Maybe it was the fact that Daughter (who is 5 inches taller than I am) was laying across me during her appointment today. Maybe it was the fact that she wouldn't talk. Maybe it was the fact that she's sleeping 13 hours a night and napping during the day. The fact that the xanax experiment resulted in uncontrollable crying might have been part of it, too. Psychiatrist has decided that Daughter has depression and anxiety with her PTSD. She has started her on a low dose of cymbalta. She still hopes eventually to get her off the abilify, as she doesn't think the problem is psychosis as much as PTSD. She wants to see her again between Christmas and New Year's.
I finally lost my patience with Daughter this evening. When we got home, I asked her to take care of the trash and the litter boxes. She is supposed to take care of the litter boxes every night, and the trash is an every Monday night job. She told me to forget it, and that she was never going to forgive me, among other things. Since I was already being accused of being unreasonable, I figured I had nothing to lose. So I finally yelled at her. It didn't help when I discovered she'd gotten ready for bed at 6:00 and hadn't bothered to take a shower. I took care of the trash and the litter boxes. I was quite dramatic about it, too. Mom would have been proud (she was the master of guilt trips).
Daughter has now told me that she's sorry, and no one deserves her. I'm going to call her down for pills and insulin in a few minutes and remind her that I love her because she is my daughter, not because she deserves it. Nothing will ever change the fact that she is my daughter and I love her. I will also point out that life is much easier around here when she does what she is supposed to do. I hope cymbalta is the answer and it begins to work quickly. I will always hope.