Days and nights

Sunday was an extremely bad day. The weight of the depression and anxiety were so great that I could barely move. I struggled to eat (as it turns out, I've lost thirteen pounds in the last six weeks), and I was petrified of leaving the house. We missed the NHL All-Star Game. Luckily, Matt was able to sell the tickets. We ended up watching the game from home with a friend and some pizza. The bad day did get better, but I still feel angry that my mental health issues cheated me and Matt out of a once-in-a-lifetime hockey experience.

The days are much harder than the nights. My mood almost always lifts when the sun goes down, but the instant I open my eyes in the morning, the anxiety and sadness return. Why is this? The simple answer is that my eyes are very sensitive to sunlight, and bright light can trigger headaches. But, I think there is a more complex answer. I think that part of it is a feeling that I should be doing something- going to work or school, for example- and I am not. Maybe somewhere deep in my subconscious, I still feel like I am late for something. When the sun goes down, well, it's normal to be at home and relaxing. I spend time with Matt, whose work day is done, and I feel better up until I go to bed.

Words cannot express how tired I am of this cycle. It leads me to take long naps during the afternoon, hoping that when I wake, it will be evening and I will be "safe." I still can't seem to sleep enough, despite using my CPAP and taking anti-anxiety meds.

Speaking of meds, the new anti-anxiety medicine, Serax, seems to work for a little longer than Klonopin did, but I am still dealing with debilitating anxiety for much of the day. The slightest thing will make me cry. As for the new antidepressant, I had to discontinue it because it made my heart race. My blood pressure was already sky-high when it was checked at my psychiatrist's office last week, so he took me off Fetzima. Now, I am back on Lexapro, and back to square one.

There is a ray of hope. My new psychiatrist uses TMS therapy. Basically, he wants to zap the under-active parts of my brain with magnetic pulses similar to that of an MRI machine. I'm excited about this non-pharmaceutical  option, but I don't know yet if my insurance will pay for it.

I saw a new pain management doctor this week as well. He looked at my MRIs, examined me, and suggested I re-try the anesthetic facet joint injections. He thought they may not have been done correctly by my former doctor, which does not really surprise me, since that clinic was run like an assembly line. This place seems much more personable, and it's smaller, so we'll see. If the injections work, the next step would be nerve ablation, in which pain-producing nerve endings are actually cauterized. Not looking forward to that, but it's better than fusion surgery. The injections are scheduled for two days in February, one week apart, first for my lower back and then for my neck.

I have things in motion to help improve my physical and mental health, but I feel lost. I don't even feel like I know who I am anymore. There are brief moments of clarity when I remember, "Oh! I liked that. I was into that, and it once made me happy." Yet, I can't quite cross over into being enthusiastic about my interests. I start to question whether I even like whatever it is anymore. Maybe I am different, now. Maybe this whole thing has changed me so fundamentally that I will never be the same "me" again. I look at pictures of me from a year ago, two years ago, and I don't even know who that person is, or where she went. Matt says she is still here, but I am not so sure.

I am grateful for Matt, and for my friends, who have been patient with me these last few weeks. The next challenge is Matt's business trip, during which I will be staying with my mother, far from my friends in Columbus. When I am feeling better, in the evenings, I think of it as a welcome rest. My old room, the quiet of the semi-rural town I grew up in, and maybe even visits from friends I haven't seen in years. When I am feeling like I am right now, I think of it as being trapped in my past for a week, and irrational fears that something will happen to Matt and I will be stuck there forever.

One thing is for sure. Something has got to change. Something has got to give. I don't want to live like this anymore.