Earlier, while I was in the shower, I was thinking about some things. The appointment I had with Charlotte (new counselor) earlier today really got me thinking about my recovery and how it should be number one in my life right now. I’ve been slipping the past two months. I stopped going to see my therapist. Before I stopped going, I was seeing my therapist once or twice a week and a counselor once a week. I haven’t seen him since March. I saw a counselor twice in April. I was supposed to go to at least two groups a week, but I haven’t been to a group since right after I was discharged from .

The only reason I went to see Charlotte is because it was time to update my treatment plan. If I didn’t go in and have it updated then they will stop filling my prescriptions. Another I went was because I have to get the FMLA paperwork filled out for my job, so I can take off when I need to for bipolar days and not get fired for it. I’m finally eligible for FMLA because my one year anniversary with was on May 1st.
Charlotte didn’t try to lay a trip on me or anything. She reminded me of how hard I’ve worked on my recovery and how much progress I’ve made. I’ve been feeling guilty for not going to therapy anyway and I called and made an appointment with Dr. Atwood.

I didn’t stop going on purpose. The move and trying to get settled in dominated all my free time, now that I have that taken care of it’s time to get back into therapy. I want to keep the ball rolling. It’s time to take control of my life and stop letting my life control me.

I’m tired of my illness and distorted perceptions controlling me. I make it seem like I’m this tough woman who doesn’t need anyone or anything – I can do it ALL myself – and that is very true to a point, but at the same exact time I feel so weak, needy and afraid. It is just so damned hard to admit that to anyone. I feel like I have to present this fiercely independent, steel-strength, invulnerable persona to everyone, and like I’m not allowed to show my humanness to anyone, including myself. When I do, I feel ashamed and guilty, especially if I cry. That doesn’t make any sense. I have to on that.