Today, I had my last psychiatrist visit before I loose health insurance. The good news is that I can still go see him for 15 minute med checks at a reasonable price. I won't go every month, though. I'll see him again in two months. Which isn't bad; I know other people have to wait longer. I did have a little meltdown at the end, though, feeling scared about not having insurance.
And about one other thing; I don't want to feel this way forever.
Mr. Psychiatrist didn't want to change my medication. He thought I was at a relatively good spot, and that things I am doing, like being in the musical and exercising and reading, will do more for me than if he tried adjusting my medications again. My translation, of course, ran along the lines of, what if this is as good as it gets. I agree; I am lots better. I don't want to kill myself all the time, or even much at all. (Stop a moment; that one sentence is worth SO MUCH. And now moving on...) I enjoy parts of each day. The sun has decided that summer can, in fact, finally arrive in my part of the world. My job is going great, I'm in a musical, I have friends, etc.
But there are still moments, each day.
Dr. Psychiatrist agreed with my counselor that I don't need to be worrying about whether or not I have depression, how bad it is or isn't, or if I'm making up the depression or making up the non-depressed part ("that sounds tiring," he said to my description). Yay for my latest most time consuming obsession (really? couldn't it be about something more helpful or rational, like... germs? No, not germs. I like my freedom from them). He said that when people are really depressed, they don't question it; when they have anxiety, they do. After he added on the anxiety part, I did agree; I'll just assume that when I was really depressed and wondered if it was a figment of my imagination, that the anxiety was to blame for that particular concern. Incidentally, that still removes my ability to use his statement as solid proof; as long as I have anxiety, that will mess up the "you won't wonder if you are depressed when you are really depressed" experiment. Add a variable. An uncontrolled variable.
So what would ERP be for this latest, greatest OCD attack (really lousy one, too, by the way, OCD; what kind of creativity is that? Oh, I get it; you are stumping me and that is worth the lack of creativity to you). Would I tell myself that I am not depressed? Immediately I feel depressed. Would I tell myself that I'm just making it up? Way to fuel the scrupulosity mental illness debate. Hmmm, let's call this a loose-loose situation and come up with... Distraction! The psychiatrist said that was a valid tool when I referred to it for dealing with another feeling. Distraction! Should be followed by a picture of firecrackers going off in the night sky... No, wait, those are another - though weakening - anxiety spot.
Anyway, I think that the anxiety has taken up residence as the new mental illness-in-chief. The depression was winning for a long time, but seems to have been superseded. The anxiety isn't so much too acute as it is too persistent. Anyway, Dr thought that my lost feeling or missing the answer feeling or whatever it is feeling might be from the anxiety; he explained that anxiety can make either reality or the anxious person feel not quite real. I don't feel not quite real; I sometimes feel not quite connected to reality. We both still exist, I'm just not grounded right. I'm floating like a kite when I really need some sturdy, stable connection with the ground (and kite string doesn't count, though it is preferable over nothing). Yay for getting an apartment that isn't on the bottom floor.
Now it is time to go home and heat up my sloppy joes. That is my meal of the weak and latest attempt at eating a whole pound of ground beef before it goes bad (thanks to not having a very good freezer; it's great for ice and those flavored ice pops and that's about it). I'm also working on getting my dishes washed, but using the "little bit at a time" coping tool where I "trick" or "bribe" myself to do something by taking just a small piece of the job to do at once. You can all be relieved to know that I cleaned up the dishes from making my sloppy joes. Or maybe just I will be relieved; in a tiny, one room apartment, the cooking smell just hangssssss arounddddd, especially when the window is closed to keep out the heat.