Monthly Archives: July 2015

A Weaker Kick

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I haven’t blogged in ages. Seriously, years. I’m just getting back to writing now because… I don’t know what else to do. A series of events led me to a place in my life where I’ve been without anti-depressants for a year or so and this is not a good thing.

The same series of events led me to be a recipient of the state health insurance – not because I’m a shyster, but because I easily qualify. With room to spare. Thank goodness for the state health insurance, yes, but it’s also… humbling. I have to wait months to have a psychological evaluation. I think I’ll be okay, but okay is aligned with surviving, and surviving is exhausting.

Depression is so difficult to explain to those who don’t have it. Most people try to at least change their tone, or are careful with their words, but if your brain hasn’t worked on you, 24/7, to self-harm and even kill yourself, it’s impossible to truly understand. My sweetheart (thank the heavens for the sweetheart) said, “I know that feeling of wanting to just die, but what I really want is for the hurt to stop.” When I’m in that place, I can’t even fathom that there’s an end. It feels so tight, so oppressive, so intense. I want it all to end, then.

That’s the scariest part of all.

An appointment’s been made, but it’s not until the end of September. I’ve got calls into a bunch of other docs who are approved by my plan – maybe one will have an earlier appointment and maybe one will have a cancellation. Two months of this (THIS) feels like a lot to take on. Good thing I’m well-versed in living a day at a time.

A new concept to digest is that I may have bipolar disorder. I’ve received that diagnosis twice in the past and rebuked it both times. I’m not just depressed. But… I’m not in the business of diagnosing mental health concerns, so I’ll try to not think about it and wait. (WAIT.)

After years of therapy, I accepted the PTSD diagnosis, because I now see it. But I’d been medicated (professionally) since the mid-90′s and here I am, unmedicated, having experienced some of those classic stressers “they” point out, which probably make things worse than they’d be. My kick is weak now, you know?

My kick is weak now.

Enter Gloria Gaynor and yes, I will too survive. Sing it, go ahead. I’ll be over here, contemplating a new kick.

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