Dear readers, it’s been a long [fucking] time since I’ve posted to this blog — even longer since I’ve written anything resembling a longform piece. But here I am, with my service dog — Marty the terrier — in my lap at Common Grounds (aka the neighborhood coffeehouse).
Since we last talked I fell back down the rabbit hole that is severe depression (with some pure-O CD and generalized anxiety for company; I swear, sometimes I feel like I acquire co-occurring mental illnesses like mangy feral tomcats). But I’m still “finding ways to survive.” [1 — thanks Next to Normal for those Light lyrics].
I finally found an antidepressant combo that works — somehow, Dr A, my psychiatrist doesn’t even entirely understand the why or how — Lithium and Lexapro (both generics — For Medicaid, and SSI, I give thanks).
I’m still in therapy and probably always will be [thanks for hanging in there and educating yourself about (anxious and depressive) Autistic women like me, Dr H, trauma psychologist made of empathy and stubbornness].My days are simpler lately: therapy, psychiatry, pharmacy, art, poems, texts, tweets, and instagramed photos. But they are good sometimes. I’m still severely clinically depressed, but I’m here. I keep living out of sheer spite and fury, occasionally joy and borrowed hope.
And “I don’t have to be happy at all, to be happy I’m alive.” Until next time, be kind to yourselves. Remember, you are good. This life is hard. But you are good.
With glittery bits of joy and tiny sprigs of hope, Kat.