The tide has risen again

Will the scars I create on the outside ever help heal the scars on the inside? This is what I'm wondering as I stare at the razor blade in front of me. Am I too wounded inside and out to ever be healed?

The tide of hopelessness has washed over me again. Driven in part by medications that don't work, a lack of sleep, failing physical health and today trying to face the two mental health workers that I've enlisted to help me on a journey I'm not so sure I ever had any intention of really making.

Ms. N and I discussed the lack of connection I have with people and hope, things we've talked about before. There's really no talking to me when my mind is set on death. It becomes all consuming and nothing makes it past the wall of negativity. Even though outwardly I can portray that everything is ok, even complete small tasks, my head is screaming one thing...DIE.

Somehow she mentioned being in the hospital. I don't remember under what context though. Don't recall her saying I should go. I do know I told her I don't belong there and then our session seemed to be over. It was as if I wasn't present for most of it but yet I know I was.

Then it was off to the pdoc's office. Having a little spare time on my hands before the appointment, I stopped across the street at the hardware store. I know I shouldn't have gone in there. I imagine the urge that forced me in must be similar to the urge that forces a drunk to have another beer or a drug addict to shoot up again. I knew exactly which aisle to head to. Knew that the price would be less than $1.50. I told them not to bag it. I needed to feel them in my hand.

The pdoc wasn't much help. I told him I was severely depressed and wasn't sleeping. Couldn't even hold back the tears. He offered to put me on a new drug that has come out called Emsam. Said it's an MAOI that is in patch form. Since it's not being ingested, there aren't the strict dietary restrictions as with oral MAOI's. He knew little about the drug without reading information from the pamphlet. Given that he doesn't know much about it and that it's so new, chances that Medicare or Medicaid will pay for it are slim and none.

So I asked before leaving, is this the last hope? He mentioned possibly trying some older meds I'd never heard of, but from the tone in his voice he didn't seem confident they held any promise for me. I sat in my car and cried afterwards. Afraid to leave, afraid to move, afraid to accept that I might just be beyond help.