I really don't want to waste time with a massive recap of the end of my year, but I feel like I should discuss what I addressed in my last journal: how I was, finally, seeking out some psychological help. That was October, I think, and now it's January. I started going to the on-campus counseling that month, and obviously I was in pain about it because I cried hard when I told the "lower-level" therapist how I felt. She referred me to the actual doctor on campus and that was a good thing, because he was such a help. He had me fill out several evaluations that came back as moderate depression, as well as anxiety. The best I've felt in three years was the afternoon after he told me "You have depression, Stephanie." There's freedom in knowing what's wrong with you.
Well, since we agreed that a non-medication approach was best based on the causes of my depression (lousy cognitive processes, not chemical weirdnesses), I continued to see him every week or two until last month, when he told me "You have learned and developed the skills you need to get better, so you don't need to come in anymore unless you get worse." Well, I haven't. In fact, I've been feeling much better. It certainly wasn't "Hey, it's a miracle, I'm cured!" because it's a lot of work to rewire my brain to think positively and shun self-pity. I've gotta admit, it's WONDERFUL to be at the point where I can just sit quietly and not feel like I need to go out and run as hard and fast as I can for as long as I can because there's too much anxiety to deal with. It's nice not to curl up in my room and cry while riding out a panic attack. It's nice to be feeling better and know that I don't have to be subject to the previous cycle of feel-better-then-get-worse.
So because I'm feeling better and want to continue with my creative-ness, I'm going to get back to work on Cyclic. It's open in Word RIGHT NOW.
Excelsior!
--Steph









