“I hate my life. I hate myself.” That’s the recurrent statement that feels like it’s been on a continuous loop in my head for most of my life. The oxycodone silenced it for most of last year but it’s now back with a vengeance.
I told my psychiatrist this morning how I was feeling, but he had already pegged it by the way I was carrying myself before I even opened my mouth. So, we talked about my severe depression. He’s very concerned. I think particularly because I told him last week that I was afraid I was on the path to another suicide attempt (I certainly wouldn’t mind dying right now). We had a pretty good discussion about the possibility of ECT. I had actually started looking into it about a year ago, shortly before my casual benzo abuse turned into putting any drug I could get my hands on into my body. He also doubled my daily dose of Pristiq, from 75mg to 150mg. I don’t have much confidence in that though. I’ve been taking psych meds for a pretty long time now and they’ve consistently had little to no effect. I’m pretty certain that I’ll be partaking of some good old-fashioned shock therapy in the not too distant future.
And rehab tonight totally sucked because of this. I was completely checked out in group. When the facilitator tried to engage me, I broke down, sobbing. Needless to say, I was left alone for the remainder of the evening. I also decided that I couldn’t deal with that fucking shit anymore tonight and left for home at the break.
I hate my life. I hate myself.