Send Midol. And Valium. And more pillows.

****WARNING*****Depressive ranting/whining ahead******
Soooooo.....
If they treat PMDD with antidepressants and you're taking antidepressants can you still have PMDD? I feel like I'm going to die. Or give birth to an SUV. Or die.
At least the fog in my head has lifted. For the last 8 days or so I have been feeling like I did before I started the Cymbalta! Exhausted by the smallest thing, staying in bed and ducking out of meetings to go home. Making excuses about late assignments and calling in sick to Hospice. Wednesday and Thursday I felt like a soap bubble - trembling and fragile and aimless.
Thursday I even left Hospice early. I got there just after the morning meeting and talked to the other social workers and did a little filing... and then I just left. I was going to treat myself - lunch, a manicure, something to fill time that would help me feeeeeeeeeel better. I ended up getting the oil changed in my car. Then I got lunch and read a little.
Friday I just. couldn't. get. up.
I was supposed to be at Hospice again but I felt tethered to the bed.
It took me four hours from the time I woke up until I got in my car. I was just so tired. I got up for a drink of water and went back to bed, feeling like I had weights attached to my arms and legs and head. A little while later I brushed my teeth. Back to bed. Shower. Bed. The husband came home and I was dressed, holding my socks and crying - I got the rest of my clothes on and just couldn't find the energy to sit up and finish. I wasn't sick... but my whole body felt heavy, like there was a special gravity just for me. I didn't even have the energy to sob... just pathetic, quiet tears. I think I scared him. He comes home at 2 in the afternoon and I'm watching a judge show with tears I can't stop running down my face. I stayed in bed for days and didn't knit or eat. He made me eat a pb&j before I left the house on Friday.
It all sounds so ridiculous now - just put socks on, right? Just get up and go, right? But I just couldn't. I can't explain it any better than that.
I didn't even want to knit. I know, right?
Andie and I went to a movie on Friday, so that was a little normal... and today I got up and went to work and did a little more research on my paper (that was due on WEDNESDAY. As in four days ago). I got organized at work and then came home and wrote and wrote and wrote.
Andie (god love her) came by at 4:00 and brought me a soy latte from Starbucks. She stayed for about an hour and then left me to write the rest of the (fucking) paper.
It's done. I should be happy... and I am. I feel like I did a pretty good job, so that's something.
Here's the best part - the paper? It was a literature review on treatments for depression.
Seriously.
The husband is out with his idiot friend celebrating St. Patrick's Day. They both claim to be Irish (year round, not just today). It's sort of irritating.
I told him to call me if he needed me to pick him up... but I hope if he needs a ride he just sleeps it off there. I just can't deal with jolly drunk "Irish" husband. And I really, really can't deal with sad, maudlin, drunk "Irish" husband.
Oh yeah, happy St. Patrick's Day.