I had three doctors appointments this week and today I was reflecting not just on them but on the past month.
You know now sometimes you don’t notice how bad something really was until you’re not suffering from it anymore? The awfulness just sorta crept up and even when I knew I needed help I don’t think I was admitting to myself just how bad it had really gotten.
When I look back at where I was a little over a month ago, I shiver to think that I’m a mere layoff away from not being able to afford the doctors I have.
Last night I was back in the office of my psychiatrist, where it all started, updating him on the various other doctors and the medication and I got to do something I found really joyous.
I got to tell him that it was all working.
I got to tell him that the medication was doing everything we asked it to, with minimal and manageable side effects. That I felt that the psychologist he refered me to really did “get” me and spoke to me in terms that really resonated with what I know of myself. That I was sleeping well and feeling optimistic and feeling like I had more time, now that so much of my day wasn’t spent being chased around by my own anxiety. That I felt productive and in control and …….. like myself again.
And back when I told him what a wonderful little life I had, and how wasteful it felt to be living it without the capacity to enjoy it? That I was back to enjoying the hell outta this life I worked so hard for.
That we’d each done our jobs and that by golly it was payday.