I've been going through a bit of a rough time during the past week and a half or so. As many of you have read, my pdoc prescribed me Cymbalta, to take in addition to my mood stabilizer.

I started the Cymbalta and it did not go well. I won't go into it here because I posted on the Drugs forum, but I had to stay home from my internship today because of the symptoms it caused. In addition, I had two panic attacks today.

My T has been so available through all of this. When I first started to get depressed, I called him. He worked really fast, and called my pdoc several times, then contacted me to let me know what the pdoc said, etc. Told me I could call him any time over the weekend to check in if I wanted. (I didn't, but it was a great offer).

Today I called him to let him know about the Cymbalta fiasco. He immediately called my pdoc, then called me back to say that my pdoc made room in his schedule to see me tomorrow.... and on top of this, T says..... after you see the doctor tomorrow, I'll make some time so we can talk for 20 minutes or so, or at least have a half-session.

Now, I am a bit apprehensive about my pdoc appt. tomorrow. Because there is nothing more to be done. No more AD's. I can't afford to be %#@&#! around with meds and missing out on my work. No %#@&#! way.

And as for my T, he has been so available for me, but I am still having trouble dealing with it. I have so many mixed feelings going on in regards to this availablility and repeated contact with him. Part of me feels guilty, as if I am bothering him. Like he is thinking, "Oh %#@&#!! What does she want now? Can't she just take the meds, suck it up, and shut her mouth?" Then part of me gets enraged at him when I speak with him on the phone and he does not say the exact things that I wish he would say.

Of course I am going to talk about this with him. I don't think I will get to tomorrow-- I'll probably have to wait til Friday. I'm sure that when I see him tomorrow, the short session will be focused on what when with the pdoc, and my response to that.

I hate this crap. The whole day laying on the couch. That's not me anymore. Two panic attacks. No. I have %#@&#! to do all the time, and I have been able to work it so that my crap exists, but mostly alongside of what I need to do--- not within it-- not so that it interferes with it. I pushed myself so hard this morning. I got up, I showered, I got ready for the internship. I kept having to sit on the floor while getting ready cause I felt like I was going to pass out. But I pushed the %#@&#! out of myself, got in the car, went to the store, picked up a few things, and got back into the car.... and realized there was no way. I felt so horrible, could barely stand. I am so mad at myself. My husband told me to stop being mad at myself.... think of all the things I accomplish on a daily basis... that something was very wrong today... and it was necessary to stay home. I feel like a loser. Like I crapped out. Or maybe I should have known better, and shouldn't have taken the stupid medication to begin with.