Me and Jose

So I became pretty good friends last night with Jose.  Jose Cuarvo that is.  (Did I spell that right?)  4th of July.  J's family came over.  His best-friend-might-as-well-be-a-brother came over with his wife.  And some limes.  So we drank.  And drank.  And then, when we were thirsty, we drank a little more.  And the thing was, they were only here for about 3 hours.  Was just supposed to be a small BBQ and then a trip to see fireworks.  Well, J took the kids, I passed out.  Nice.  *shakes head*

Today was my session with Dr. C.  And, of course, I woke up totally hungover.  Which shouldn't really be a problem, except that I saw her hungover three weeks ago, the day after Father's Day when I had too much to drink.  I showered and got dressed the best I could between bouts of extreme nausea, forced down some water and toast, and headed out.  Half-way there I get a text from Dr. C that they are painting the office and we can either meet at a local McD's or cancel.  Well, since I have already gone through so much effort, I agreed to the McD's.  Just walking in and smelling all the food made my stomach do more flips-flops then in did during all three of my pregnancies combined. 

Because we were sitting in the middle of a restaurant, I didn't want to launch into a rant about just how bad my depression is.  We joked, a little, about my hang-over, but I don't think that she was really too happy about it.  We talked a little about how my job has gone from 4 days a week to 2, and how financially that has been a challenge.  We talked a lot about J's and my relationship and how I can make some small changes to get it back to where we were.  And just as I thought I was going to be able to fly under the radar and leave without talking about depression, she asks me what was up.  I told her, in as lighthearted of a manner as I could muster.  I just said that I thought the depression was coming back, that I didn't have much of an appetite, that I was secluding in my bedroom more.  And I left it at that.  I didn't bring up the suicidal thoughts, how my mind has begun composing "good-bye" letters again, the numbness that I was feeling.  I think that if we had been sitting in her office I might have, but I couldn't let myself go there in a public place.  She gave me a few things to try and break the isolation and spend a little more time with the kids, and I agreed to try them this week.  We confirmed our date change for next week, and I left.

And now I kick myself.  Why do we do that?  Why do we have the opportunity to sit with someone who is totally focused on us and we don't use it the best that we can?  Why do we, or why do I, choose to stuff what I am thinking and feeling when I know that it will only make things worse?  Dr. C has already told me on more than one occasion that as long as I don't say that I am going to leave her office and kill myself that she will not hospitalize me.  But the fear is already ingrained.  The fear developed from past times I have trusted doctors only to be shipped off to inpatient units for weeks at a time.  The fear that telling someone what is going on in my head makes it more true somehow.  It also feels like it is my little secret, and I don't know that I want to share it.  Sounds weird, and I don't know if I am even explaining it right.

Anyway, 6 more days until I get to meet with her again, and I am hoping that by that time either the depression will be better or I will be able to be honest.  Because I know that keeping the secret will one day kill me.