I’m standing in this room full of people, screaming at the top of my lungs, but nobody is listening.
I’m bad at this. I tried to write something out in my notes first, but I’m too rusty. Too out of practice. How do I share my feelings again?
I’m tired. I’m exhausted. And I’m depressed. I’m tired of being depressed, and it’s so exhausting.
Depression is something I can remember dealing with since I was 14. That’s 11 years. I was pretty good at handing it, relatively speaking. It was always there. I always felt it with me. But at least it was mostly just in the background. Music playing on the lowest volume. Pushed to the back of my mind. Lately, it’s center stage. It has the spotlight. It’s like I’m standing in the front row at a heavy metal concert. It’s loud. It’s annoying. And it’s all I can think about.
I’m irritable. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’m hurt. It just all around sucks.
I went to the doctor because I was having trouble breathing everyday for about two weeks. We did breathing tests and a breathing treatment. Nothing. He decided it was anxiety attacks. I didn’t want Xanax, so he put me on a different type of antidepressant. Something stronger, that he thought I would like better. I don’t know if it’s the medicine just not working, and I had become used to relying on that. Or if my depression is getting worse. I. Don’t. Know.
I need to go to a specialist, instead of relying on a general practitioner. But boo.