Damn. I haven’t written to you since your birthday in February. I’m not sure what that means… Am I healing? Has it been avoidance due to my depression? I can’t say, but in some way I feel like I should apologise.
Today was a big day among the small, dark, horrible days of late. I have been floating on the surface of them like a survivor clinging to a bit of wreck on the ocean. I’ve had good days – well, you know what I mean by ‘good days’ in this situation – and I’ve had bad. I’ve had time with loved guests (Naomi, then my in-laws), and I’m trying to get at least half of what I want to do done each day. Sometimes I manage that, sometimes not. You’re not here to nod or tell me that you know exactly what I mean, so I’ll keep typing.
The big day today: I saw a psychiatrist for the first time in the UK. She’s good. I like her and found it very easy to speak honestly and without reservation. You know me, though- I have the “sharing too much” strapline on my blog for a reason. So I blurted, explained, cried, fidgeted (a lot), and blew through an almost coherent history of me to a stranger. I’ve been sharing too much online and off all my life, so what’s another set of ears, right? Well this set of ears has put me back on Concerta (for combined depression and ADHD reasons) and is keeping me on Citalopram for my anxiety and related depression woes. I made sure to show her my treatment notes from Bill back in 2003, but we’re giving me another go on Concerta, though it was tried and discontinued in favour of Adderall XR all those years ago.
I have to say, I am thrilled to be listened to and heard on my mental health. I am not, nor have I ever been, a well little girl and it only seems to be increasing in intensity as I get older. My new psychiatrist has also added me to the waiting list (NHS-covered, so I wait my turn) for talking therapy. I’m looking forward to that added approach. Hell, I’m good at talking.
There’s more to tell you in other posts, but I’m going to wrap this one up here. I don’t have a lot of energy lately, and after the anxiety-driven roller-coaster of mental stuff today, I’m going to stick to this singular topic for this post.
I’m getting well, Mama. Trying, anyway. You’d be proud.