Depression and ECT 13

I've suffered from depression since I was a pre-teen. In 2012 I got very sick, becoming suicidal. In 2013 I decided to try ElectroConvulsive Therapy. The "Depression" series of blog posts chronicles that process.

To start the Depression series at the beginning, click here: http://ittybittycrazy.squarespace.com/imported-data/2013/12/29/depression-1.html
#depression
#ECT

It's difficult to explain the Shit Bubble. It surrounds me, and I live in it.

TV is boring, food is tasteless (apart from sugar), I feel no motivation to exercise, work takes gargantuan effort and I'm filled with dread at the thought of having to go to work in the first place, nothing social appeals, my husband is irritating and, worst of all, I look at my dogs - my babies, my heart - and I feel absolutely nothing. It seems I'm either irritated or sad, and I have to talk myself through the simple routine of the day, spurring myself on as if I'm at a sports meet.

The Shit Bubble is a simple fact of my world and I don't seem to be able to pranayama or yoga or pray or wish it away.

I go to sleep in it. I wake up in it. I can't shake it.

I saw the doctor today and we agreed that I should go back on my Respiridone and also that I should have an extra ECT session.

"Years ago," he said, "we'd have hospitalized you for a long time and introduced or subtracted one medication at a time, tweaked ECT treatment frequency and taken the time to empirically determine how to achieve the best results. But that's not practical or how we do medicine now, so we slowed down ECT and changed your medication at the same time, and we can't be sure which variable is having this effect."

I must say the thought of hospitalization has it's appeal. Taking the time to really figure out how to manage my depression would be an interesting option. But there's no way insurance will pay for that, and there's no way we could cover the copay.

Going through this dip has made me think a lot about my father. He definitely suffered from depression and I believe that I inherited it genetically from him. Feeling how I do right now, I wonder if he felt the same. If he did, it explains a lot of his weird behaviors over the years. He'd come home from work with migraines at least once a month, taking to his bed. He'd break into emotional speeches at family gatherings, making us all uncomfortable as he praised us or thanked us or some such. And he'd often seem broody, melancholy or, as I interpreted it at the time, a sourpuss.

What I don't understand is, if he felt the way that I do now, how did he get through life unmedicated? I'm on four different medications, for fuck's sake. What did he do? Did he self-medicate with cocaine? I know he didn't drink. His father was an alcoholic and he was uberprudent around alcohol. Did he get through his life simply through his own will? Because, if so, then I bow to him with deepest respect. In fact I regret, in many ways, not only how I treated him, but how I saw him. Because this depression thing, this disability, this is fucking hard.

Right now it feels too hard. But I'm forcing myself to keep going in the Shit Bubble. I'll take Respiridone tonight and maybe, maybe it will feel better tomorrow.

Maybe.

A MELANCHOLY-LOOKING MAN, HE HAD THE APPEARANCE OF ONE WHO HAS SEARCHED FOR THE LEAK IN LIFE'S GAS-PIPE WITH A LIGHTED CANDLE.
P. G. WODEHOUSE

To start the Depression series at the beginning, click here: http://ittybittycrazy.squarespace.com/imported-data/2013/12/29/depression-1.html