Today we start couples therapy. I would like to think that this is some blimp in our other wise happy marriage I would be wrong. I really hope he can open up and tell me the reasons in therapy. He said he would tell me the reason why he needs his own space there at least.
I am needing so many positive thoughts it hurts. I have been working with everyone I could think of to get my emotions, thoughts and feelings under control about this situation and not have them spill to the kids.
The kids hurt right now especially Bella. A few nights ago she tried to put our hands together and he pulled away. I think she can feel that daddy is going away. I am trying to stay strong for her and for Grace. They are the real victims here.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
I thought about the countless pills one has to take for Bi-polar Mania and other diagnoses of depression. How the Medical Community feels like the pills and talking for us about the past for an hour every week, two weeks or a month are enough to become "normal" and "well adjusted" in society. To me its not good enough.
I feel sometimes that when I walk into my provider's practice, they care more about the time frame that you spend in their office chair than you the person. The random nice questions go in one ear and out the other, the bottom line is what they care about.
"Do you have enough pill to last until the next time I see you in a month?" "Do you feel any of the side effects of that pill(s)?" "Do you feel like you should be on Brand X when Brand Y is better?"
I feel like they are saying to me "Take the Pills and Just be Happy" that you are not in some third world where I would be dead by now. I know over the top drama, but in a way I can hear that in their tone of voice when they are saying "Times up, see you in 4 weeks!".
I knew the pills were working. My step dad commented on how numb to the world I became once I started to take the pills on a full time basis. He said he liked the vibrant person, the one laughing, making jokes, painting expressively (when I did paint). Now I was an observer, the person sitting in the back of the room at a party. Almost dead to the world.
Maybe it did make me numb, maybe I am a quiet person at heart and with the medication I am my true self. Because of the lack of medication my real self got scattered in the noise and caused an alternate universe, an alternate me.
Maybe I am happy by taking my pills?