Mental Bankruptcy

Okay so MOST of today went rather well.  I slept a huge chunk of it away - nothing could go too wrong with THAT particular coping mechanism (unless you count the pigment dye happy face decorating our laminate flooring by my concerned 7 year old).  I tried to get out into the sunshine for a while by suggesting to the girls that a walk to the park would be "so wonderful". Fail.  Too chilly, too far, too boring (the really COOL park requires 4 wheeled transportation in order to access) and too much of an interruption from Webkinz.  I took a shower - twice, because the first time I got all the way out and halfway dry before I realized I actually forgot to wash!! By 4:30 I was calling DH at work hoping he would be coming home soon so I could...I don't really know why, I guess it was just something to do; a way to make contact with someone, ANYONE outside the house.  By 6:00 he was home and I had accomplished washing one sink of half the used cups in the house. I called the pharmacy just before he got home to find out my prescriptions expired 500 days ago, so I have to see the doctor to get a refill.  That figures.

By 7pm I am stop-n-go crying (and scaring the crap out of my DH because he never knows how to deal with me when I'm like this) so I go up to the hospital with the intention of finding some  non-habit forming but effective method of medicinal normalcy.  The doctor on call (who used to be my family doctor 7 years ago) thinks he knows me through some parents group (uhh... not unless you count the 'giving birth' child group).  Part way into my evaluation he declares that in addition to him "hoping" to remember to make a referral for me to the visiting psychiatrist, he will try to call in a prescription to my regular pharmacy tomorrow "if (he) remembers".  2.5 hrs later I am armed with a paper prescription for the same old medications - all of which will take no less than 14 days to make any difference.

Assuming there's anything left to make a difference with.

*sigh*

At the moment I can't really pinpoint  how I feel.  I stare at the screen, scraping out sentence after not-necessarily-connected sentence.  It's as though there is literally nothing going on inside my brain.  It's too tired to make sense of the emotions.  I know it has to be working because otherwise I couldn't be writing this. All I can think is that this must be the mental equivalent of being financially bankrupt - nothing left in the bank and still having to scrounge something up from nothing in order to function at the most basic level.

Tune in (tomorrow?) for the next installment....