That's the nuttiest thing of all: a tiny part of me doesn't believe I'm doomed, refuses to believe it, actually. So, yes, I am somewhat curious about the possibilities. I still can't help thinking the odds are stacked against me. For one, I live in a rural area and mental health services are very limited here, so it isn't worth my time or energy to seek out professional assistance at the moment. I'll be moving sometime in the next several months (I can no longer afford to live by myself and am in the process of making alternative arrangements), so I'd rather wait until I'm relocated...though that leaves a lot of time for moping and wallowing in the interim. It makes the most sense, though.

Secondly, and most importantly, good pdocs and tdocs don't accept Medicaid (in my admittedly limited experience, but you hear/read things). I've not only had my own MI burden to deal with, I've had to tolerate bullying, condescension, apathy and incompetence from third-rate mental health professionals who were, allegedly, supposed to help me. Even the hardiest soul would've given up if they'd been the recipient of the kind of "help" I've received. (Yes, I am bitter. Better bitter than believe I'm not worth better has become my catch phrase.) How many times am I supposed to put my hand on the stove and hope the burner isn't on? I've become much too skittish. I don't ever want to go through that again. I can't handle one more bad experience, and that isn't the depression talking. I know what my limitations are.

You mentioned miracles...well, that's what I need. I don't suppose there's a miracle store around here somewhere...I'd sell my soul for one right about now.

I think the best I can probably hope for is to research the meds myself and make an aggressive sales pitch for the ones that seem the most appropriate. Aggressive anything isn't really my style, though. I hate confrontation and don't want to get into a debate with a doctor over a treatment plan. Everyone says you have to advocate for yourself, make yourself heard, demand quality care, but between the depression and social anxiety, how am I supposed to do that?

I'm sorry for unloading, I'm just very, very, very confused. Frustrated. Angry. Fearful. I start thinking about this stuff and it takes on tsunami proportions, comes crashing down on me and leaves my psyche in tattered ribbons. I feel so stuck and hate feeling that way; that's when resignation starts to look appealing.

I love your quote about the energy it requires to appear normal. If only they knew, huh? It's a job in and of itself.

I saw a Mark Twain quote in a magazine today that went something like, The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer up others. You've helped me and I hope, by extension, you've helped yourself a little too.