My next therapist appointment is a week from tomorrow, with someone new, AGAIN. I’m getting really sick of rehashing everything that’s wrong in my life over and over again for a new stranger. Really, really sick.
But. Some things are going okay. I’m working again, and that’s a Big Deal. When I was at my sickest, I had to quit my job because between being crazy and the godawful meds I was on, I just couldn’t do it. So being back at work is like regaining a piece of my life from before I got sick, before any of this awfulness happened.
I’m trying to remember that, to hold onto the idea that maybe I’ve made some progress, because it feels like I was getting better and then lost so much ground with the Move. I’ve been sick for almost 11 months. Last September was the last time I really felt okay. Almost a year ago. A year is a long time to be gone.
A lot of the time it feels like I’m never going to get better, never going to get back to where I was before. I mean, I know that my life is different now that I have a kid, and it will never be like it was in many ways, but it’s hard to hope that I will be happy again. Or even just consistently okay.
BUT. I am okay some of the time. I’m okay enough to go to work, and I’m enjoying being there. So I guess, even if it’s tiny, it’s progress.