I had an appointment on Thursday.

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And this time, I actually made it, instead of rescheduling at the last minute.

It was with my new psychiatrist, who will be going on maternity leave shortly after my next appointment, so no pressure.

I guess the VA is generous with maternity leave.

I doesn’t help them keep doctors, though.

Anyway….

It wasn’t good. I was running late, and….

She told me that I was the worst she’d ever seen me.

She’s right. I am doing worse.

I thought I was making great progress. Because, see, I knew I was sliding back a little. Letting shit go. But awareness of it is only part of the fight. Medication is only part of the fight.

I have to make it to therapy, too.

And, while it’s awesome that I’m setting goals, I actually have to do more than set them.

It’s great that my phone reminds me that today is Monday, so post about Mental Health, or whatever [I actually have a loose theme for every day]. Reminders are just reminders. I actually have to make a post. And, yeah, I’m doing every Wednesday, but that’s literally the easiest day. I have content stored up for the rest of the year.

The slide back into depression doesn’t diminish the things I manage to do. The things I do may make the slide worse, though, because I am far too willing to hold up the fact that I have read 178 books since January 1st as a shield, to deflect accusations of being worse.

And that’s just not cool.

Someone told me I was awesome the other night. I agreed with them, but it felt like I was lying. Because I’m not doing anything to earn that.

I’m capable of more.

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