This morning I woke up quite early. This is a pleasure as much as it is a pain. I am learning to have that horrible feeling of waking up early, but on the other hand, I learn that wonderful thing of getting things done during the day.
This morning, i was aware that I had to go off to the GP. I was deciding which issue to go to see them about: I had the followign options:
1. Skin problems
2. Depression/anxiety
3. My eyes
I chose number 2. I though a bit about it, and there was something awfully troubling to admit that I had depression again. The doctor was quite keen on getting me to take another antidepressant, but they were also very flippant (well perhaps that isn't the best word); he was very eager and seemingly unthinking to prescribe me basically anything.
I was prescribed prozac, its official name is flourexitine or something like that, but can't spell it right now. I also asked for talking therapies, as I have found it really helpful in the past, and I quite miss having someone to talk to, I mean, blogging is fine, but I've stopped talking to my (now) ex girlfriend about my intimate feelings almost as soon as the relationship started, and there aren't many people I can talk to regularly about my feelings.
I felt pretty rotten accepting the prescription for the drug. I was motivated by a few factors:
i. I wanted to appear nice to the doctor, it's been a long time since I've been nice to a doctor, and for me to trust them again
ii. I seriously considered taking them again, and I thought even if I'm not greatly warm to the idea, I'll just keep it as an insurance policy
iii. It would be a multi-faceted treatment for depression, pills plus therapy. That's gotta be something to be positive about
As I left the GP, I remembered a lot of things that upset me. A lot of my 'old' self. The stigma of mental illness, the shame of being on the drugs, the shame of the side effects, getting fat, losing my mind, being incarcerated, being under their control, having my life ruined, being vulnerable, being found out be my parents, by my brother, by my friends, what my ex would think if she knew, what Marie would think if she knew, what it would symbolise of me returning to the drugs, returning to that time and staying in limbo.
That was too much for me to bear, so i tore up the prescription, put it in the bin, ran home and then put my training gear on. I went for an extended jogging and training session. I was wearing all black and my heavy boots, it was strenuous and exhausting, hot, with the sun beating on my black shirt. I went for a 45 minute session. I felt rage, sorrow, hatred, shame and all sorts of negative feelings. I tried to make my body feel in some comparable way to the anguish in my mind. It didn't work, because my mind is relentless at torturing me, while my will is not as tough on my body in pushing me further. I will learn to achieve the amount of hatred to manifest in my body, I will learn to be strong.
I'm having a better day than most, however, I feel that the events of today has given me a small realisation. I'm having triggers again.
I need to note this in my diary.
This morning, i was aware that I had to go off to the GP. I was deciding which issue to go to see them about: I had the followign options:
1. Skin problems
2. Depression/anxiety
3. My eyes
I chose number 2. I though a bit about it, and there was something awfully troubling to admit that I had depression again. The doctor was quite keen on getting me to take another antidepressant, but they were also very flippant (well perhaps that isn't the best word); he was very eager and seemingly unthinking to prescribe me basically anything.
I was prescribed prozac, its official name is flourexitine or something like that, but can't spell it right now. I also asked for talking therapies, as I have found it really helpful in the past, and I quite miss having someone to talk to, I mean, blogging is fine, but I've stopped talking to my (now) ex girlfriend about my intimate feelings almost as soon as the relationship started, and there aren't many people I can talk to regularly about my feelings.
I felt pretty rotten accepting the prescription for the drug. I was motivated by a few factors:
i. I wanted to appear nice to the doctor, it's been a long time since I've been nice to a doctor, and for me to trust them again
ii. I seriously considered taking them again, and I thought even if I'm not greatly warm to the idea, I'll just keep it as an insurance policy
iii. It would be a multi-faceted treatment for depression, pills plus therapy. That's gotta be something to be positive about
As I left the GP, I remembered a lot of things that upset me. A lot of my 'old' self. The stigma of mental illness, the shame of being on the drugs, the shame of the side effects, getting fat, losing my mind, being incarcerated, being under their control, having my life ruined, being vulnerable, being found out be my parents, by my brother, by my friends, what my ex would think if she knew, what Marie would think if she knew, what it would symbolise of me returning to the drugs, returning to that time and staying in limbo.
That was too much for me to bear, so i tore up the prescription, put it in the bin, ran home and then put my training gear on. I went for an extended jogging and training session. I was wearing all black and my heavy boots, it was strenuous and exhausting, hot, with the sun beating on my black shirt. I went for a 45 minute session. I felt rage, sorrow, hatred, shame and all sorts of negative feelings. I tried to make my body feel in some comparable way to the anguish in my mind. It didn't work, because my mind is relentless at torturing me, while my will is not as tough on my body in pushing me further. I will learn to achieve the amount of hatred to manifest in my body, I will learn to be strong.
I'm having a better day than most, however, I feel that the events of today has given me a small realisation. I'm having triggers again.
I need to note this in my diary.
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