Warning/Disclaimer: If punk-ass whiny bitches bother you… you should skip this post.  Just a heads up, I use Truthful Tuesday as a journal for my darker thoughts.  Oh, and it’s like crazy long.  If that’s a problem, just skip this one. Thanks for stopping by either way. :P

So Friday before last, I finally broke down and went to the free clinic.

I figured, “what the hell? The worst they can do is turn me away.”

I’m a fairly big dumbass and I didn’t know if they treated people with depression.

I’ve had trouble with depression for almost as long as I can remember. 

But the past couple of months have been getting progressively worse.

I’ve attempted to keep myself busy, but crying jags come out of nowhere.

I mean, have to hide in the bathroom at work, pull over while driving, can’t see straight kind of crying jags.

The clinic took me. 

The doctor was incredibly nice. 

I’ve only been to a doctor twice in the past 6 years (I have no medical insurance and didn’t think the free clinic would take someone like me). 

The first time I went to a doctor, in the fall of ’05, for an ear infection.  

An ear infection was the only thing that would get me to spend 90 bucks to walk into someone’s office.  When the doctor asked if there was anything else I needed, I broke down crying.  I was having a lot of trouble with keeping my head above water. At this time I was so far into my cutting addiction that there was literally not a square inch from knee to ankle on my right leg that didn’t have several cuts running through it.  Up until this point he’d been kind of a dick (the average doctor mentality, you know, silly commoner, it’s a simple ear infection, why is she wasting my time, kind of deal). When I started crying he commented that I maintained my composure incredibly well for someone who was having such trouble coping.  “Coping with what?” I wondered, but didn’t ask.  I told him that I’d been on Paxil in high school (before I’d lost medical coverage when I turned 18). 

Anyway, he wrote me a prescription for Paxil and sent me on my way.  I took it to the letter.  3 weeks in and I was worse, I mean a lot worse. I didn’t understand at the time. It had helped me so much in high school, that I couldn’t understand why it would be making things worse.  So thinking that I should be doing better, and actually doing worse just compounded to make me feel even more overwhelmed. It increased my feelings of incompetence. The lack of control over my own emotions was just mind boggling.  With only a few days left on the prescription I threw out the rest, and just went back to doing what kept me afloat.  I didn’t go back to the doctor, because the only reason I had gone to see him in the first place was because of the ear infection.  I can handle a fair amount of pain…except when it comes to my throat or ears (I’m the world’s biggest fucking baby when it comes to an ear infection). 

Also I thought he wouldn’t believe that I’d taken the prescription like I was supposed to.  I mean, how else could the results have been so different?  So I just kept my head down and did what I needed to do to get by. 

It’s not easy. I throw myself into inane activities. I go from one to the next, anything that kind of makes me feel worthy.  In the pasts few years I go from one ridiculous activity to the next. Games. Lots of games. Video games. Computer card games. Online Games. Cross-word puzzles.  Sudoku. Twitter around Christmas was kind of a god send.  I was doing ok, but the holidays are almost always hard for me. The star system in twitter kept the crazy at bay for a good while. Then tumblr with its hearts. Trying to be funny.  Seeing people ‘like’ my attempts. Yes, I get a sense of worth from those hearts. I know most of you think it’s pathetic.  I can’t help it, sue me.  But yeah, long story short I go from one activity to the next.  I also keep myself busy with books, tv, movies, music…anything really. But something about the goals of games…they’re achievable. It’s like the heart/star system. I can do something and see the result.  Accomplishing an easy goal.  Just an FYI my little crack-headed self has probably played more of the average computer card games (hearts, solitaire and freecell) than anyone you’ve ever met. Sorry, I’m a little foggy, and I seem to be off on some crazy tangent.

Um…back to my point.
I’m sure I have one around here somewhere.

Yeah… I think I do. Anyway, I went to a doctor about 2 years back for another ear infection.  My depression is fairly cyclical, and at the time, while still having to keep busy, I wasn’t having as difficult a time as I’d been having the first time I went to the doctor, or that I’ve been having recently.  I didn’t ask about an anti-depressant.

I sometimes wonder what might be different if I weren’t so fucked. I mean literally fucked. People scare me.  I go to work, but that’s about it. And without that now, I’ve barely leave the house.  When I was on Paxil I was a lot more comfortable around people. I doubt I’ll ever be at the “normal” level of comfort. But I was able to be in crowded locations without wanting to rip my skin off.  I wonder sometimes if I would actually like the person I am if I could function like “normal” people function.  If I’d still be single. If I’d have friends who I didn’t just know from work. If I’d be able to just be.

Wait, I lost my point again, didn’t I?

Yeah, anyway, it’s gotten kind of bad. I mean hiding from the world, in my bed like a five year old.  Crying jags.  Staying up so late (to make sure that when I go to bed I just pass out) that I feel like I’m in a fog most days. Nights can be pretty bad. Left alone with my thoughts before bed is never a good combination, but I mean, going to bed exhausted works. I haven’t cut in months. As lame as it sounds, I’m proud of that fact. I know that I should be more ashamed of the fact that I want to do it all, but I have to take comfort where I can get it, and I’m happy that I’ve not done it.  But at the end of the day I don’t know how happy I should be. It’s not like I don’t want to, need to.  I’m not any better emotionally.  I’m not cutting, but not because I’m better, not because I’m in control. I’m not cutting because I’m fighting the urge.  I still have to keep myself busy. I have to throw myself into these pathetic wastes of time just to be safe.  If I’m not able to keep myself busy enough to avoid negative thoughts, then I end up spending hours in my bed, literally hiding under the sheets, crying, hoping to pass out.  I don’t want to be this person. I feel like a punk, a bitch.

The total lack of control is just… scary.  I considered taking myself to the emergency room twice, but the fear of more bills (on top of my current situation) and the idea that they might put me in a psych ward kept me hiding in my bed.  Yes, I know I wrote a post a while back about how it’s better to get the help you need even if you have to spend a stint in a hospital, but it’s a little different with experience under your belt, but that’s another crazy girl story for another time.

Anyway, I finally decided on Friday to see if I could find help. I couldn’t function like I’ve been much longer without some sort of breakdown.  I spent the better part of the morning trying to find out if there was any help available to someone like me that didn’t involve just walking into the emergency room.  I called the crisis hotline.  The gentleman who answered was very kind, but he was unaware of any services that helped those unable to pay.  I tried calling the local psychiatric services. I tried another helpline. I finally got a hold of someone who said that there was a free clinic that might see me.

I fought all afternoon about going. I was worried that I’d walk in and they’d tell me they didn’t’ treat people with depression. That they only dealt with physical problems. That they’d think I was stupid for even asking.  Like I’ve warned you before, I’m a pretty big dumbass sometimes. 

I kept thinking I would go. Kept talking myself out of it. By the time 4 rolled around, and I’d already cried 3 times that day, I figured, “what the hell”. 

I got my pay stubs ready, and headed out.

When I got there, I asked the secretary if they “saw people with depression”.  She pointed to a sign on the wall that said “No narcotics or scheduled prescriptions are available here”.  I wasn’t quite sure what that meant (I wondered to myself –cause I’m an idiot- if that meant they didn’t write any prescriptions because aren’t all prescriptions scheduled???). I assumed she was turning me away, so I started to apologize before she cut me off with a wave of her hand and headed to the back of the office.  I heard her asking someone “do we see people with depression?”. 

I didn’t hear a response, but she walked back out, nodding her head, and asked if I’d brought any proof of income.

After going through the paperwork, a nurse took me back and took my vitals and asked me why I was there.  I told her, and truncating my quick explanation, she wrote down one word, “mood”, in my newly created medical file.  What a simple euphemism.

Anyway, I found my way into the doctor’s office. I explained my history with depression. The fucked up situation with the Paxil a few years back and she just nodded her head. She said it wasn’t unusual for drugs like that to interact differently after a few years, especially considering I was still a teenager the first time around (when they had worked).

She just talked to me. A free clinic and she took a good 15 minutes just to talk to me. Listen. Explain.  She said that there were lots of things available today, and that if what we tried didn’t work, that I could come back.  She was kind.  She sent me on my way with a prescription for Citalopram… oh, and it’s one of those 4 dollar prescriptions at Walmart. Double score.

So yeah, I know it sounds corny, but just being able to know that it doesn’t have to be like this has made things better.  The first night I got home, even before I popped out my first pill, I felt better.  Just the idea, the notion that there is help, that it wasn’t hopeless, made me feel more in control. Safer.  More secure. Happier. 

Ok, maybe not happier, but definitely less, I don’t know, bleak. 

I have been on the prescription now for almost 2 weeks.  The only side-effect that seems to be affecting me is the may cause drowsiness and oddly the may cause sleeplessness. Let me explain. Every time I walk by a bed I want to face-plant onto the mattress. Literally.  I feel exhausted, but it’s almost an honest tired.  The problem is when I go to sleep it takes forever to actually pass out.  Normally this would be a problem.  Being left alone with my thoughts is usually bad for “bidness” but I just feel too exhausted to even hold a thought, so it’s not an issue.  So if you wonder why I haven’t been posting as much lately, it’s because I’m either laying in bed attempting to pass out, or staring at my screen half conscious, literally day-dreaming about how good my bed, the couch, the floor, or hell, a bed of nails, would feel right now. :P

As far as side-effects go, it could be worse. Sleepy and sleepless is fine by me.  Hell, a few other of the side-effects don’t even look that bad anyway. I mean, as a lady, I can honestly say right now I wouldn’t mind a “prolonged painful erection”.

I mean, this long into celibacy any erection is a good erection… painful or otherwise.  Wait, I might be misunderstanding the implications here. :P