Tomorrow I call my doc’s to find out the results from the biopsies of my cervix. And the funny thing is I’m not even nervous. The colposcopy looked normal–I’m inferring that if I do, in fact, have HPV it hasn’t developed much. So we’ve caught it before it’s a problem and long before it turns into cancer. We’ll be able to fix it. Or I don’t have it at all. Either way I’m fine.
It has been a week since I’ve had a chill pill. Mustard and coffee grounds are no longer exiting my vagina. My period has come and gone. I’m mostly fine. That first week after the procedure was very far from fine. It scares me that I can fall apart so completely. But at least there was a reason this time. At least it was finite. At least I was able to talk about it at therapy and come up with a new plan. Looks like we are going to give a version of cognitive behavioral therapy another spin. I tried that method of treatment years ago and it did nothing for me. Maybe this time will be different.
One of the myriad of shitty things about mental illness is all treatment is a crap shoot. A certain drug might not work for you and work perfectly for your best friend. But the worst part is a drug might work brilliantly for you and then 5 years later it might do nothing, or actually do harm to your mental state. I am willing to give cognitive behavioral therapy another spin because it is talk therapy-even if it doesn’t work it won’t make me worse.
We aren’t going to add a daily drug at this point. First of all I’m still nursing. My therapist and I are both uncomfortable starting something new while C is breastfeeding. But she has been bringing up SSRIs for over a year. I’ve been resistant. Zoloft made a huge difference for the better to my quality of life. But luvox and paxil intensified the anxiety to unbearable levels. SSRIs aren’t the only psychotropics I’ve tried. Abilify was the worst drug I’ve ever been on. I’ve been on a laundry list of others. I can’t even remember their names. I can’t remember so much from the time surrounding my breakdown. I hated the drugs then, but I hated everything. We were so desperate to get me better I became willing to try whatever they threw at me.
During our last session we were discussing my reluctance to consider a maintenance drug even though my anxiety has skyrocketed this year. She asked how I would feel about a daily drug if I had asthma. I told her I do have asthma. She asked what I take and I told her I take singulair every night. She asked how often I needed to use my inhaler. I told her hardly ever. And she just looked at me.
I got it. I get it. And I have a responsibility to be as well as I can for my family. There are options besides SSRIs. I’d like to start there. I don’t want to risk becoming more anxious while my job is caring for my sons. And I need to be honest-I don’t want to deal with the weight gain and complete loss of sex drive. That stuff matters. When I was suicidal and unable to function as a human it mattered way less-but I’m not anywhere near there now. For me the SSRI side effects are just too overwhelming.
Damn, this mental illness game is a pain in the ass. It’s work to get well, it’s work to stay well. I’m trying to remind myself that it will be so much more work if I just ignore it. Because I’m tempted. And I’m tired. It is so easy to let the feelings of worthlessness settle into my bones. Thank fucking god for my boys. I look at them and I know I can’t let myself believe I am worthless. They deserve so much more.