So, after losing several hours of sleep last night in the usual manner, I started my Zoloft this morning. "The" Zoloft, I don't want to seem too attached to it. I'm worried about it -- I hate pills, hate the idea of dealing with all the side effects I've heard so much about over the years. I sincerely hope this phase won't last more than a year.
I was diagnosed first with generalized anxiety disorder, and then PTSD, years ago. I've learned a number of mostly-reliable coping mechanisms, and my condition is not nearly as intrusive as that of some people. I know what sets me off, and for the most part I'm able to manage my life so that anxiety only intrudes on my daily function in predictable and manageable ways.
The depression that has settled on me over the past year has been more difficult to handle -- I don't have a means of addressing it, apart from exercise during that part of the year when I like to be outdoors. (I'm not keen on winter activities, apart from shoveling, so November through March is low-activity for me. This year I lost my bike time a month or more early, due to my son starting kindergarten --- but I have a plan for dealing with that next school year.) Gradually every aspect of my life has been sucked into the void -- a growing sense of helplessness and confusion, and despair. I find myself in tears for no reason, in the middle of the night, or the middle of the afternoon. I just can't find my bearings.
I'm loath to talk with anyone about this, at any length, because while I completely accept the need of others to manage mood disorders with medications and therapy, I just hate the idea of doing it myself. And I fear all the stereotypes and assumptions that seem to apply. I was reluctant to explain the situation to my husband and did so only after getting the prescription filled -- and have asked him not to make any comment that are less than supportive. He has never fully accepted the legitimacy of depression as a disorder, and refuses to acknowledge his own emotional dysfunctions, so it has never been easy to discuss emotional realities.
The pill has I think made me feel heavy this morning -- more exhausted than I need to feel. The doctor warned me that the first two weeks would be like this. I'm an anxious depressed, rather than an unmotivated depressed -- getting out of bed hasn't been my problem, so much as staying in bed when I should be there.
Oops, in-laws are here. Gotta go.