What’s the one question you’re really good at answering? Not related to work or hobbies or anything, but a personal question. For me, it’s this: “How are you?”
Ugh, I hate that question. Because if you really wanna know the answer, you’d better pull up a chair and pour a drink. Because the answer is complicated. It has so many layers. There’s nothing simple about it. I’m in a constant state of worry and there’s sadness lurking in every corner and it took everything in my soul to get to work today. I’m afraid of things that might happen – scenarios I’ve created purely in my mind – and I’m afraid that I might fail at one thing or another before I even try. I feel like surely everybody must know I’m a mess inside, just barely holding it together. And also I feel nothing, like I’m just flat with no real emotion on the inside. Nothing brings me joy and life just is. I just want to hide under a blanket.
But what do I actually answer?
“I’m fine.” And then I’ll immediately bounce the question back to them, hopefully touching on a talky subject for them, because people really do love to talk about themselves, don’t they? And at the end of it all, not only are you “fine,” but you get labeled as a good listener too. Talk about exhausting.
But do you know who you can’t fool? Your psychiatrist/therapist/counselor. They know as soon as you walk in the door without having to say a word. They read the body language and the eye contact and the way you sit down.
Today I went in for my three-month med check. Since July, we’ve tried a new concoction of meds that’s completely different from what I was on for the past 12 years. We’ve finally gotten through all the insurance hoops and I’m lucky enough to finally have everything covered. He asked me how I’ve been doing and I tried with the, “I’m ok I guess. Yeah, I’m doing ok.” But because I was in a safe space, tears started streaming down my face and we both knew I wasn’t ok. The meds weren’t working.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt good, where I’ve found joy and have been really actually happy that I’ve forgotten what that feels like. And I told him I don’t know what’s normal anymore. I think I’d convinced myself that wherever I’d landed with these new meds was normal.
So, I started talking. I told him how I feel just meh and he told me all about how I’ve been holding this mask up to survive (sound familiar?). And when you do it long enough, you don’t know what’s normal at all. You do it all to function in the world and not draw any attention. But you’re also not listening to your body. And you’re not acknowledging that you’re really not fine.
I can’t describe the relief I felt when he told me that we’re not gonna stop trying until we get it right. What I’m feeling now is not good enough because I should be feeling joy in life (outside of the everyday normal annoyances). So this normal for me is not the end point; we’re still in the process of finding the just right.
I’m cautiously optimistic that these new meds are THE ONES to fix everything. I won’t know for a few days or weeks, but I’m so curious to feel what’s possible out there. Do you have a provider that makes you feel safe like this? I know they can be kind of rare and I count myself as especially lucky since I’m in a small town. I dread the thought of when he’ll retire, but I’ve got to put that out of my mind for now. For now, I’m trying to focus on the present, which includes some potentially positive changes.
Finding Petrichor 