I would never work again and a part of me knew then, it was true. As much as I am now denying that I have severe mental illness, I know that I do have it. I am downplaying it because I just cannot cope with the realization that I am sick. I have been sick for quite some time but have always been able to work through it. This time, it has me in the grip of my throat and I think it will kill me. If something doesn’t change over the course of the next few months, and I don’t mean getting crippled by surgery (please let this not happen surgery gods that be), I know I will end up trying to take my life again.