Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Day 23.1

I went to the doctors. She said: “I think you should go on the Lofepramine”. Based on what I had told her about the last week on 10mg and the blatant change in my ability to cope on a daily basis alongside the specific treatment plan laid out by my psychiatrist she thought this the best option.

I spent the rest of the day in bed hiding. I couldn’t bear the thought of being conscious for the next 6 hours so I slept. Avoidance technique number 1.

When I woke again this evening I spent the next chunk of time on the phone to my parents asking what I should do. Should I keep trying to come off the tablets or should I go onto the next batch of drugs? At this stage the battle with believing that I actually have an illness is paramount. I also guess at this stage vanity, (trying to come off the medication to shed the 4 stone they have charmingly walloped onto my frame) goes by the wayside as I am now seriously worried that if by coming off the tablets prematurely, I am actually putting my life at risk.

What is the point in being seen by specialists to avoid their recommendations? My shrink told me it was too soon, but I thought I needed to get back to my natural weight to be happy, over and above treating the depression. Then again if you are not convinced you are ill – then how can you make a genuine, well-balanced decision?

My mum put it quite succinctly when she said something along the lines of…“ If you’d had a great week and were managing to function, even on a basic level I could understand you not taking the medication, but you haven’t. You haven’t been able to wash yourself, get dressed or even get out of bed this week – never mind keep on top of basic things like washing the dishes and feeding yourself”.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The only things that keep going through my head are the comments by my specialists – that I have suffered from bouts of depression all my life. Maybe this is why I feel like a fake – because to me this way of being is so familiar.


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