It’s been an interesting week. Tuesday was a depression day so bad just getting out of bed was hard, so work was out of the question. Wednesday I had an all-day training, which had its own sets of challenges (more on that later.) Wednesday night into the wee hours of Thursday was spent crying and suicidal, so I called in at 2:50 in the morning and hauled my sorry butt to my psychiatrist as soon as I got up. After patiently reading every magazine in the waiting room and waiting three hours, she was able to squeeze me in. I tearfully explained what’s going on, and we upped my Wellbutrin from 75 to 100, and if I tolerate that well, we’ll go to 150 at my next appointment in October. I then had a little freakout over the Return of the Stress Rash and disassembled my bed AGAIN in search of bedbugs. I wonder if I’ll ever get over that paranoia? (They are more bite-like this time, which is freaking me out.)
Anyway, Wednesday was the worst part of this awful sundae. From my LiveJournal, Sept 26th, 2012:
So I had a complete and total crying meltdown at work. During an all-day, all-staff training.
There’s a movement to implement what are called “health homes” where all the multiple parts of health- bringing together physicians, mental health professionals, dentists, optometrists, etc to better provide all-encompassing care, and us case managers will become “care managers” and get to be the liaison for our clients.
One thing that got brought up, repeatedly, was my personal favorite trigger issue, weight. Weight does not equal health. Fat and skinny people who exercise have about the same basic outcome with regards to health. Fat and skinny people who are sedentary don’t. The fat or skinny part? Doesn’t really matter. I hate when people look at me and say “You’re going to get diabetes/heart disease/some other awful ailment because you’re fat.”
Excuse me, when did you become my doctor? When did I give you permission to fat-troll me?
I talked to the presenter at the first break about my concerns, how I’m a fat advocate and believe in health at every size, and was essentially blown off. Also, she got SUPER into my personal space, which made me feel intimidated and uncomfortable. That led to klonopin #1 and #2 in fast succession, one at the break and one at lunch. This, and deep breathing, and other calming methods, did not help.
After lunch, I had a total meltdown. I started writing about what I was angry about and was crying. My back was to the presenter, so I don’t think she noticed, but my teammates at my table did, and one of the supervisors followed me into the bathroom when I excused myself to properly sob in peace. We talked a little bit about what triggered me and why I was upset. She listened and encouraged me to go get some fresh air, and so I wandered outside a bit until I wasn’t crying and puffy anymore. I evidently didn’t miss much, and I’d already read through the entire handout of the presentation, so I knew what she was covering.
I came home, fed the cat, and got ready for bed. Of course, I wasn’t hungry, so when my cat came and was licking my face around 8:00 I got up to eat something, and am still up, trying to set my brain to rights.
I’m just tired of being on the receiving end of so much stigma and mistreatment. I am a mentally ill fat woman, so I’ve got three strikes against me as far as society is concerned. I would love to be able to improve my overall fitness, but I spend so much time, money and energy trying to keep my mental health relatively stable (and have been failing miserably lately, I really need to push my psychiatrist into making a med change, I think, on our appointment on October 6th,) that I can’t afford to participate in any of the activities that I truly enjoy, like aqua aerobics, or trying out tribal/belly dance, which I’ve been fascinated with for ages. I live my life in constant fear of losing my job and becoming permanently disabled, and then I’ll *really* have no money.
The last part I wrote, was that I’m just tired of being miserable. I just want to be able to live my life and be *happy.* I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
(Interesting note: Someone on my friends list read this and recommended a Nike-branded app for a smart phone, which I am too poor to have, to help me meet my workout goals. Someone was not reading for comprehension, it seems.)
Here’s what I wrote during the training, which started my crying jag and led to my retreat to the bathroom:
I am angry. Very, very angry.
I am angry at my dad for abandoning us, for refusing to treat his illness, for abusing us, for abusing mom, for disappearing. I am angry that he did not tell me he was proud of me until I graduated high school, on a voice mail. I am mad that he gave me this illness.
I am angry at my mom for not getting us away from dad sooner. I am angry that my mental illness and hypothyroidism were not diagnosed and treated properly until I was 21. I am angry for being forced to diet and being forced into Weight Watchers and other diet programs, and the continual onslaught of concern trolling. I am angry that she married another alcoholic and put us through all that again.
I am angry at my stepdad for drinking again, over and over. I am angry at him for destroying my trust again after I’d just began to trust him. I am angry at him for being so argumentative and outright mean to me, and he wouldn’t hold his own children to the same standards; he didn’t even hold my *own* siblings to that standard. I am angry that he hated me so much that he would fight with me constantly over anything and nothing all at once.
I am angry at our culture that demonizes me and discriminated against me in multiple ways. I am angry that I have to fight so hard for equality. I am so tired and so angry and so depressed.
I am so depressed and I am angry at my illness for making my life so damn miserable all the time. I just want to rest. I just want to not have to fight anymore. I just want this to be over. I just want to be able to work every day of every week, and be happy, and able to maintain my apartment consistently, and take good care of myself.
I just want to be happy. I just want this to be over. I just want to be able to live a happy, healthy life, or not live at all.
I hope the Wellbutrin helps. I’m not sure how much longer I can last, otherwise.