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).
Honestly I envy you the chair or couch across from your psychiatrist versus the hunt and peck challenge of finding a psychologist who isn't literally afraid of the several diagnosis I've been labeled with. My shrink is only what one would consider my "legal drug dealer".
It may not make it better for you, but it should make you see how much easier it is for you. :)
Blessed Be!