I feel battered by my life, my history. I used to feel rather fiercely proud that I was never one of those people who declared they’d never trust again, or love again; nowadays I feel as though I’m sitting in a particularly muddy trench, clutching an inadequate pisspot helmet and weeping. I’m not blaming anyone for it, it’s circumstance and happenstance and my own egregious mismanagement of it all. Plenty of people have endured far, far worse than I have and emerged victorious. Me, I’m tired and frightened and I have zero faith or hope for the future.
Last February, some of you literally pulled me through a month full of grief. This February will be the third anniversary of my mother’s death, and shrink two tells me it’s a more than adequate reason to be feeling so fucked up and broken now. I’m as moody as an adolescent, I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m so fucking tired.
I messaged shrink two on Sunday to update her about a couple of side effects and a little light self harm. She replied today saying she’ll find out the fastest way to get me on to olanzapine via the public healthcare sector, so it’ll be farewell clozapine soon. I feel zero hope in that direction too.
Most of my 45 years have been depressed ones – that is not an exaggeration. I’ve tried a lot of medication and meditation and in general, I’ve fought it hard. The last four or five years though…. I think they can be filed as ‘the last straw’.
Ag actually, whatever.