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Most people with bipolar disorder are big on therapy. I’m not, but I’ve dutifully been seeing the latest therapist for 5 months now. We’re looking at moving to much less frequent sessions because when my meds work well, I’m pretty self-contained. But sometimes it really does seem to help.

Today was one of those days. I spaced out on my appointment time last week and was going to have to wait another two weeks for an appointment, but I got on the cancellation list and a cancellation came up, so I went in today. And it really did help.

Therapy is supposed to be a private thing, I guess, but I don’t mind talking about it a little. I filled Hippie Dude in on the way the past month went – travel, work stress, and the upset over ADD meds. He said I should have called him immediately, which I didn’t really know. I’ve seen other people say they do that when something big comes up, but he never told me that before.

I spent some time venting about the whole stupid situation, the issues with the med changes and side effects. At this point, I’m already having a hard time driving because I get distracted and then realize the car is pointed at the bridge railing instead of in the lane. I miss my turns, get lost all the time, miss stop signs and traffic light changes – it’s really kinda pathetic. Under normal (medicated) circumstances, my driving is just fine. So I went off on it for a little while, and then he distracted me with talk about the trip to the UK to calm me down.

Then we discussed what to do next. I’m planning to keep the appointment with Dr. Suspicioustwit in two weeks to see whether he’ll put me back on stimulants. If he agrees or promises to do it if Strattera doesn’t work, then I’ll continue seeing him. Otherwise, I’m going shopping for a new psychiatrist (unless I change my mind sooner.) Hippie Dude gave me a referral to someone he knows takes my insurance in case it seems that Dr. Suspicioustwit is never going to give me any respect.

Besides blowing off some steam, it was good to feel validated. I appreciate the sympathy of fellow mentalists and my hubby, but having a professional verify that the situation is screwed up really made me feel better. Hippie Dude said he doesn’t think I’m lying or that I would sell my meds, and offered to write a letter to Dr. Suspicioustwit to that effect. Not that his opinion carries much weight, he said, but it carries more than mine does (which I understand but find irritating nonetheless.)

After the session, I felt calmer about everything. Maybe the fury is finally out of my system and I can put what little attention I can muster toward more important things. About time.