Edited from an email I sent earlier to a fellow traveler in recovery:
The depression seems only to deepen and it's too early to tell if the neurofeedback is working (only one session) and I'm terrified that I'll end up in that fun-house of brain meds. I get it that they work, and that it's a possibility that must be not just entertained but embraced should it come to that, but I also get it that medicines for the brain are an inexact and tricky science. They too often don't work quite right, or deliver as many side effects as relief, or that many struggle for months and months with their doctor trying to land on something that actually feels right and good, and while they wait for the balance to be found, they struggle because whatever state your brain is in? THAT'S your goddamned reality for the moment.
And yet, while I wait for whatever it is that's going to work, my family is falling apart around me and I don't trust myself to do or say the right thing, ever, because I don't trust that I could even know what that right thing is given my state of mind. That I'm dysfunctional is an understatement, and while I appreciate that my therapist, or my readers, or my sister, or whoever thinks I'm swell and intelligent and therefore I'll get through this, damage is being done RIGHT NOW. What the hell have I allowed to grow and fester in my family, in my children because of the damage that was done to me? Damage that I didn't, for so long, even recognize as damage. Just something I overcame and patted myself on the back for, only to collapse over and over into piles of rubble under the weight of various new abuses and traumas. Every time, I picked it up, patched things together, and marched on. Marched straight into the same old battle telling myself I would be stronger than the enemy and only just now realizing I can never be stronger than the enemy of myself.
This depression really started three years ago with a double trauma that I've not been able to recover from despite applying all that had worked before. I have grown weary and tired of myself this way. I am disgusted with myself this way. I am angry at Roi, at my ex-husband, at people whose care I was entrusted to when I was too young to know how to defend myself, at the sensitive constitution I was given, at life circumstances, and yes, even my children. But I'm angry at myself too. It doesn't work to tell myself this isn't helpful because there it is. There it bloody is. And it's all arising from a cesspool of sickness and not knowing the right ways of being.
I've been thinking about the ways in which Roi conned me, then slowly eroded my control through manipulation and deceit, and of course I'm angry. I can't convince myself it isn't justified. But I can't ignore either that my thinking was so distorted. That when the first real betrayal was revealed, I let him excuse it. I excused it. And I wondered why he didn't love me more instead of wondering why I would want the love of someone who betrayed in such a way. I punished myself and I punished him, but it never crossed my mind to care about myself. To take care of myself.
And that, THAT is the fundamental problem.