Well, I lost the battle but at least I can say I know the war isn’t over yet.

Today kicked me in the teeth.

I’m hitting some sort of bottom with my depression. Obviously, my old meds aren’t working the way they are supposed to and I’m not holding it together. This morning between dropping the kids at school and leaving for work I spent 30 minutes curled up on the floor crying uncontrollably. Putting one foot in front of the other just suddenly became too hard. I couldn’t do it anymore.

After work and before picking my kids up from school I went to see my PCP to get a referral to a psychiatrist. I spent a fair amount of time there crying also. Now I’m waiting on a referral from their office and even though I know the psychiatrist I want to see I don’t have an appointment yet. I’m looking at the week after next to be seen. Hopefully.

The hurdles we have to jump over when we are already this far down are borderline absurd. Countless phone calls, referrals, waiting for appointments, etc. That’s hard enough when you’re healthy but with depression it just seems like a cruel joke.

“Oh, you have an illness that makes accomplishing small tasks seem Herculean? You have an illness that makes taking care of yourself overwhelmingly impossible? That’s ok. We’ll help. But here’s a list of 15 things that you have to do first. We’ll help once you do all of that yourself.”

Sorry if I sound bitter.

I know I’m better off than most people. My husband made the appointment with the PCP for me. He researched therapists to call. I’m not that alone.

After I dropped my daughter at tennis after school I called my husband. He asked me what I wanted to eat for dinner and all I could do was cry and say that I couldn’t possibly be expected to make a decision like that.

I couldn’t. I can’t.

He took care of it and got chicken and salad and the restaurant included a side order of yellow rice and pinto beans.

Three guesses what I ate for dinner and the second two don’t count.

I also ate 3 packages of fruit snacks. So, wagon, I’m on it no longer.

I keep saying that I need to sort out the food first, but I’m not sure that’s true anymore. This bout of depression feels so much deeper than it’s been before. I don’t remember what it feels like to feel happy. I don’t remember what it feels like to feel anything other than anxiety, despair, and emptiness. I don’t remember smiling unless it was socially expected and so I forced it.

My husband keeps telling me that this too shall pass. I know he’s right but I don’t see it right now. I can’t feel it.

I’m not planning a crazy bender. But then again I never am.

But I do know that I can’t fix the food first. This depression is too deep.

I don’t want to fix the food last either. The consequences of that would be too far reaching.

But, something’s got to give right now. I can’t do it all.

I wish I could forgive myself for not being able to do it all. For failing once in a while.

I can’t fix the food today. I can’t…

I just can’t.