I had a check up this morning. I hadn’t been to see my doctor since May. May was about a thousand years ago in “divorce years.” During that visit she just listened and handed me tissues. She wrote me some prescriptions and told me time was going to be the real healer.
Was I still taking the Prozac?
I was still taking the Prozac. Maybe I could start weaning off?
Did I have Ativan left?
I still had Ativan for acute situations. I don’t carry them, though.
Was I still seeing my therapist every week?
I still see my therapist every other week but was thinking of going to monthly.
See how this happens? Things have gone relatively well, even though nothing’s actually started. No papers have even been filed and I want to turn in all my crutches. It’s that whole thing about people who need medication and finally get it, start feeling good, and then go off. You can’t believe how stupid they are; they’ll just have to start over.
Then someone points out that you’re one of the stupid.
IT AIN’T BROKE. DON’T FIX IT — AT LEAST NOW THAT I’M ON A ROLL.
Moving on to the weekend…