An Honest Tantrum

or as close to honest as I can be...
I just came from my doctor. Had a long talk about my mood which has been having some regression lately. I had an episode last week where I spent 2 days in bed feeling overwhelmed and hopeless. I don't like talking about it because it makes me feel so.. so...unworthy. Which was the problem in the first place. I feel sick and like this is going to go on in this way forever. I haven't done any meaningful work for a year. Something that really seemed to shock the gp.
But my therapists (yes, therapists, I've got 2) don't seem to think this is a problem. One suggests I don't try to force going into the studio (artist) and the other goes as far as to say that recovery should be my job right now. Oh great. Lousy paying job I've got. Of course the perfectionist gremlin pipes up and says, "Well, you're doing a lousy job at that if that's what you're working at!"
I'm so sick of recovery and all that shit. I know I've come a distance. Yadda yadda yaddda...3 years ago I was depressed and unable to work and 300 pounds and hypertensive and diabetic. Now I'm in good health but still depressed and not working. I have been having the odd impulse to paint, but I'm told it's ok if it's not time... No it's not, no it is NOT ok!
How pitiful is this for a life: I go to 2 or 3 OA meetings a week, gym 3 times a week, running group another 2, 2 therapist appointments and try to keep the mess in the house to not too horrible and the most enjoyable part (food, go figger) is cooking good meals so we're at least eating well.
But it's not enough. I'm not enough.
Upshot of all this: my antidepressants got increased.