Frequency Changes Have Me F**ked

Here's the deal. During yesterday's appointment my pdoc suggested that we give the weekly appointments the flick and start on monthly appointments instead. The reason why? We have been going nowhere during our therapy appointments apparently since my last hospitalisation. I have apparently shut myself off to therapy. The pdoc is frustrated.

I cannot even begin to describe the thoughts that have been going through my head. One incredibly strong one is to go cold turkey on all my medications. I realise that it is going to be difficult initially, but there really is no point to taking them. Its not like I have a real psychiatric illness like schizophrenia or bipolar disorder.

Aside from having a major death wish at the moment, I want to be myself again. I want to have a sense of self. I want to feel again, regardless of whether those feelings are toxic or euphoric. I want to be able to remember things properly. I'm not going to achieve these things through medication. I wonder if it was through the medication that I lost them. Before medication I had emotions and feelings. I used to be able to cry to let my feelings out. I never self harmed (apart from a couple, incredibly superficial times here and there when I was a kid). I don't remember ever dissociating. So what is the point of continuing on with the medication if it, in fact, has made things worse.

The cessation of weekly appointments has also confirmed my thoughts about therapy. It doesn't work. There will be no time when, all of a sudden, I will realise that life is worth living. There will be no cathartic moment. Therapy doesn't change a thing. The underlying sadness that I have lived with all my life is not going to go away. I only have two choices. Get used to that fact and just live with it or do something drastic to make everything go away. To be honest, I don't know what to do. I don't know if I can live like this for another 40 years until I finally snuff out due to old age.

So where does all this leave me? I'm probably overreacting. People become used to therapy and the (dubious) hidden support received through it, right? Maybe I am only reacting like many other people would when faced with the same situation. It doesn't make it right though. Overreacting like this is f**ked. Therapy doesn't work, so what is my problem?

I'll tell you what the problem is. Deep down, somewhere inside of me I held out hope. I wanted therapy to work. I wanted that moment of realisation that life could indeed be worth living. Facing up to the realisation that I will never have that moment is devastating. What the hell do I do now?