Getting a consultation with a psychiatrist in about three weeks.  Hopefully he'll be able to put some new light onto my mood and medications and everything.  My doctor did prescribe me more xanax for when I need it, and we figured I could cut them in half to try and make their sedative effect on me less powerful.

The other day I told my parents what happened, which was something I was debating if I should do or not, not because they wouldn't be supportive, but more because I didn't think they would really understand.  And I was kind of right, I think.  I guess it is hard for them, because my acknowledgement of my anxiety and depression has been relatively recent in my lifetime.  While, looking back, I can see how my thought process in high school (and before) and undergrad were manifestations of these issues, and how ex breaking up with me was more the trigger which caused everything to explode, so to say.  Where they saw (see?  I'm not sure, really) my breakup as the cause of all this (and for a while it was a big contributor, but in a way that my thought patterns of self-hate and doubt fueled on it rather than those being caused by it), I know that my breakup was a catalyst, of sorts.

And so it isn't surprising when my mom tells me that I need some of the 'old me' back.  The assertiveness that I had in high school has been chipped away, and the passion I had for things back then seems impossible to revive right now.  But hearing her say that I need some of my old self back is...somewhat damaging, as much as I know she means well.  Because I have always thought that; that I should be how I was.  Hide my self-hate and doubt though aggression and assertion.  And when I hear her say that, I just hear that voice tell me how much better I was when I was younger.  That she would be disgusted with the person I am now and that I let myself down in so many ways.

I did tell her that I can't just wish that back, because that isn't how it works.  I can't just snap my fingers and have all that I wanted in terms of personality and interests.  The other thing is the interest; it is hard for me to explain my interest in so many things and yet my apathy towards it all.  I know, theoretically, some of the things I am interested in.  That if I was healthy, I would get really into and would really like to do.  (Unfortunately for me, that list is still longer than I would like and is also more cross-fields than most people are willing to tolerate, sadly.)  But how I have been lately has contributed to me seeing all of it as grey.  Things I am theoretically interested in and things I know I will never be interested in all blur together; they all elicit the same reaction from me, which is usually a blank stare and a shrug of my shoulders.  That blurriness makes it really difficult to discern what it is I want to do with my academic career and my life.

Which is very stressful when I have a class dedicated to writing the prospectus to your dissertation.