It's late and I'm up typing. I had a rough weekend. Well, starting on Thursday, really. Not a great day. Friday was worse. A friend had to talk me out of taking sleeping pills. I wouldn't have done it. But the desire was so strong it scared me. Saturday was a baby shower that I co-hosted. I felt bad - I was a little anti social. But it went well. Work on Sunday was difficult. Got better that afternoon. Printed out a list of psychiatrists covered by my insurance. Then Monday. Monday was good.
The first office I called, the doctor answered the phone. The doctor himself. Which surprised me. What surprised me even more was that he's taking new patients and I have an appointment tomorrow. After all this time, I finally have an appointment with a psychiatrist. Maybe I can start to feel better. Maybe I can start to be me.
I'm scared though. Scared to go. What if he wants to hospitalize me? I have strong suicidal ideation. What if I don't get better? What if the depression comes back again quickly? Oh the delightful inner workings of my mind. Giving me anxiety and mini panic attacks. I'm sure he can help. I'm sure I'll feel better. But truly, for how long? The depression always comes back. Always. It is and has always been my constant companion.
When it does come back, I'm usually depressed for a few weeks before my new/increased meds start to work and I have a "fuck you depression" moment and move on. This time . . . not so much. No "fuck you moment". I've been on my increased dose of Lexapro for 2 weeks, dealing with the depression for 2 months, and . . . nothing. Not feeling better. Not coping. No motivation. Dark thoughts. And sadly, no desire to hide it. I don't feel like putting on my mask. It's too much work. It's too tiring. I want to curl up in a ball and sleep. Just sleep. It's easier to sleep. No thoughts or feelings to contend with.

I'll update after my appointment tomorrow. We'll see how it goes.
And if you read this, comment please. Comments help keep me going. They really do. And now, off to sleep.