Med check

It's amazing how, even after 11 years have passed, I still remember where all the speed traps are in my hometown. I can't remember to pick up my laundry but I know exactly where in suburban Philly I need to pump the brakes, exactly where the cop is parked and when it's safe to pick up speed again.

Back in Philadelphia for an appointment with my psychiatrist this morning. I took the train back last night after work. As usual, with the first few snows in New York City, everything was beautiful, people were acting batshit crazy and Penn Station was a madhouse.

Woke up on the early side this morning, completely disoriented. My 3 year old nephew has been sleeping in my brother's room so my assigned bed for the time I'm home is my nephew's. I woke up in a room full of toys and old Halloween candy and books with a railing on my twin bed. It felt like a cheery hospital room, like I was terminally ill and some well meaning teenager trying to get into an Ivy League school had volunteered to deck my room out to make my last days more comfortable. Like I was someone's Eagle Scout project.

Today's crazy doc appointment was just a check-in. I was overdue for a visit, the last time I had seen my doctor was two years ago, when I was having severe panic attacks while I tried to quit a toxic job and replace it with literally any other job. We had a nightmare of an October 2015, where we tried to adjust my meds multiple times and I felt worse and worse, almost to the point of me refusing to get out of bed (I always thought that was such a luxury, people who were so depressed that they couldn't get out of bed and then actually didn't get out of bed. I've been that depressed before, multiple times, but I have to feed myself so sucking it up was my only option.) Finally, we had gotten my meds to a place where I've been doing really well for a while now. All we had to discuss this appointment was 1) minor complaints (one of my meds has made me gain a particularly stubborn 8 pounds, one of the pills I take is almost impossible to split in half per my prescription) and 2) needing him to write me new prescriptions for the same meds. Also, more Xanax.

After a whopping 15 minutes, I handed him a check for $200 for his time, which I instinctually clutched a little two tightly as I offered it to him. But he tugged a bit and I parted with it.

I'll be home for a full 10 days, which might actually be the longest I've been home since I moved out in 2007. I have a couple more days of working from home before I can unplug, but will do it from my nephew's bedroom with no makeup on and maybe eat his Halloween candy for professional sustenance.