I’m going to revert for a moment from my new focus on health/exercise. Not because I’m stopping being proud of the improvements I’ve made. I can now fit in most of my “skinny clothes” w/o bulging in new and unsettling ways. I’m in the best condition, both physically and emotionally that I’ve been since my Husband’s diagnosis 5 years ago. 5 years. Its hard to accept that time has moved on that far. There are moments it feels like just yesterday, and other moments when it feels like another lifetime. Both feelingsare true. Since I started my prozac last month, I feel a lot better. I feel more calm overall. I still do NOT like certain high-risk (percieved) situations, and they trigger anxiety inside my head, but without much bleed through to where anyone could tell my brain is exploding with terror. Ativan helps with this. I hate to use it, but I have used it 3 times this month. Since my Pdoc says I can safely use it 2x/dy, I’m not overly concerned with it’s use.
I’m doing pretty well overall. Happier than I’ve been in years, which may be a sign of just how bad my depression really was. I’m still grieving, the medication doesn’t affect that, it does, however mitigate the profound depression and apathy that had accompanied my grief, and allows me to be mostly happy. My grief, without the depression, is tolerable. I can miss my husband, even as I smile at the thought of his reaction to me running, which is a BIG change in my lifestyle and interests.
I’m less irritable, and resent people less for continuing to live. I’m ok. I promised him I would be, and much to my own shock I’m going to be ok.