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Apr. 24th, 2006 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
azdesertroseThe kitten transpires to be female. I still am trying to come up with a good name for her. She's six weeks old now, and we'll probably wait until she's about 10 weeks old to bring her across the courtyard.
In other news, I feel like crap. My stomach is being stupid again; nothing settles well. And I spent most of Saturday in bed with the third migraine of my life. Yuck. Most of Sunday I felt like I wasn't really inside myself, if that makes any sense.
I still feel kind of out of it.
I'm supposed to see my counselor on Thursday, and there's a support group tonight for depression and bipolar patients. I'm still debating about going to the support group; I'll keep the counselor appointment, though.
And I'm supposed to see the psychiatrist on Monday; the paperwork came to Cliff's apartment late last week, and I filled it out, except for my license plate number, which I can never remember.
The last time I was hospitalized, in 1999, I went to two support groups after I got out of the hospital. One was for depression and bipolar and the other was for sexual assault survivors. I dropped the depression/bipolar one after a while because it just didn't seem to be very helpful. I didn't stop going to the sexual-assault one until I moved out of state.
I still feel like nothing is going to help. It still doesn't feel like the Wellbutrin is doing anything but making it hard for me to sleep. Oh, and over the weekend I started having a tremor in my right hand if I try to do anything with it. If I'm just sitting still it's okay, but, for example, if I lift a drinking glass, my hand shakes, horribly, noticeably.
I keep spacing out, too. Cliff notices it, and I think Jen noticed it some too. Sometimes I feel like I'm not in my body enough to drive. I've had the "disconnected" feeling come on a few times while I was already out and about, and it is not conducive to safe driving.
Sometimes I even have a hard time following conversations, because I just drift away, which is another reason I'm not too keen on going to the support group this evening.
Part of me says I should give the support group a chance, that I need a larger support system than I presently have. All I really have right now is Cliff and Jen and to a lesser extent Rip, Tiff, and Beau. (Those are all the people who live near me who know what's going on. My family does not know. I have two other friends who know, a married couple who live in England. At least I assume the lady of the pair knows; I haven't actually said anything to her; I'm friends with them both, but I'm closer friends with the husband than the wife. In fact, he has repeatedly offered to help me pay for medications and things if I need them. He's asthmatic and so takes meds for that, and she has a degenerative arthritic condition and practically rattles with all the tablets she takes for that; she also takes Prozac, stemming from a horrendous issue they had a few years ago with a terroristic neighbor. So clearly they do not have the issues I have with taking meds.)
Sometimes I think I should tell my family, but most of the time I think not. My parents will just roll their eyes and be disgusted that I've never gotten on track and this is just another tangent and I'll never get my shit together. And I just don't want to hear it. I don't want to put up with it.
And I don't want to burden the kiddo with it all; I'm fairly sure she suspects that all is not well with me, because she's been subjected to a couple of my mood-swingy times, but I'm not going to pile all this shit on her. It's not her problem.
But I just don't know about this whole support group thing; the last time I went to a support group for this specific purpose it was mostly people going on about meds and manic episodes. I don't have manic episodes; I might have hypomanic, but not true manic. It just wasn't much help to me.
And I don't feel like doing anything anyway. I'm not even dressed; I'm in my nightshirt. It was an effort to make something to eat, but I made myself eat and take the damn med.
In other news, I feel like crap. My stomach is being stupid again; nothing settles well. And I spent most of Saturday in bed with the third migraine of my life. Yuck. Most of Sunday I felt like I wasn't really inside myself, if that makes any sense.
I still feel kind of out of it.
I'm supposed to see my counselor on Thursday, and there's a support group tonight for depression and bipolar patients. I'm still debating about going to the support group; I'll keep the counselor appointment, though.
And I'm supposed to see the psychiatrist on Monday; the paperwork came to Cliff's apartment late last week, and I filled it out, except for my license plate number, which I can never remember.
The last time I was hospitalized, in 1999, I went to two support groups after I got out of the hospital. One was for depression and bipolar and the other was for sexual assault survivors. I dropped the depression/bipolar one after a while because it just didn't seem to be very helpful. I didn't stop going to the sexual-assault one until I moved out of state.
I still feel like nothing is going to help. It still doesn't feel like the Wellbutrin is doing anything but making it hard for me to sleep. Oh, and over the weekend I started having a tremor in my right hand if I try to do anything with it. If I'm just sitting still it's okay, but, for example, if I lift a drinking glass, my hand shakes, horribly, noticeably.
I keep spacing out, too. Cliff notices it, and I think Jen noticed it some too. Sometimes I feel like I'm not in my body enough to drive. I've had the "disconnected" feeling come on a few times while I was already out and about, and it is not conducive to safe driving.
Sometimes I even have a hard time following conversations, because I just drift away, which is another reason I'm not too keen on going to the support group this evening.
Part of me says I should give the support group a chance, that I need a larger support system than I presently have. All I really have right now is Cliff and Jen and to a lesser extent Rip, Tiff, and Beau. (Those are all the people who live near me who know what's going on. My family does not know. I have two other friends who know, a married couple who live in England. At least I assume the lady of the pair knows; I haven't actually said anything to her; I'm friends with them both, but I'm closer friends with the husband than the wife. In fact, he has repeatedly offered to help me pay for medications and things if I need them. He's asthmatic and so takes meds for that, and she has a degenerative arthritic condition and practically rattles with all the tablets she takes for that; she also takes Prozac, stemming from a horrendous issue they had a few years ago with a terroristic neighbor. So clearly they do not have the issues I have with taking meds.)
Sometimes I think I should tell my family, but most of the time I think not. My parents will just roll their eyes and be disgusted that I've never gotten on track and this is just another tangent and I'll never get my shit together. And I just don't want to hear it. I don't want to put up with it.
And I don't want to burden the kiddo with it all; I'm fairly sure she suspects that all is not well with me, because she's been subjected to a couple of my mood-swingy times, but I'm not going to pile all this shit on her. It's not her problem.
But I just don't know about this whole support group thing; the last time I went to a support group for this specific purpose it was mostly people going on about meds and manic episodes. I don't have manic episodes; I might have hypomanic, but not true manic. It just wasn't much help to me.
And I don't feel like doing anything anyway. I'm not even dressed; I'm in my nightshirt. It was an effort to make something to eat, but I made myself eat and take the damn med.
