Okay, it’s been two weeks. I think I’m ready to sketch the bones, but I don’t want to go into too much detail, because… well, because a lot of it’s still too raw, and because I might say something unfortunate that could have bad consequences later.
Backstory: our youngest is 18, so we’ve been talking about moving to a smaller place. Two weeks ago, on Saturday night, he came into my office and said he didn’t think we should look for a place together. And you know, I thought that thing about suddenly going cold was a metaphor? But I really did go cold, from one second to the next: I felt like my lungs were coated with ice.
He said a number of other things, that he’s not thinking divorce, just a separation and we can keep the joint accounts, and something about the house … And that there’s another woman. I don’t remember much of it. I cried a lot, and eventually he went away and I went to bed and cried some more.
The next morning he left for the apartment he’s renting in Cologne because he has a fellowship there this semester (hang on – is that really why he rented it?), and I alternated crying and sleeping in 3-hour (or so) stints until Monday afternoon. Then I had to get up because I had appointments to cancel.
I called a therapist (not my therapist, she retired in November) and she can’t take new clients now, but she gave me an emergency appointment for 4:30 that afternoon. I’d been hoping she could squeeze me in the following week sometime, because I really wasn’t ready to get up and get dressed, but I did it anyway. She referred me to a psychiatric clinic right near where I work. I said okay, I’d check it out. She said, “Will you really?” I said probably not. So she called for me and told me I had to show up in person. I promised to get Thing Two to take me in the next day (Tuesday, the, um… 16th).
That turned out to be a good decision because there was a lot of runaround and waiting and I wanted to bail but he wouldn’t let me. And they admitted me, and that brought a set of problems that I’m not ready to go into right now. They put me on antipsychotics for a week, which seems weird. I think if I were psychotic I’d be, I don’t know, peppier. They made me feel sedated but not less anxious – my brain was still a jar of angry wasps, I just couldn’t do anything about it.
So now I’m on sertraline (Zoloft) in the mornings, and quetiapine (Seroquel) at night so I can sleep, but my roommate has a two-year-old who was sleeping through the night, but now he’s teething so two nights ago he was crying every couple hours, and last night he graduated to coughing and vomiting. His mother is so apologetic, but it’s not her fault, or his, poor grummits. Still, it means the sleeping-pill is basically useless and I might as well not be putting that stuff in my system and risking the side effects for nothing.
And that’s all I’ve got right now. I’ll try to put up a FAQ soon. Because when this happens, you get a lot of questions.
Song du jour of the day: nothing. For once, my head is without music.