I like Saturdays, when I don't schedule them too heavily. Today is a free day on my calender, except for that niggling feeling that I might be forgeting something. I've had that for a few weeks now, though, so I think it's just a feeling. Another, "Hi, Anxiety, how are you doing today?" Actually, I was thinking of naming one of the thought-groups Whatif. "Hi, Whatif; I see you came up with a new idea (new as in this month). Whatif I forgot something that I scheduled. Oh, dear. Well, maybe I'd be glad I forgot, because maybe I don't want to do it anymore." (Whatif: "Whatif someone reads this and you had scheduled to be with this someone and now they feel hurt because you don't want to do it anymore.") "Whatif, that's a complicated one. And don't you think it's a bit unfair to qualify forgetting something as not wanting to do something?" (Whatif: "When have I EVER been restricted by FAIRNESS. Not a good comeback.") See how much fun you can have talking to your thoughts and still not qualifying as hearing voices?
Anyway, I slept until after noon. That is a bit late for me. Not too late for today, because I am enjoying my free day, but it might cause a little trouble tonight. It probably has something to do with staying up late last night. Which was also fun and also fine because I decided it was a free night. There were things I could have done, but I chose not to.
Last night I found something that doesn't make sense to say to one's self (I found out by saying it to myself). "I wouldn't have done that if I were you." Well that obviously isn't true.
I seem to be in a good mood. I considered trying to remember the upsetting-to-me things I wanted to write about (because I'm pretty sure I had some)... Oh, now I remembered. My counselor suggested that constantly trying to figure out if I was depressed and how depressed I was might be an OCD issue. She suggested that I don't actually need to know if and how depressed I am. Novel thought. Oh, but I need to know so that we can treat it right. Really? If I get it wrong, I might tell the psychiatrist the wrong information and he might prescribe the wrong medication. My counselor's response? "Dr. ______? Not a chance." So now I know that my counselor has lots of faith in my psychiatrists ability to accurately prescribe medication. Oh, and she or maybe it was someone else used the fact that he had prescribed medication as evidence that I'm not just making my whole mental illness issue up.
But I was going to not try to remember these thoughts and try to enjoy my good mood that has now receded.