Here’s something I’ll bet you didn’t know about me: I have a psychiatrist AND a psychotherapist. Yep. I’m a big-time mess.
I have dealt with depression all my adult life. It runs deep in my family. If you look me up in DSM-V I am 296.32 Major Depressive Disorder Recurrent. It’s kind of reassuring to know that my problem can be categorized and given a numeric code. It’s much less nebulous than “feel like shit all the time.”
I’ve been on Prozac for about 27 years and on Wellbutrin for 8 years. My symptoms have been getting out of hand so I”ve lately been seeing a psychiatrist to help adjust my medication levels. It only took him about 45 minutes to suggest that I see a therapist as well, to help with my “cognitive issues.” I guess I should’t be smiling so big as I type this, but the very idea of having cognitive issues kind of cracks me up.
So today is therapy day and I have very mixed feelings about it. One the one hand, if it helps I am all for it. On the other hand, I dread mucking around in all the unpleasantness that I have rather successfully suppressed.
Among the things that I will be discussing today is, yes, loosing my Vox family. I’ve decided that I am not ashamed that the internets are part of my non-professional support network. I think that it is only normal to feel a little panicky about such a big part of my internet interaction is being snuffed out.
The Internet Does Not Love You
I know that the internet does not love me.
But the internet, like Soylent Green, is people. And I’ve gotten to love some of you people quite a bit.
Sixbucks' Sad-Sack Hotel 