Sitting in that waiting room again.
Watching the red dotted words going along that screen, waiting for my name to beep onto it. If you watch that screen for a while it makes you so dizzy. Your eyes go funny, and it's hard to focus, so best not to do that when you are soon to walk through that corridor to the doctors room.
My name pops up. Not a long wait. Have you noticed that whenever a name is called, or comes up on the screen, people look round to see who it is? There was only 3 of us in there. Another couple and me, yet they still turned round.
I wondered whether or not to fake a limp.
It's not just me who tries to guess what is wrong with the other people in the waiting room is it?
I knock on the door, double and triple checking that it is my doctors name on the door and that I haven't knocked on the wrong one.
We say hello.
I sit.
We talk.
We talk about the emptiness I feel.
The suffocating feelings.
The struggles.
The fact that I have to force myself to enjoy anything.
We talk about me wanting to be by myself.
As a mother, that is incredibly hard to say. I want to lock myself away. What kind of mother says that?
He is supportive, as always. But concerned.
I am concerned too.
This feeling is the worst in a long time. In a very long time.
I feel out of control.
Although I have been fighting the depression, and thinking I was winning, it was clearly feeding off of my energy and has attacked me bigger than before.
I feel empty and like I have no energy at all.
Like I have no 'get up a go'...which is hard when I have school runs to do and preschool drop offs and pick ups.
I can feel myself putting on weight. And it disgusts me.
My body is disgusting. And when I look in the mirror and see those few pounds I've recently added I know that depression is laughing at me.
It's telling me, and showing me, that it is in control right now.
Proving that I could never do the whole weight loss thing in the first place. Ruining that 3 stone loss from last year and is trying it's best to undo all that hard work.
I dislike myself.
I hate myself.
I hate depression.
He increases my medication. With the plan to go back in 2-3 weeks to either keep the same or increase some more.
Increase.
I will not let increase be my word for 2015.
