Sunday, Sunday

Well, it was a really hard week.  Like I posted at the beginning of the week, I had a ton of SPCA meetings scheduled for this week, plus a big event.  I did get through all of the stuff I had to do, but for the rest of the week, I’ve been fighting a losing battle with the ever-lurking depression demon.  I’ve spent a lot of time lying in bed, letting the inertia take hold.

There is one major reason that I’m in danger of crashing again, but I won’t talk about it here.  I’d like to, but for now, it’ll just stay in my journal.  If I can even bring myself to write there about it.  I’m still having some paranoia issues about the absolute privacy of my written word, even in my journal.

I’m between psychiatrists right now;  I had a new one that I started seeing in December of 2007, after my psydoc of over seven years closed his practice and moved to the Yukon.  The new one and her partner decided they didn’t like it here, and moved to Vancouver in June.  She did refer me to a third guy, back in May.  I never heard from his office, so last week I forced myself to call to see what’s going on.  I had to leave a message.  The office person called me the very next day to set up an appointment, which is at the end of November.  (Second psychiatrist had told me the end of September, at the latest.)  So now I’m wondering, if I hadn’t called at all, would his office ever have called me?  Seems suspicious to me.

(And just a word about me and the phone…  I have a terrible phobia of the phone.  Just thinking of having to call someone, or of the phone ringing, can send me into a panic attack.  And for now, I’m not interested in working on it.  I’ve always had trouble with the phone, but I think practicing law and having to have the 24-hour phone line all the time set the stage for a phobia to develop.  After my breakdown in 2000, I’ve just been so panicked about the phone that I’ve just basically avoided it as much as possible.)

Anyway…  I’m going to write my second psychiatrist a letter, because I want to see if she’ll write me a letter stating that my dog, Dannan, is an emotional support animal.  He really is as necessary to me as my meds, which is saying a lot.  I’ve often jokingly called him my “suicide prevention dog”, but no one laughs at that but me, so I don’t say it anymore.  But he definitely helps me to manage my anxiety, and to battle my chronic depression.  He sticks right by me when I’m not doing well, and when I cry, he stands on my lap and licks my face until I recover.  Even when I’m sick, he cuddles up with me and hardly leaves my lap.

I’ve been doing some research on emotional support animals, but most of the info is from the US.  So if anybody out there knows anything about ESAs in Canada, or even better in British Columbia, please let me know.  I would be forever grateful.

Well, I’ve certainly rambled a lot here.  But it’s done me some good.  I always find that as my mood declines, I find it harder and harder to just pick up a pen (or open my laptop) and write.  Once I take the plunge, I always feel somewhat better.  And the longer I let it go, the harder it gets to take that first step and write the first word.  So, my apologies for my ramblings here, if you’re still reading.  I’ll get it together soon.