I woke up feeling grumpy this morning. Grumpy, not depressed. I don't think that any type of treatment could ever turn me into a morning person.
Treatment was at 9:30 today. I put in my earplugs and leaned back in my chair as usual, and Dr. Li put the device on my head. However, it wouldn't start. He played with several settings, and did the famous turn-it-off-then-turn-it-back-on that is supposed to fix everything. Still nothing. He tried to call the Cervel folks, but they're on the west coast, so it was too early to reach anyone. I offered to leave and come back in the afternoon, but he was certain he could get it working.
After a few more attempts, the machine finally came on. I didn't love the idea of something working on my brain that hadn't been working at all a few minutes ago, but I've come to trust Dr. Li's knowledge and since he was okay with it, I was okay with it.
Today, I had the brilliant idea of bringing a book to read during treatment. I don't know why it took me so long to think of, except that I'm slow to start any new book. I had to hold the book at an odd angle that was slightly tiresome to the arms, but it was so worth it. Anyone doing this treatment, bring a book! The time went by much more quickly. I'm now reading 37 minutes of Tommyknockers per day, which I think will fill my remaining 4 1/2 weeks nicely.
After treatment, my grumpiness was increased, probably by the extra time spent waiting to start treatment. I got in the car to go volunteer at Habitat, but I just didn't feel nice enough to deal with people. Instead, I headed to Michael's to look for some craft items.
During the drive, I had a strange sensation. I'm used to thinking of suicide. I go through phases where I'm attracted to different methods. For a long time, I obsessed with overdose, until I tried it with horrible results. Hanging has been my preferred fantasy for a year or more, sprinkled with occasional thoughts of gunshot. But today, I imagined being strangled by someone else. The thought came so quickly and clearly that I grabbed my neck in startled response. It passed just as quickly, but left behind an uneasy feeling.
I returned to the apartment, suddenly exhausted. I took more than a nap, it was a deep and nightmare filled sleep. I awoke feeling disconcerted. Needing something to do, I went to the Habitat store, but it was late enough in the day that they didn't need any volunteers. I then went to give plasma, as I often harp on that as being a way to earn money when all else fails and you're desparate enough. I try to practice what I preach (I'm not desparate, but a little extra money never hurts), but the plasma place would only accept donors with proof on in-state residence. So, back to the apartment.
The hard part of this treatment isn't sitting in the chair for 37 minutes everyday. The hard part is figuring out its successes and failures. Are my nightmares and exhaustion from the treatment, or just random experiences? Are my good moods the result of a sunny day at the beach, or from a tapping on my neurons? I know that it will take time to see any real, lasting changes in my depression. This artificial environment that I'm living in now - away from home, responsibility, work, dog licks, friends, and everything else that makes my world - makes it even harder to judge my progress.
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