Easily the longest day ever. For real.
So, I had that assessment this morning...At 8:45. I was awake at 7 am. Now, I know to a lot of perfectly civilised people out there, that's actually not that early, but for someone who often isn't awake until 11 and certainly isn't out of bed at that time, seven o'clock might as well have been 4 am or something.
We left in plenty of time, had Macca's for breakfast (a rare treat) and headed over to Randwick (in peak hour...gawd) to the Prince of Wales hospital where the Black Dog Institute is and waited around a bit to be brought upstairs by a disturbingly chirpy research assistant. It struck me as odd to see a chipper person in a mood disorders clinic, lol. Anyway, she asked me a bunch of questions regarding the last two weeks or so of this episode and then the same questions regarding my depression since it began. Tedium. We finished up fairly promptly, I went back out to the waiting room and then was called in shortly after that to meet with the doctor whose name is...Wait for it...Dr Friend. Yep. He asked me about an hour and a half's worth of questions about pretty much everything from my childhood and where I grew up to allergies and family history, from suicidal ideation and self-harm to anxieties and phobic behaviours. He quite literally asked me about everything to do with my depression and even some other things I'd never thought of (such as exactly why I don't like public speaking...Not just because I find it vaguely terrifying, but also because I blush easily when I'm embarrassed or stressed and that is, in itself, embarrassing). The doctor went over the online component I did previously as well as the assistant's questions and the paperwork I'd completed beforehand, along with his own notes and the diagnosis from my doctor, and went on to deliver the not-too-bad-news.
The diagnosis I'd received earlier is correct -- melancholic depression -- and the absolute best way to treat it is with medication (physical illness, physical treatment), but my dose isn't high enough, which I'd been beginning to wonder about myself since I'm pretty much only contained, rather than improving, and I feel like I'm hanging on by the absolute skin of my teeth. So, starting tomorrow, I'll be taking two of my antidepressants instead of one and, if there's little or no improvement over the next 3-4 weeks, then I have to go up to three. I also have to be taking 1000 mg of fish oil every day to make sure I'm getting enough Omega-3 which is supposed to affect one's moods. We shall see. The aim is to get me through this episode and to maintain a higher dose of the medication to prevent another one, though I have to tell you, I'm not 100% sure that's entirely possible, but what would I know? I have to give this a proper go, you know? The depression is really interfering with my life, as it does every time it comes around, and I don't feel like I'm as productive or as complete as I ought to be, so before I do anything super drastic, I have to give it a shot.
Interestingly, along with the depression, the results of this thorough questioning (see: interrogation) heaved up another diagnosis or two; Generalised anxiety disorder (which doesn't tell anyone anything useful, just that I'm a fucking worry-wart) and a panic disorder. The latter is far more pressing when I'm dealing with a depressive episode.
I don't know if I should be glad that there's a proper, sturdy, obvious diagnosis and an appropriate method of treatment, along with future plans, should it all go awry, or confronted and weird because I'm going to be on this medication indefinitely...I mean, sure, I guess it's a decent thing that I'll be able to have a better quality of life, and a longer life, with this kind of treatment, but is that really what I want? Is this more for the benefit of the people around me than for myself? I only went to see Dr Mossop in the first place at my mother's insistence, not of my own volition. To be perfectly frank, and maybe it's the depression talking, so feel free to ignore this, but I'm tired, you know? I'm tired of going through this again and again, and I'm tired of always worrying that the black dog (heh) is going to come back up and drag me arse-first down the abyss. I have hardly any friends; my relationships are pretty much all tenuous for one reason or another and mostly superficial. If I never had to leave the house, I never would, and I have no long term goals or desires. I'm tired of constantly having to fight back the ideation and the hurt and the anger all the time to simply just get through an ordinary day...Something that it appears most other people have almost no trouble with. I don't especially want to live like this. And I'm sure you don't blame me. I doubt that anyone would blame me. But, before I get ahead of myself, and before I let myself spin out of control, I have to keep trying with this. Maybe it'll be alright?
Anyway, sorry for the long ramble. I think I got away from myself a bit there, lol. And sorry for the drama, too. Totally not my intention to freak anyone out or to draw undue attention to myself, it's just the way I'm feeling right now. And lately. Meh.
Hope you are all doing better than I am x
We left in plenty of time, had Macca's for breakfast (a rare treat) and headed over to Randwick (in peak hour...gawd) to the Prince of Wales hospital where the Black Dog Institute is and waited around a bit to be brought upstairs by a disturbingly chirpy research assistant. It struck me as odd to see a chipper person in a mood disorders clinic, lol. Anyway, she asked me a bunch of questions regarding the last two weeks or so of this episode and then the same questions regarding my depression since it began. Tedium. We finished up fairly promptly, I went back out to the waiting room and then was called in shortly after that to meet with the doctor whose name is...Wait for it...Dr Friend. Yep. He asked me about an hour and a half's worth of questions about pretty much everything from my childhood and where I grew up to allergies and family history, from suicidal ideation and self-harm to anxieties and phobic behaviours. He quite literally asked me about everything to do with my depression and even some other things I'd never thought of (such as exactly why I don't like public speaking...Not just because I find it vaguely terrifying, but also because I blush easily when I'm embarrassed or stressed and that is, in itself, embarrassing). The doctor went over the online component I did previously as well as the assistant's questions and the paperwork I'd completed beforehand, along with his own notes and the diagnosis from my doctor, and went on to deliver the not-too-bad-news.
The diagnosis I'd received earlier is correct -- melancholic depression -- and the absolute best way to treat it is with medication (physical illness, physical treatment), but my dose isn't high enough, which I'd been beginning to wonder about myself since I'm pretty much only contained, rather than improving, and I feel like I'm hanging on by the absolute skin of my teeth. So, starting tomorrow, I'll be taking two of my antidepressants instead of one and, if there's little or no improvement over the next 3-4 weeks, then I have to go up to three. I also have to be taking 1000 mg of fish oil every day to make sure I'm getting enough Omega-3 which is supposed to affect one's moods. We shall see. The aim is to get me through this episode and to maintain a higher dose of the medication to prevent another one, though I have to tell you, I'm not 100% sure that's entirely possible, but what would I know? I have to give this a proper go, you know? The depression is really interfering with my life, as it does every time it comes around, and I don't feel like I'm as productive or as complete as I ought to be, so before I do anything super drastic, I have to give it a shot.
Interestingly, along with the depression, the results of this thorough questioning (see: interrogation) heaved up another diagnosis or two; Generalised anxiety disorder (which doesn't tell anyone anything useful, just that I'm a fucking worry-wart) and a panic disorder. The latter is far more pressing when I'm dealing with a depressive episode.
I don't know if I should be glad that there's a proper, sturdy, obvious diagnosis and an appropriate method of treatment, along with future plans, should it all go awry, or confronted and weird because I'm going to be on this medication indefinitely...I mean, sure, I guess it's a decent thing that I'll be able to have a better quality of life, and a longer life, with this kind of treatment, but is that really what I want? Is this more for the benefit of the people around me than for myself? I only went to see Dr Mossop in the first place at my mother's insistence, not of my own volition. To be perfectly frank, and maybe it's the depression talking, so feel free to ignore this, but I'm tired, you know? I'm tired of going through this again and again, and I'm tired of always worrying that the black dog (heh) is going to come back up and drag me arse-first down the abyss. I have hardly any friends; my relationships are pretty much all tenuous for one reason or another and mostly superficial. If I never had to leave the house, I never would, and I have no long term goals or desires. I'm tired of constantly having to fight back the ideation and the hurt and the anger all the time to simply just get through an ordinary day...Something that it appears most other people have almost no trouble with. I don't especially want to live like this. And I'm sure you don't blame me. I doubt that anyone would blame me. But, before I get ahead of myself, and before I let myself spin out of control, I have to keep trying with this. Maybe it'll be alright?
Anyway, sorry for the long ramble. I think I got away from myself a bit there, lol. And sorry for the drama, too. Totally not my intention to freak anyone out or to draw undue attention to myself, it's just the way I'm feeling right now. And lately. Meh.
Hope you are all doing better than I am x