One of the things that has stopped me from writing this year is my wish to make some kind of rewiew of what has happened lately, but it’s been hard to focus on writing, and it’s too painful to remember some things. So I decided that I don’t have to do it all right now and I’ll just write. If I really hate it, I can always delete it.
I have been very sick, despite of the fact that my new psychiatrist is really great, smart and seems to really know what he’s doing. I’m taking Imipramine, 150 mg a day, which is a tryciclic antidepressant, seeing as I’ve already tried most of the SSRIs with no success. My new psychiatrist was kind to point out some of the mistakes my other psychiatrists have done, by keeping me in a dose that was too low, changing medications too frequently and combining meds that aren’t supposed to be together.
The fact that I’ve always been aware of how incompetent my old doctors were, made me feel that I, as a MD who just graduated needed to take full responsibility of what kind of treatment I was taking, so every single failure was a personal one. How could it be though? No matter how smart I can be… I’m not a psychiatrist. I don’t have the training or the experience to do their job for them.
This time I can at least take some weight off my shoulders by knowing someone who is actually qualified is deciding what kind of medications I’m in and other parts of my treatment. However, I know that as a patient, getting better is ultimately my responsibility.
I am supposed to be at Occupational Therapy right now. Instead, I’m typing this from home. I was prescribed one hour sessions 3 times a week, but I only went to the first one. My social anxiety has been severe, and just the thought of seeing the OT worker in such an ordeal because she doesn’t really know what to do with me (as she said so herself) … is just too much.
I feel frustrated by how I’ve become this homebound person. I feel too far from having a normal, healthy life. I feel too far from getting a job and being able to go everyday and deal with all the people and my own brain. I feel… dependent. And it’s even more despairing to feel how I’m unable to change my situation because I’m too sick to see for myself.
Sometimes it’s like I don’t even want to be well… I just want to fall, because climbing with broken arms and legs is too much, and after all, the only way to stop falling is to hit the bottom.