Of Therapy and Medicines, of Carpenters and Kings

So I owe you folks a post about the cool idea my amazing Texas therapist came up with (that I have not yet implemented), and I want to tell you about my new Seattle psychotherapist, who is doing both my meds and my therapy and who I like a great deal.

First, Therapist Karen's Wonderful Idea

We were talking about how I wasn't accomplishing anything. I have felt slothful (taking a term from Zen Buddhism), which tends to be a frequent mind-state for me and I just choose to give in to that. See? Choice is again the topic here.

So the Amazing Karen came up with the Therapeutic Competition, wherein Productive Skye and Slothful Skye compete to see who racks up the most points for a day and a week. I'm to create a list of tasks and activities to carry out every day, nothing too onerous or crazy. Then, which ever side I choose to follow for that task gets the point. I'm to add them up daily and weekly. The purpose here is to show me very graphically and tangibly how I'm making choices and to encourage me to make more active, productive choices. I think the Competition will help with that … once I actually implement it. So far, Slothful Skye has won hands-down by my not implementing the Competition at all. Sigh.

Second, the new Therapist Michele

I've had two appointments with her this week, yesterday and today, getting the info dump out of the way and getting a start on the medication changes. And deciding that yes, we both think we will work well together.

I like her. I like what she has had to say about her therapeutic practice, and I like her voice. I find her aesthetically pleasing, if that makes any sense.

So yesterday I gave her the forms I'd filled out (LOTS of questions) and answered more questions and told her things I thought were important to know (I've been in therapy off and on, mostly on, since 1984, so there's a lot to say). Today, we got sidetracked onto a few other childhood things, then went back to talking about my medical history, current health, and medications. She put me back on Lamictal (I don't know why my previous psych took me off it, but maybe because I had a feeling-suicidal episode he decided that it wasn't working anymore, even though it had worked well for several years). We will probably up the dose of my Pristiq one pill.

And once things even out on those two meds (although it can take several months for the Lamictal to fully settle in), we will begin decreasing the Xanax. That could take six to nine months because I'm on three milligrams a day and have been for about a year and a half. Xanax is highly habituating, so the body doesn't give it up easily.

So I'm going to see Michele once a week from now on. And I'm going to have at least one more phone appointment with The Amazing Karen. Plus, I'm giving them both permission to communicate about me because Karen can better articulate what we've gone through and the therapeutic concepts much better than I can. I will hate to give up Karen because not only has she done more for me in two years than anyone else has done in more than twice that, she's become a friend and she was the one hug I knew I could get every week, which to an affection-needy person like me meant the world. But Michele is going to be good for me, too. Again, I lucked out in the find-a-therapist lottery.

Depression is Depressing

Well, it's been more than a month since my last post. I really didn't want to write anything, couldn't think of anything to write about. It seemed like too much effort and I really couldn't think of any reason why I should write.

Didn't write about one therapy session, even though it was interesting and my therapist came up with a great idea to try to get me moving again. But I didn't actually follow through on the idea; I just kept think "I'll do it tomorrow, it's too late to start today."

Then another therapy session came around. And I had to explain why I hadn't blogged or followed through. "It sounds like depression to me," my therapist said. Reluctantly, I was forced to agree.

I don't know why I'm depressed. I don't care why I'm depressed. I don't want to be depressed. I've done depressed and I was done with depressed. I pushed any and all thoughts that I might be even a teeny, tiny bit depressed into the furthest corners of my mind. I was not depressed, dammit!

Except that I was. And I am. And I'm so damned tired of being here again and again and again. It all seems so pointless if I'm just going to end up back in the Ol' Slough of Despond yet again.

I'm not going to hurt myself. I'm just really, really frustrated.

Even writing this post is hard, and for me, once I sit down to write one of these posts, they usually just flow out of my head and onto the screen like melted butter. This one? I've put it off and put it off — even with the threat of my dear friend Deb kicking my ass — and writing it is more like trying to chew a thick sandwich of dense bread, chunky peanut butter, and chocolate chips: too much work to even feel any pleasure from the ingredients.

I promise I will write about the cool idea my therapist came up with. Later. Right now, I just wanted to own up to my depression and get a post up.  And hey, I have an appointment with a psychiatric nurse practitioner up here, one recommended by my old NP! So if we click, I will have a new therapist and med psych (all rolled into one, like the ones prior to Houston). So at least there's some good news.

Okay, that's it for now. I'll start working on the one about the cool idea. Thanks for being patient with me.