The psychiatrist and the magic pills

It’s been three months of this low now. It’s gotten slowly worse. Less enthusisam for things, more tired, more tearful, more demotivated. Sleep has been harder. But I stick to my medication regime, 60mg fluoxetine and, zopiclone (prn) for sleep and diazepam (prn) for anxiety. I’ve tried various combinations over the years. In the UK the emphasis was on the PTSD so it was a different regime. Different therapies, you name it, I’ve probably consumed it, sat through it, read aboit it, been talked at about it!

Back in NZ, I’m safe, Im happy to be home. My family are settled. things are good. But the mood won’t relate. I’ve tried to keep active, set goals, daily tasks, focus on getting back into study and part time work and I’ve just got my youngest into part time day care, but it’s becoming vastly like trudging through mud.

my movements are slow and everything feels difficult and almost painful at times. I can’t concentrate, I feel an impending sense of doom, I feel unworthy, unclean, unlovable, different. That I don’t belong and that everyone knows it. That people look at me and know I dont really belong. And that eventually I will be taken away to the place that I belong, the bowels of hell. Because I am so fundamentally flawed and damaged, I dont belong to this earth.

Days drift into weeks. I have no idea where what day and time it is. I want to spend the days in bed.  but I’m a mother, I have obligations. I have routines. And you’ll see me dutifully fulfilling them. The children have clean clothes, full bellies, they are loved and kept safe. But at night, when the house is in darkness I lie awake and I criticise my every moment, every mistake, every failing I torture my mind with old memories, I feel a sense of loneliness that is so overwhelming I must surely be alone in this world?

i waited to see the psychiatrist with much anxiety. But I knew it was necessary. I was losing this inner battle. Fortunately for me, she was kind and compassionate. Believe me, over the years I have seen them all! But to be able to finally let go, the dam had burst. Help me fix this anguish.

sat in front of the psychiatrist in the community mental health centre, I felt less crazy than I have for ages! less alone! Suddenly I had a voice. All of my fears and silent pain. To someone that had heard it a million times before.

I have quietiepiene (seroquel) which should kill a lot of birds with one stone. Anxiety, depression, sleep disturbance. It’s an anti psychotic. sounds scary doesn’t it? But the truth is, my low is THAT bad.  When I’m not acting Mother, I’m hiding, and I’m a bloody good actor. Years and years of practice.

The only difference this time, this time, I’m not hiding it.


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