Maybe I Had Too Many Apples

It’s been a couple weeks since I updated last. I’ve been having difficulties getting words to line up right in my mind and there’s been somewhat of a dearth of material to write about on top of it. Work and stress, dashes of greatness and a whole lot of mental fuckery.

I’m not sure exactly what kicked it into gear as fully and intensely as it has been, but I’m willing to bet it started with my having an emotional break-down in Montana. It was a vacation in the sense that I did fun things with a long-time friend in a place that wasn’t home, but it was also so intense for me. Emotions I thought I had processed three years ago, when I lost my grandparents, apparently had simply laid dormant, waiting for the right stimulation to bring them out again.

Couple that with my returning just to have the anniversary of my grandmother’s passing land on a particularly stressful work day, and my mind has been in a state of overdrive for the last few weeks. This has happened before a few times over the years. When it does, it usually culminates in my ruining friendships and relationships, pushing away the people l care about. Lo and behold, that exact thing started to happen again, except this time, someone made a point of driving home what I was doing.

I need help. I need help compartmentalizing my emotions and being less anxious and being content with who I am and what I’m doing with my life, and that help can’t fall exclusively on the shoulders of my friends. It’s exhausting for them and overwhelming, and not only is it not fair to them, it only serves to placate me for a while until the cycle inevitably starts over.

I reached out to my work and found out that they provide five sessions with a local psychiatric provider for free through an Employee Assistant Program. After those five sessions, I expect to be able to continue going at least twice a month. I want to better myself so I can be better with the people I care about.

Today was my first session, and I really like him. He’s a little eccentric, but laid back and good-humored. Hell, our session started when he greeted me on crutches and said, “You’re not allowed to laugh at me.” What else could I say but, “Likewise”?

A few other choice exchanges:

“Are you on any medication?”
“Does whiskey count?”
“You wrote whiskey with an e here, so not scotch, then?”

“I don’t know, fuck.”
“That’s Doctor Fuck to you. I went to school and earned that.”
“Pardon my language.”
“There’s nothing wrong with ‘doctor’.”

On describing bi-polarism:
“It’s like Ben and Jerry’s. 32 flavors of bipolar but it breaks down into mania vs hypomania. Are you familiar with the difference?”
“I’m not.”
“It’s like MGD vs Miller Lite. Same great flavor but not as filling.”

At no point did I feel scrutinized or ashamed to be there. In 60 minutes of mostly asking questions to get to know me, we touched on several issues that are typically very sensitive for me. For once, I felt like it was okay for me to be not okay because someone was going to help me fix it and get better.

I’m still worried about losing some great things in my life, but I left that doctor’s office feeling a bit more in control than I have been lately, and with some advice to get me through the week. This was long overdue. I look forward to keeping this up.


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