The depression has felt different the last week or so; now that I’m off the risperidone, my hands aren’t shaking anymore but I’m not sleeping as well. I sleep too much, but it’s fitful, and I’ve found myself prone to hysterical crying the last couple of days. But hey, at least my mood isn’t any worse.
I’m worrying, as I frequently do when I go through these periods of agitation (without the depression lifting one bit, mind you) that I’m popping manic symptoms. My mother is bipolar, so I’ve always been vigilant about monitoring myself for signs that I’m swinging from major depression to bipolar disorder as well. I don’t think that’s the case, but thankfully, I see my psychiatrist on Wednesday.
I know one thing for sure: this medication is not working. Not one bit. But even though I’m clearly ill and not doing that well, at least others tell me I’m still fun to be around. When I’m around others, I try extra-hard to be vivacious and entertaining because you know who likes being around me when all I can do is lie on the floor and cry? Nobody, that’s who. Not even the cats.
I’m beginning to wonder if the forced gaiety is doing more harm than good.
The worst part is the emotions. I seem to have so many of them, and yet I can’t put anything into words effectively, which is frustrating because goddamnit, I’m a writer.
All I can do is hope that therapy tonight helps a little and that I will finally, finally, finally discover the magical combination on Wednesday that will make me feel okay. In the meantime, I’m doing more of that charming but potentially destructive “Whatever gets you through the night” living.
How have you guys been lately?