My Brain is Stupid

*Disclaimer: this post might be a rambling, jumble of nonsense. There is, I think, a high probability of that happening. You've been warned.*

I have now, officially, had 14 ECT treatments. The first 2 weeks were 3 times a week (my first treatment was June 1), then I went to weekly for several weeks, and now I'm every other week. If I was following Dr. M's trajectory, I'd be every 3 or every 4 weeks by now.

But I'm not following his trajectory. My depression is stubborn. My depression is a fucking asshole. My brain, Clancy, is being a huge fucking dick and is making things difficult.

Let me start by saying this: my depression is a lot better than what it was before ECT. If the ECT wasn't helping, I would be dead. I had it planned. So let's get this important piece of information clear: the ECT is helping.

But here's the rub: it's not holding me.

What do I mean by that? Well, I'll be floating along, doing pretty well for about a week to a week and a half after a treatment. And then my mood starts to slip, my mood starts to falter, starts to sink. Depression starts to sneak its way in. This lasts several days until I have my next treatment and then the process starts again. I've noticed the pattern, the nurses at the hospital have noticed the pattern, and Dr. M has noticed the pattern.

Now, this wouldn't be a big deal, I guess, if it were only a day or two. But it's not. It's 4 days or 5 days or 7 days. Each time it's more, longer. Over the past 4 or 5 weeks I've spent more time depressed than not - and that's NOT okay with me. That's NOT how this is supposed to fucking work.

I had ECT last Monday and then saw Dr. M in his office in the afternoon for a regular appointment, where we discussed all of this. He said we need to figure something out medication wise to help hold me over between ECT treatments, as we need to at least get those spaced to once a month (the ultimate goal is once every 6 weeks). We discussed options and decided to stop my Lexapro and switch me over to Prestiq. Now, as with any med change, it will take several weeks at least to see any changes.

Which fucking sucks because I feel like shit.

I'm floating around with this low grade depression. I call it low grade because I'm not actively suicidal. Notice I said not "actively" suicidal - I still think about killing myself. Every day.

So anyway, I'm floating around in this low grade depression. I'm not sobbing every day, breaking down, anything dramatic like that. I just don't care about much of anything. It's like I can't really muster up any emotion except for anger. I feel like I need to cry; I just can't. I don't have the emotion to make it happen. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to go to work or clean the house or draw or paint or play with my son or have sex or cook or exercise or talk to people. I force myself to do stuff - I don't allow myself to just stare into space - but it's difficult and I just don't care.

The only strong emotion I can muster is anger. And I'm fucking angry at everything. That's not an exaggeration. Every little fucking thing makes me angry. The littlest things set me off. Simple things, like misspelling a word while I'm typing, or needing to go to the bathroom. People talking to me or me dropping something. Every. Little. Fucking. Thing. And the anger is very volatile. It goes from nothing to full on rage in no time. I hate it.

Oh hey - remember how at the beginning I said jumbled mess of a post? Everything prior to this I wrote Sunday morning. Then I got cranky and went downstairs to workout. I got on my spin bike and then broke down sobbing. J came downstairs and held me, stayed with me. I kinda wanted to die. And by "kinda wanted" I mean I wanted to die. Sunday ended up pretty shitty mood wise.

This little bit I'm writing Monday. I don't know how I'm feeling today. Okay, I guess. I started the day VERY angry. Then I talked with a friend and went and worked with horses and that helped. Now I just feel . . . empty. I'm sitting here drinking some hot mint tea and I start thinking, ooooo, I can't wait until it's colder outside and I can wear sweaters and sip hot tea! And then my mind immediately reminds me that everything is pointless and hopeless and I would truly be better off dead.

It's like I can't just have a nice fucking thought. My brain has to go and fuck it up. This is very frustrating and I'm so sick of it. I'm tired of struggling.