I made a "visit" today. I could hear myself; my words leaving my mind via my mouth and then re-entering via my ears and into my brain. I am sure she has heard these words ten-million times before. How many eager beavers have sat on her couch spilling their guts.
I am rapid cycling and I have mixed states and the depression just feels worse. I insist on changing my medication, she is patient but knowing and to my dismay my symptoms repeat themselves over and over again. Though I should not be shocked, I have done this many times before.
I told her when we get to our ten year anniversary we were going to take a cruise. We laughed out loud. The heaviness of my heart is lightened when I have a "visit." I think nobody knows me like my shrink, not even my husband. During the "visit" I don't tell her about today's stigma, or my suicidal ideation. What she knows is about turmoil and turbulence and trouble. There is a revolution inside my head. We add a medication and I finish the "visit" with one last mumble with a backdrop of blather.
It is time to go. One hour all about me is over. I don't feel anything remarkable has taken place but as I rise from the couch, I thank her for her time. In essense, I just hope the "visit" will take care of itself.
Peace,
Cynthia,
Author of Life Is Like a Line: A Memoir of Moods, Medication, and Mania (www.LifeIsLikeALine.com-A book that chronicles one woman's determined effort to break the cycle of mental illness).
