Phhewww...I'm really not even sure where to start on this one.
Some of you might be aware that I've been grappling with depression for a very long time, now. Too long. By the time I was 18, I was experiencing what I now realize was major depression. I've a history of minor depression/dysthymia going back even further than that. In the last 5 years, and particularly in the last 12 months, it has compounded into an extreme depression that I don't even really know how to convey. I had a significant ... breakdown a few months ago that I still can't fully explain or understand.
All I know is that ever since, I've a feeling like I'm coming apart at the seams. I've just been going through the motions ever since; just barely holding it together for the sake of I don't know what. For the sake of others, I guess. And because I still fear death. But lately I've begun to question the limits of my endurance. I've always been amazed at how there seem to be no limits. Whenever I've felt like I can't possibly feel any worse and that I can't bear any more, I've discovered that not only can I feel worse, I will feel worse, and that in spite of everything, I'll just take it all on and keep shambling through this miserable existence. But I'm not so sure, anymore. I've had to put down some impulses to hurt myself lately that were just a little too real and required just a little too much effort to dismiss. It's not that I was actually going to, but I can see how I could if the scales tipped just a little further.
I don't really talk about this. Even with my therapist, my parents, I've pulled my punches just a little bit. Padded the truth. This isn't the kind of thing you want to inflict on other people. And really, what do you say? There's not a good way to tell someone who loves you, "I was standing in the breakfast room the morning, and a wave of despair came over me such that I was nearly overwhelmed by the sudden urge to pick up a chair and throw it full-force through the window". I don't think Hallmark makes a card for that.
That's all a bit more than I meant to say, and I'm sure you're wondering what this has to do with the title.
Long story short, I have some appointments set up, the first on this Tuesday, for a series of SPECT (single photon emission computed tomography) scans. Pretty much they're going to shoot radioactive metal into my blood and see what happens. It's kind of like an FMRI ... only with gamma rays coming from inside my brain.
Ok, so that's laying it on a little thick, but that is the basic idea. From this baseline (non-medicated) scan, we'll hopefully be able to tell whether anything they prescribe, you know ... actually does anything. I'm not actually worried about the procedure or even the radiation. What does concern me is whether or not any of this is actually going to help. The usefulness in the context of actual treatment is somewhat controversial, and honestly I'm not totally sold on it myself. But I don't know what else to do. I'm running out of options. I could rattle off a couple dozen medications I've been on over the years, and perhaps a couple of those have provided at most a minor benefit. As I told my therapist, minor isn't going to cut it. A minor improvement over depression turned up to 11 is no way to live. I'm sorry, but that's just the plain, ugly truth that no one wants to hear.
If this doesn't work, the only thing left are the really insane treatment options, like ECT. You know that guy from Memento? Granted, that hardly ever happens but yeah, that could be me. And then there's tripping balls. Seriously.
So, there's that.
