Well, I've fallen.
I've been crying all day today. At home, on the streets, in the elevator, at the pharmacy, at the doctor's. Even so, I think I am better than I was two weeks ago but I am not sure.
I want so desperately to go back on my meds, to feel normal again... the doctor told me today to hold on a little longer if I could. That I will have more options once I get through my first trimester. But also not to hesitate and to call him if things get too rough.
I wanted to scream that things were already too rough but instead I just got teary and nodded and said thank you. He reminded me that kids are cute, I think to make me think of the good things to come, and I nodded again and spilled a tear as I fumbled with my phone to put our next appointment time into my calendar.
I cried some more as I paid and left the clinic, and cried again as I picked up my herbal remedies and vitamins from the pharmacy... this stupid prescription that seems to be a waste of my time and the water it takes to swallow it with...
My husband came home early today and for dinner we ate Subway sandwiches that I picked up on the way home, because I knew that the effort it took to stand in line and speak to the people behind the counter would be as much effort as I could muster towards our evening meal tonight.
We discussed bilingual education for our unborn child and the fact that private school would most likely be beyond our budget range, ate strawberry ice cream, and then he returned to the study to continue his work and I retired to the sofa to read.
I've been reading "The Noonday Demon" by Andrew Solomon for the first time and am finding it quite helpful and grounding. This past weekend I finally pulled myself together for long enough to actually purchase a few books on Amazon, which was amazing mostly for that feeling of being interested in anything long enough to act upon it in any way.
I hate that I can call that progress. The feat of actually getting dressed and going outside three days in a row including today is also progress, and I hate that too. I hate the way I feel, and I hate that the terrible thought that I don't like being alive crossed my mind today. I am safe because somewhere else in my clouded mind I know that I am blessed, but catching and having to retract my thoughts after those brief moments of weakness always shakes me to my core. I also hate that I have no good reasons to pin this relapse on besides that perhaps I stopped taking my meds a little too early. Life changes? Only good changes really. How weak am I.
I am angry that I am depressed, and am angry at myself for feeling this way because I really shouldn't have anything to complain about. I am blessed with a loving family, husband, friends, a comfortable roof over my head and food in the fridge. And a baby on the way. I don't even deserve this self-pity.
I have a baby on the way. A baby.
I need to be stronger than this.
Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
Some progress is better than no progress.
I think I'm progressing.
I'm not sure but I think I am.
That will have to be good enough for today.
Good night, quiet world.