Well the psychiatrist was actually really nice, like my therapist said she would be.  I don't know why I thought she'd be so scary and threatening.  She actually told me it was totally up to me what I wanted to do; all she would do is offer me some options and explain why, and she did!  I spent half the time there crying, though I tried hard not to.  She was just so sweet and sympathetic.  Before I cried, she looked into my eyes, and she said in a very understanding voice, "Oh, I see how depressed you feel--I can see it in your eyes."  That's when I started crying.  It felt so sad to know how shitty I feel showed in my eyes!  It also felt good to have someone recognize and validate all the pain I've been feeling.  She said she didn't know if she could help me or not, especially since she thinks the depression was triggered by something in my childhood (which totally freaked me out), but she thought it was definitely worth a try to get me some relief while I worked on stuff in therapy.

So now I'm taking Prozac.  I feel like I've crossed over into the "them" who take anti-depressants.  Just me and my neighbor, and everyfuckingbody taking this stuff I never thought I would take.  I hardly take Advil, much less some mind-changing drug some drug company is making a shitload of money off of.  But here I am.  So far, it's made me nauseous and sleepy and speedy at the same time.  I don't notice feeling any better, but then I also had to deal with the barracuda who just had to come out and check on me when she found out (I had to bill her) I saw a psychiatrist.  She thinks I don't need any meds, and felt free to give me long lectures about it and everything else, in between talking about herself.  I can't tell you how uplifting it was to hear about all the times she was depressed and she didn't take any drugs; she just got herself up and got to work cleaning out a closet, or earning money, or something "productive" no matter how crappy she felt.  Thank the universe she's freakin gone now!!  I'm so glad to have Ricky back to myself again--I hate sharing him with her.