Mum says she's scared by the things I've been saying, the word-vomit caused by depression. She and my brother both think my secondary antidepressants may be having a negative effect.
For a refresher; I've been on Mirtazapine, one antidepressant, for two years and had recently been feeling fine depression-wise. The GP put me on Paroxetine, a second antidepressant, four months ago in hopes it'd help my anxiety, which it certainly hasn't.
I went to see the GP yesterday, for my fortnightly double appointment. I told her that I was feeling lower than I have in a long time, and that I thought Paroxetine was having a negative effect. Initially she didn't listen; said the depression was caused by other things. I explained to her that it's not the first time I've taken SSRIs, it's not the first time they've made me more depressed. When I was 12 I was prescribed Lovan, and it sent me spiraling downwards. Mum gave her input too, and the GP agreed to wean me off Paroxetine, then maybe up my Mirtazapine dosage.
Then came the blood test. I haven't been able to make it out to pathology lately, so my GP's been taking my blood tests herself. The nurse came in with the kit, and the GP set up. As I was watching the needle go into my arm, the nurse grabbed my shoulders with both hands, "Close your eyes" she says. I immediately break down into tears, shaking uncontrollably. The GP makes some stupid comment about me crying, and I'm out the door as soon as the needle leaves my arm. No pressure applied, blood dripping down my forearm. I didn't even get to talk to the GP about my lingering infection(s). I pull my sleeve down and exit through the waiting room in a flurry of tears; a sight the receptionists are more than used to.
I sit in the car and hold the cotton bud on with one hand, my other hand digging through the center console for my 'emergency cigarettes'. My bleeding arm's bent up holding my cigarette, my other arm applying pressure with the cotton bud, crying my eyes out with the receptionists (and nurse) staring at me through the window. I pull my knees up and wish I could disappear. 15 minutes later, mum comes out and we go home.
The dietician was nice on Tuesday. I didn't really have anything to say. Weight stayed the same. I ran out of her appointment in tears too, for the first time in months, for no real reason. Since then my calorie intake's been between 600-850, and it feels like all too much.
So I can't say this week's been great mood-wise. Hopefully things will start improving now that I'm coming off the Paroxetine. Too. Many. Medications, and I'm struggling to know what I'm really feeling. Mum wants me to see a psychiatrist to at least get my meds evaluated and 'simplified', but no.
On a brighter note, I bought new pink fluffy slipper socks yesterday. My other pair are bright pink with rainbow spots, and they're the comfiest things in the world. They couldn't not put a smile on my face, at least for a moment, so I thought I'd share them with you all.