First of all, I got up without the aid of an alarm clock, and was able to get into the kitchen and brew a pot of coffee before our mother ever got out of bed. I lurked on Twitter for a little while, never actually making my presence known, while waiting for Mom. After she was up, I helped her take her medications, then I went back to my room and sipped my coffee leisurely as I thumbed through my closet. In no time at all, I'd picked out an outfit to wear to the psychiatrist's office. It surprised me just how easy this task was for me; picking something to wear is an ordeal which often takes hours (sometimes from trying on so many different outfits, sometimes from indecisiveness). Today, I didn't even think twice before grabbing a new pair of jeans. I even went so far as to pick out a top in a color other than black, which practically never happens. I still refuse to believe it, but I've had more than one therapist tell me I'd be less depressed if I quit wearing black all the time. Whatever. Black is K's favorite color (well, most of us) and we wear it at some point every day.
After finishing my coffee, I took a long steamy shower using a luxuriously scented body wash and even went so far as to shave, which I've not done in a long while since I've been so depressed. I dried off with my over-sized, super fluffy towel and then put on our favorite black velvety robe with the leopard trim. I then took the time to apply perfumed body lotion all over, and I really enjoyed the scent-it made me happy. After that I got myself a refill of coffee-I even had my favorite flavored creamer-and I paused to scan the headlines on Google news on my laptop. Checked my email and was thrilled to find an unexpected message from a dear friend. (I hope I remember to write her back!) So back to the bedroom and time to get dressed. My jeans seemed to button a little easier than normal-could we have lost a pound or two? That was the first truly awesome moment of the day, the thought that I'd perhaps lost a little weight. I fixed my hair, and considered putting on makeup (I really wanted to wear some) but I thought about how I often cry at some point in therapy and decided no makeup was better than smeared makeup. Of course I donned my black sunglasses-to hide my face-and I kissed my Husband goodbye. He was supposed to go to therapy with us, but he worked the night before until after 2:00 A.M. and I hated to wake him so early. So I went alone.
The drive was easy and I wasn't even nervous, which is VERY rare. I think I might even have sung along to some music on the way there. Next memory I have is sitting in my psychiatrist's office, wondering if I could even think of anything to talk about. I don't remember much about our last session, (that was a different K) and I seemed to be having a good day so I didn't know of any immediate problems which needed addressing. I sat down, and I think I might even have smiled a little bit, and luckily Dr. H began asking me questions. That's so much easier for me to deal with, with her choosing the topic. It's hard when she just asks "How are you?"
She asked me if I'd done my homework assignment, and I was proud to tell her I'd accomplished 2 of the 3 things she'd wanted me to do. I was even able to briefly make eye contact with her today, but I don't think she knew it because I kept on my magic you-can't-see-me-when-I-wear-them sunglasses. Even though I was having a good day, it still wasn't enough to give me the courage to take them off. They are part of my disguise. Hiding, always, always hiding...
She asked me if I had any sort of rituals. I was quiet for a bit, then admitted that yes, I do have rituals, but I didn't think she'd like them if I told her what they were. Those are my own personal rituals, which I share with no one. Suffice it to say they are controversial and self-destructive. She told me she wanted me to come up with some new ritual, something that I can do at the same time every morning or at bedtime or whenever I choose. She wants me to come up with something healthy, relaxing, and healing. I'll be thinking about that for several days I'm sure. Hopefully, I can come up with something and begin practicing it right away. I need something to clear my head and unburden my heart. Maybe a bedtime bubble bath? A pedicure? Drawing in my sketch diary?
I'm not sure my psych realized it, but the person sitting in front of her on this day was NOT the same person who'd been in her office just 3 days earlier. She was the sad, weak, pathetic K who can't control her emotions or actions. I'm a much better person, more in control of myself, and I'd even go so far as to say that I'm happy, not all the time, but way more than the others. I'm the K who many of my friends know. Smiling, witty, fun to be around, capable of handling herself in a crisis. Too bad I'm not always around; I can't remember being around for a good long while now. Anyway, back to the story of my very rare good day. I got through therapy and never shed a tear; after all, I am not the depressed K. Seems like I told my doc I'd try and take better care of K, but it's all fuzzy now and I can't really remember.
Once I got home, I took my meds and went outside on the back porch and sat in the swing for awhile. It was a beautiful day-sunny and warm-and I took advantage of that fact. I also figured it'd be good for us to get some sun. K doesn't like to get out in the sun as she has very pale skin and the two don't mix well. Plus, she's obsessed with staying young and the sun ages you; she always wears sunscreen even if she doesn't go outside. But back to our story. We stayed outside for a little while, listening to the birds singing, feeling the warm Spring-like breeze, noticing that some of the flowers in the yard have started to bloom. It was good for my soul, just relaxing outside like that, and I don't do things like that very often. I don't like to waste time, since I lose so much of it already.
When it was time for lunch, not only did I eat a delicious AND sensible meal, but I did not throw up afterwards. I actually kept my food down. So that's an accomplishment. I cleaned up the lunch dishes and by this time it was 3:00 in the afternoon and my husband had some errands to do. So I asked if I could come along and he said sure and so we rode in the car with Husband, listening to music and chatting pleasantly. No drama. Nothing serious came up. We just talked, about silly stuff, nothing really. It was awesome! I was so proud of myself for keeping things light. But then again, I AM casual and light-hearted, whenever I'm around. So we drove downtown and went here and there and I was smiling and friendly the whole time. After he finished all his work, sometime around 5ish, he asked me if I'd like to go to happy hour somewhere. I told him that sounded great, and I meant it. I was excited to go out to a bar and have a drink or two. I mean, I was in a fantastic mood. So he chose one of his favorite bars, it's dark and smoky and filled with regulars, many of whom know my husband. So there were some conversations here and there, and we sat at the bar and had drinks and just chilled out for a while. I actually had a good time, and that's not usually the case in a crowded public place.
We headed home about 6:00 and I thought to stop and get Mom a salad to have for dinner; she was really happy about that. She ate her salad and Husband went back to his study to do some work and so I had free time. I got on the laptop and I still can't believe it, but not only did I make my presence known on Twitter, but I actually interacted with 5 different people! That's a record for me-I usually talk to no one. K is quite shy and usually just Tweets to no one or reads other people's Tweets; she doesn't have the courage to talk to anyone. So it was quite a big deal to me. I felt very satisfied at the end of the day. And I have to say that conversing with someone on Twitter is far more therapeutic than just lurking. I must remember that!
We watched a little TV that night, and of course took a ton of medications, but for a change I didn't take a nap at all. (Usually K has to take a nap or two because the meds make her so sleepy) A friend of Husband's came over later in the evening and we all drank some beers and goofed off. I felt very social and made jokes and was quite charming, if I do say so. At the end of the day, I put on my freshly-washed soft pajamas and took a cup of tea to my bedside, where I sat up reading for a good while. We've been reading books on dissociative disorders, and this particular book was written by a man who has DID/MPD. K is learning as much as possible about dissociative disorders and derealization and depersonalization. So we read for awhile, then Husband came to bed and we turned off the lights and cuddled. I fell asleep in his arms, feeling warm and safe and loved.
My good day was Monday. I probably should've written this post that night, while all the memories and feelings were still fresh. But K procrastinates and/or forgets things...so this post wasn't written until Wednesday. Hopefully I didn't forget anything important about my good day. Oh yes, and incidentally, Monday was the only good day; everything was back to "normal" the next morning, unfortunately. At least the rarity of good days makes me appreciate them more.
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