Today I met with my psychologist M. We were meeting weekly for the first month of this episode, this time it was 10 days in between sessions, and next time it will be two weeks in between. It’s important I not become too dependent. Which kind of sucks because my hour with him is an outlet that has been unsurpassably valuable. Crucial even. And if I could see him weekly, I would. Alas, he’s not in private practice, it’s public health care.
I digress. I had a good session. How does one identify a good session? Well, each session is bound to be different, but for me, I like it when I come to some realization that I hadn’t thought of before. Or when M helps me to see that there are other ways of looking at things. This past 6 weeks have been hard, because of the depression. When you are down in the depths of hell, it’s hard to come to realizations. I would just go into my session and cry. And beg for relief from pain. And M would tell me it would get better and I wouldn’t believe him because I had no hope.
Today was different. Today I believed him.
The wellbutrin is making me overly agitated, so I’m taking the clonazepam again, because I think that my GP will tell me to do that anyway. M told me that I am the expert on my body, and that we WILL come up with the right combination of meds. He sees a difference in me. He has faith.
And I believe him. Even if it’s only for a few hours, or a day, it’s a nice feeling.
And Sesame Street bandaids make me feel better about scratching the shit out of my arm. Yes, there have been elements of self-injury. But it’s not a road I want to go down, and it didn’t give me the release I thought it would anyway. I just felt guilty for doing it. I addressed it in session today, and I will be working on it.
Today I have hope.