So here I am at the end of my second week(I think) of once-per-week treatment. Maybe my scalp loses its tolerance for the woodpeckering, but I came out with a headache, along with the usual neck ache. Honestly, TMS Australia, buy Glen Waverley the same neck bolster that Narre Warren have. I’m having to get weekly head, neck, and shoulders massage with my massage therapist to deal with the tension.
I have sent TMS Australia a request for the brilliant neck bolster, but so far, no action. The last purchase they made for Glen Waverley was a plain white waist-high cabinet to store the pillow covers in. By the way the doors don’t come together that well, I daresay it wasn’t an Ikea buy, but the Reject Shop.
Aaaaannyway, me. I am still holding steady with the depression, or the non-depression, or whatever this state is. I’ve said previously that I thought it would be ‘more’. I’m mostly in a non-sad state, just cruising along. No big swings either way. It’s still hard for me to identify emotions, and I think it always has been. It’s hard for me to recall how I felt about events in the moment. Autism? Inherited mild depression? Just born that way? Can I blame my astrological chart, with lots of Capricorn?
Whatever the case, I’m in neutral most of the time, so writing emotional poetry is hard for me. I….know how I felt about someone, how angry I’ve been. But happiness, joy? Slippery at best. Perhaps this leisurely life I lead, full of writing, reading, walks, fitness attempts, currently painting bits of the house, watching nature – maybe that’s contentedness.
A large gang of cockatoos are flying past my house. I thought post-TMS acute treatments would be me being as loud and as excitable as a cockatoo. Or as chatty and cheerful as a rainbow lorikeet. Mostly, it’s me, quiet, pottering, and not having suicidal ideation. It’s me not thinking everything too hard, and that the only way out is death. That death would be a nice rest.
The anxiety – well, sigh, it’s there. Yesterday was a busy day, and I ended up fried at the end of it. Brain and body are slow today, and the only reason there’s not generalised anxiety chatter going on, a whole row boat of ‘shoulds’, is that I’m simply too bloody tired, and have given myself permission to do not a lot today.
TMS works for me, and I’m holding steady at one treatment per week. I think the eventual plan is to go to one treatment every two weeks, but I have once a week booked in until mid-September. In half an hour, I’ll be taking a phone call from one of the in-house psychiatrists for a review.
Next week, I start art therapy, and I’m looking forward to that. There’s a whole lot of stuff inside that all the talk therapies in the world aren’t shifting, and I’m fed up with lugging all this junk around. Let’s see if art therapy can get at the places talking can’t.
Until next week, TMS-curious folx.