So I made an appointment with a therapist yesterday.
Close your mouth – it’s not THAT big a deal.
Okay…maybe it is. It’s no secret the way I feel about therapists. I have three and two of those were a disaster. The third could have probably turned into something but that was during my quit/relapse phase and I wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say. Add to that the therapist that my nephew had when he lived with us that not only robbed us of our money but then refused to assist when we were fighting for custody and…
Well, you get the picture.
But I can’t shake this depression! I’ll go for a few days and be okay (not good…just okay) and then I find myself back into it again. It’s not the crying nonstop (yet) it’s the “I don’t give a fucks” which are far more dangerous. I’m bored. I have no initiative to DO anything and so I stay bored.
If it walks like a duck…then it’s probably a depressed duck.
So yesterday I pulled up the website for my psychiatrist’s practice so I could make an appointment with him and get his opinion when I saw that they just added a new therapist. Hmmm…. I kept reading. Turns out he specializes in addiction, cross addictions and adult children of alcoholics.
Whoa. Rewind. I read it again. Then I called and made an appointment.
THEN on the bus on the way home, I read my Twitter feed (which I only read when I ride the bus which I haven’t done in weeks…just sayin) and there was a post from a website that I frequent called Band Back Together – here’s a blurb from their website
Welcome to Band Back Together, a community weblog open to all, created by Aunt Becky from Mommy Wants Vodka.
Who are we? We’re The Band.
We’re a band of survivors. We’re here to put a face to everything once kept in the dark. We’re here to show the world that you can go through hell and come out the other side.
So, pull up that old tattered leather chair and make yourself a drink. Pull your skeletons from their closet and make them dance the tango. Alone, we are small. Together, we are mighty.
We are all connected.
We are none of us alone.
Share your story.
It’s time to get the Band Back Together.
I can’t read it all the time because frankly, it’s just too depressing. But it gives a voice to people who don’t feel they have one – they do good work people.
ANYWAY, the tweet in question was one on adult children of parents with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. The level of anxiety reading that damn thing created made me cry…on the bus…with other people…not the snotty ugly cry but still. I sniffled all the way home. Hmm…
So let’s recap – 1. new therapist that specializes in the effects of my father; 2. specific post about the effects of my mother = latest brick upside the head from God.
So I’ll go and see what this guy has to offer. I have to do something. I’m not myself and while I’m not opposed to changing my meds, I want to see what a little talk therapy will do before I go that route. I feel like I’m in a rowboat with no oars and so I’m drifting into a storm. My oars – smoking, alcohol, food – have been cast aside and I don’t know how to replace them.
BECAUSE I have no idea how to be “normal”. I have no idea how the non-addicted people of the world process their feelings, thoughts, events, etc. I never learned and I’m tired of relying on other people, substances or meds to do that for me.
Time to get to work. Time to chart my own course.