I Don't Need To Walk Around In Circles

Another fucking argument with That Canadian Boy I Married about depression and what I can do to fix it. The $65 co-pay for Cymbalta will throw a massive wrench into our already-precarious finances but the depression is taking an even bigger toll.

His answer, after telling me he didn't think he needed to feel any sympathy or understanding for me, was that I should re-try all the anti-depressants I've already tried and already had documented reactions to - for some reason, he seems to think that my body chemistry will have changed and I won't have the same reactions to those drugs now. Mr. fucking physician, I guess.

These arguments leave me so drained. He doesn't get it, doesn't see the need to get it and honestly thinks I should just be able to say "Hey, self, stop feeling that way" and I will be fine. If only it were that easy. I try to explain it to him, try to talk to him about it and he just placates me by telling me that he understands. But then we have another one of these arguments and his true feelings show. He doesn't want to discuss it with a professional; he doesn't see the point.

I don't tell him a lot of what I'm feeling because of this. Of the times I flirt with taking the whole bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills, of the wish that I could just go bat-shit crazy and be done with it. I know that he'd leave if I did go nuts. And while I'd survive that, I wouldn't survive him probably trying to take the kids away, which I'm sure he'd want to do - and it would be kind of understandable.

So I told him I'd make the damned phone call to the damned doctor and talk to her about it. I'm 99.9% sure that there's nothing new out there, that I've tried them all, but whatever. If it will shut him up and get him off my back, I'll do it. If that's the only way I can justify the $65 a month, so be it.

It pisses me off, though, this constant need of his to piss and moan about the cost of prescriptions for something he doesn't deem real. These are the times that I wish I could just swap bodies with him for a day, so he could live inside my head and see what a muddled mess it is in there, so he could see how I really feel most days, how difficult this is to handle without medication. Maybe then he might muster some of his nearly non-existent sympathy for what I'm going through.

Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me

I have been feeling so sorry for myself for the last couple of days. I don't seem to have a real reason for it, I'm just bummed.

I took the girls to play group today and I felt like a big schlub. All the other kids looked so cute and put together and my kids come in with flyaway hair, looking like they just rolled out of bed. I felt harried and rushed and annoyed with life in general. I sat there, watching the girls play and felt like crying. Boo was grabby and bossy. The Bug just wandered around happily, trying to play with the bigger kids but mostly being left behind. It didn't seem to bother her, but it bothered me. I'm not really sure why.

I hate it when I get this way. I don't know why I feel so sad some days. It's been coming on for a few days - I can always tell when I'm going to slide down into this pit because I spend the day or two leading up to it in a foul, foul mood. I've been snappy and cranky and generally unpleasant to be around.

I don't know how to cope with this when it comes up. It's kind of unpredictable and always takes me by surprise. I can't exactly sit in a corner and feel sorry for myself, although that's all I want to do. I wish I could just drive off and sit somewhere and be mopey by myself. Instead, I have to push it down and deal with life. I can't really talk to TCBIM about it because he just doesn't get it. He thinks that because I'm on an anti-depressant, I should be fine and that if I'm not, then I'm just being selfish and whiny. And maybe I am. I know that I annoy myself when I'm like this and I would like it to stop. I just wish I knew how.