The psychiatrist said she believes, with therapy, she can get me to a point where I have not the lowest hum of anxiety in the background and I’m not having panic attacks but on very rare occasions—nothing like what I’ve been these last few years.

I’m so excited, I just wrote that sentence without a pause of thought.  I’ve had psychiatrists put me on antipsychotics because they didn’t know what to do with me.  In contrast, this woman sat down with me for an hour, looked me in the face the whole time, asked about details of my life without even glancing at her notes.  She isn’t the type to say anything without being able to back it up.

As far as I’m concerned, she’s already proved herself.  I’ve been energetic, even-tempered, and focused for days now, even as I struggle with what might be bronchitis.  When my boss sent me home today because I was obviously feeling seriously sick, I thought for a second, is she upset with me?  Does she hate me?  Is this a sign of something more? But those thoughts were quickly replaced with logic.  I knew the company president had encouraged anyone coughing or ill, and I was clearly both, to work from home.

But last week, that same occurrence would have devastated me for days, if not weeks.

So when Dr. Rivera tells me she can help me live this life without the pain and suffering I’ve been enduring, I listen.  I’ve witnessed the progress firsthand.

I don’t know how long it will last, but she says it’ll only get better from here.  If she’s lying, I won’t be upset.  It’s an impossible task.  If she’s not, and she’s successful for an extended period of time–=all I ask—I won’t know how to repay her.

I know, however, that the more likely scenario, is that I will eventually become accustomed to this dose of the medications, or I will become immune to the effects of the drugs.  It seems inevitable.

Yet I don’t care.  I feel peaceful even when I’m stressed.  I feel so good, I’m giddy.  I think I’ll start dating women again, start expanding my thoughts through reading.  And I’m going to go the city next weekend no matter what.  I’ll figure out the night’s events when I get there.  I just want to discover and play.

I want to enjoy it all.  I want to have fun.  I want to feel my age.  I think this is what satiation feels like.

It’s just another uphill trek toward mania.  You’re going to get out of control again.

Quiet.

Related posts:

1. Am I Really In That Much Pain?
2. Another Night.
3. Torture and Time
4. Help Me.
5. Freewriting: Obsessive Thoughts