…and you feel bad because they’re trying and they can’t. And why? Mostly, in this particular case, money.
A good friend of mine sent me a thing today about TMS. She thought it might be good for me because I struggle so much with my depression and anxiety, even on meds. I’ve talked about medication or treatment resistant depression with my psychiatrist before, because it appears that that’s what I have (although it’s worse during times of extreme stress and/or grief – hello, my life the last three years – the fact it took two of those three years for me to finally reach a low and fall into to the pitch black amazes me to no end). I’ve also talked with him about TMS. It’s transcranial treatment with magnets. It’s the new electroshock, basically, without the electricity. That’s also been discussed.
Here’s the thing: For the number of treatments for TMS at $500 a pop here in the cities that offer it, which would equal a huge travel bill, as well, it would cost me $15k just for the treatment. ECT would be around $25k. Insurance won’t cover it. Mine wouldn’t, anyway. So. Might as well stick my head in a microwave and hope for the best. Just kidding but you know what I mean. Dark humor.
TMS could be a good option, I’m sure it’s helped many. I’ve read many great things about it. I’d try it. But, I can’t afford it. I can’t afford the treatment I’m already getting. I don’t know how I scrape up $500 a month to pay for it (psychiatrist, therapist, meds…) – oh that’s right. Credit card. I’m digging a hole for myself in debt just to stay alive for my son (at least that’s how my brain views it – even though the situation is much more complicated than “credit cards”).
And how sick is that? Seriously…that in this country this is what it comes to for so many, and so many more don’t get help at all. I’m not trying to be negative on purpose, or sound ungrateful… This is just the reality for me. For many. It’s just sad. I’m extremely grateful and thankful my friend thought of me and sent me the info…she was right – it was worth a shot. I see my psych on Thursday at 11. I may bring it up again just to see if he has any ideas how to make it happen for free or something. Like she said, one never knows…
But you know, just sitting here thinking about it, dreading that appointment…dreading the possible bill more than anything…even when I had really good insurance it didn’t cover psychiatry at all, meds only generic (and Pristiq only went generic in America this March so all the time I was on it years before that), but my husband made good money then. And my ins covered 40% of therapy. No psychiatry but almost half for therapy. Because you know, I couldn’t just talk to my friends for free. Ha!
I know, I know – that’s oversimplifying. Friends are certainly not the only kind of therapy I need, and they’re certainly not “therapists.” I just don’t understand it at all, the way mental health is approached and treated in this country. Which is why I moved away from that field in the first place. Who knows. Maybe I’ve wasted nearly 20 years. Maybe I could’ve been the one to bring some change – or at least been a part of it. But, as my journal this morning said – leave what if’s and should have’s alone….. Worst thing ever for depression. Those, and why’s….
So, let’s talk about how I’m doing with my depression right now. Let’s talk about how it’s going.
Depression is…raging flows of thoughts like whitewater rapids through your synapses except your synapses are broken…how does it flow? The whitewater caps that pound against your skull are the same thoughts over and over:
You’re not good enough.
Your photography is shit.
Your music is not music at all.
Your writing is just the thrown together words of a lunatic on a downer from having no downers at all.
Your face is ugly.
Your body is weak.
Your body is a failure for being sick but it’s sick because of depression and depression is because of you so it must be all your fault.
It’s all your fault.
The fog outside mirrors the fog in your soul because it rolls in like evil suffocating evil when the depression comes. There is no light coming through the darkness or the fog. It is just…dark. Darkness and the moisture of tears in your soul and there’s no hope to speak of because depression doesn’t leave room for that.
So you lie to yourself instead and you post the little things to try to encourage everyone else because you hope then they’ll think you’ve got control of you. But you don’t. At all.
Depression is celiac and ibs flares – it’s lots of toilet time, in front of and sitting on. It’s breaking out of your skin and on your skin and it’s losing all your hair because of the fibro and the celiac and the minimal nutrients you absorb. The one silver lining is your hair was realllllly thick to begin with.
Depression is reading other peoples happy posts and happy lives and positive ideas and progress and wondering how many are telling the truth and how many are just lying to themselves because they struggle with the depression, too.
Depression is everyone hates me and everyone is tired of me and everyone is better off without me and everyone just wants me to be quiet.
Depression is SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP. DELETE ALL THE PHOTOS. DELETE ALL THE ACCOUNTS. DELETE ALL THE PEOPLE AND THE CONCERN THEY SHOW BUT ESPECIALLY THE CONCERN THEY DON’T. Because it all hurts.
Everything. Fucking. Hurts. Physically, emotionally, spiritually…everything…just…hurts…
Depression is not sadness. Depression is sickness. And it is not a choice. I wish it would die.