I was supposed to catch y’all up on my status, arg.
This is what happens to me even with the best of intentions – I get sidetracked so easily. This time… well, wait, I’ll tell you the story. It’s a good one. First though, the therapist visit!
I’d scoped out the therapist’s office ahead of time, so I wouldn’t panic about knowing where it was. [always smart] It’s in a quaint part of town, with some older houses, some in disrepair. The actual offices were a bunch of trailers cobbled together to make a building; needless to say, I was a bit worried how that would reflect on the treatment that I would get. O_O
I shouldn’t have worried. The patients there ran the gamut, and there was an office dog, which made me smile… and best of all, my therapist, Anne, was female – something I’d really wanted but hadn’t voiced. I didn’t want to have to tell my story to a man. I didn’t want to feel ashamed or just hope that he really, truly “got” it.
After the basic introductions and a run-down of my medical history, I went ahead a spilled the whole sordid thing. Trigger warnings galore, folks.
I started with the sexual abuse, going into detail about:
- how I was afraid to tell because it would ruin my Mom’s happiness
- how it affected my sleep habits
- how I tried to block off my room to my stepdad
- how my Grandmother found out, and what happened when she told Mom
- how it affected my subsequent actions
- what happened when I finally told Mom, including my stepdad’s death and the aftermath
This was a really big deal for me. I’ve really only ever told friends and lovers the story, and most of them didn’t get the whole thing. I’ve been working on writing it all out, and if I get that finished, I’ll post it here. It is traumatic and terrible… but if it helps ANYONE to know that they are not alone, and that they too can get through this, it will be COMPLETELY worth it, my friends.
The outcome with the therapist? She added Wellbutrin XL to my Cymbalta, and made an appointment for a check-in for two weeks after, to track the results. She also sent me to get some bloodwork done, to rule out things like thyroid issues and the like being the cause of my lethargy. And she encouraged me to keep my journal going, if I felt like it was helpful – and it is. I left feeling like I’d been heard and understood, and I came away with an official diagnosis of major depression.
The combo of meds seems to really be working. I take the Wellbutrin when I wake up, with Cymbalta pill #1, and I’m full of energy and positive thoughts. Even when I get irritated, it doesn’t last for long, which is definitely more like me. I have been having a little bit of a problem recently with not being able to sleep… Anne gave me a prescription for Ambien to help me on those nights, but I’ve resisted taking it for now. Like I need to add another med to the cocktail! O_O
I go back on Tuesday, and I’m curious to see what will come from that meeting. Oh yes, and I’m still anemic – hemoglobin of 9. Anne says that’s extremely low. I’ve been working to eat more iron-bearing foods, and trying to take my Slow FE when I can stomach it. Overall, I do feel better, and that’s a miracle in my book. *cheer*
Now onto the GOOD stuff – the story I mentioned at the top of the page!
Rob and I had been taking care of a feral kitten, trying to tame it enough to at least Trap-Neuter-Release him – although realistically, I think we were heading toward keeping him. However, about three weeks ago, he just disappeared, much to our dismay. It broke my heart, because I’d become really attached to the little guy.
So when I got a call from Rob as I was driving home from Chicks with Sticks [my weekly knitting circle], the last thing that I was expecting is “The kitten is back!”
I tried to keep from getting too excited for the rest of the drive home, and when I pulled in, I immediately saw Rob sitting there with a kitten that looked very much like our feral friend… but was much too small and skinny to be he. This little grey scraggly mess was content to be held and petted, where our friend had only allowed petting. And this kitten was a she. A very tiny, adorable, dirty, long haired girlcat.
Yes, we took her in.
We kept her separate from Squeegee, both because she was too little and weak to deal with his antics, and because I’m a freak about keeping unscreened cats away from my beloved Fuzz until I know they’re not carrying any terrible illnesses. We took her to the vet the next day, and she was pronounced to have a cold virus, fleas, and ear mites, and we were given meds for all of these. She got some shots and a test for FIV – all clear, but she would have to stay in isolation for at least 2 weeks while the cold was treated. Poor kitten!
Her whole world right now is our office. We’ve named her Noodle, and have already begun to fatten her up a bit. She is four months old and only 2 pounds! She’s already responding well to the meds, although she H-A-T-E-S the antibiotic pills with a fiery passion, and consequently me for giving them to her, at least for the first 15 minutes after we fight over them. Oh well, what’s a Mommy to do? We’re working to get her to bond with Rob, as Squeegee is completely into me and poor Rob is second fiddle. She’s adorable, sassy, squeaky, and a complete doll. She’s totally lit up our lives so far, and I don’t regret adopting her one bit. ♥