The other day I went to a psychiatrist (or psychologist, I can’t remember which) not because I am a nut-job but because frankly, I needed someone to talk to. I have many people in my household who are always willing to listen, to offer advice, observations and hugs. What I don’t have in my house is someone who will not be scared, hurt or freaked out by anything that I say. I know that sounds like a strange request but…when you are mourning the loss of your own life, you don’t really want to tell the people you live with all about it.
Obviously I am still living and breathing but I am not the same person that I was five years ago, two years ago, two months ago. In December, the day after Christmas. I leaned slightly to the left to smooth my daughter’s sheet. As I straightened up, I heard and felt a now familiar pop. That pop ended my thriving part-time business. It ended my ability to drive to my mom’s house and back unafraid. It ended my ability to function in any way resembling my old self. I am now officially fully disabled. I am now on those medications that I turned away so many times in an attempt to retain myself and what remains of my health. I am now what I always feared becoming. Needless to say, it felt as though a part of me had died. So…I went to a psychologist hoping that she would offer some kind of pain therapy program. A place where people dealing with similar conditions come together and discuss methods of coping and improving their situation. I don’t just want to wollow I want to move forward. Apparently, there is no such thing in my area.
If I lived in San Diego or Riverside, yes. But living just out of reach of both of those areas leaves me without resources. What she did offer is this: 1. A regular meeting with a psychologist to discuss my potential depression 2. A co-dependency group therapy meeting where I could listen to other people with problems she acknowledged are not at all like my own and possibly learn to love myself just as I am (Let me pipe in here and point out that I am the least co-dependent person I know) 3. drugs and lots of them cause antidepressants are apparently the answer to everything that ails you these days 4. Regular meetings with a councilor to discuss how well or how little all of these costly meeting and medications are helping me. Needless to say…I passed on all of these options.
I have no problem with councilors, psychologists and antidepressants but in this case, she acknowledged that she did not have the resources I needed, i.e. a pain therapy program, so instead she was going to use a shot gun approach and throw everything else at me. I know myself. I am not clinically depressed. I am in need of coping skills and positive action to recover pieces of myself. So…instead of all of this bull shit I elected to join a Yoga and Tai Chi therapy group. This way, I get out of the house, get carefully active and take a step toward positive self awareness and communion with my God and my inner strength. A much better option if I do say so myself. More details to follow.