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I saw my psychiatrist yesterday, just to check in with how I'm doing.  I came away with a new antidepressant.  Good news, bad news.  I knew that something had to be done.  I've been having significant symptoms of depression since my surgery, though I don't cry as much as I did the first five weeks.  I've been unable to concentrate, not interested in food, sad, tired.  I've lost about ten pounds since before the surgery.  I'm still in some pain and I think that I tend to cry when I'm in that part of the day (after 11:00 a.m.). 

On the other hand, my goal is to decrease the amount of medication that I'm on.  I will probably never be able to completely stop taking antidepressants.  The years and years of repeated, intense trauma have left an indelible mark.  There's a genetic tendency for depression in my dad's family.  Well, there's a genetic predisposition for just plain crazy in my dad's family. 

I'm okay with that.  I'd just like to not have a handful of pills to take every day.  That won't be happening for a while yet.  I just have to work on taking care of myself, physically and emotionally. I have to continue to eat, whether or not I feel like it. 

I haven't felt like eating in a very long time.  My doctor asked me if there was some way to make food more palatable.  The answer is no.  I may be hungry and I may be having something I generally like, but once it's in front of me, I completely lose interest.  I can't continue to lose weight. 

All of these drugs take a toll on my budget, too.  To quote another Texas girl, "It's expensive being me."  In so many ways.