Saw another shrink today. Still, no one chooses to consider the possibility that I might be bipolar. Most shrinks have it set in stone that a person MUST frequently stay up all night during a manic episode in order to qualify as bipolar. So here I am, continuing Celexa, with the assurance that once I have been on it long enough, it will lift the depression, destroy the anxiety, dispell my sense of hopelessness, silence the voices, muzzle the mood swings, and halt the flashbacks. I think they're full of unrotted compost, but then who the heck am I, just the stupid patient. My life still sucks, but it's more manageable. Enough of an improvement so that I can go through themotions and do what I'm supposed to do often enough. I think I really have cracked. For the first time in my life, I really do not see muc hope of bettering my life. I'm doing what I can do anyway, just because it's the right thing to do, to at least walk through my life getting some work done, but I can't say that I truly have anything to look forward to. It all seems so pointless and fleeting. The best I'm hoping for right now is to get enough publicity on a consistent basis to get some residual income going (stuff I don't have to work too hard to bring in) so that I can gain some measure of independence. A friend is convinced what I need to do is to get SSI disability, Medicaid, food stamps and welfare. Oh, yeah, then I will have my independence. Yep, the freedom to continue living in poverty, but from that point on, all by myself. Oh, joy.
On a better note, I stayed up all night midwifing the pregnant cat's kittens. She had just started warming up to me about a week ago, and actually spent the night curled up next to me in bed Wednesday night, which she's never, ever, done before, even when not pregnant. I guess she had psyched out who in the house was likely to actually be there to help her. She *wanted* my company, which was very good for my soul.
She popped out the first one around 6 pm Thursday evening while I was off in another room. From that moment on, I scarcely left her side, stroking her fur while she purred fiercely and labored, fruitlessly, all night. Then while I dozed off around 3 am, she delivered the second one on my pillow, mere inches from my face. The kittens' cries woke me up! Then the last two came soon after that. #4 was breech with the hind feet coming out first. The contractions stopped for a couple of minutes, and she was exhausted to boot, so I gently took hold of those hind feet and pulled the kitten the rest of the way out. She halfheartedly licked the poor thing, which I feared had expired, but I broke open the kitten's caul and wiped off its nose, and it finally started moving and struggling to breathe. When I was sure that all the kitties were out, and that Momma Kitty would accept having her nest in the laundry basket on top of the big red towel, I got myself ready to go to the shrink!
Well, I'm no vet and I'm no country doctor, but if I could make a living midwifing cats, I think I'd be a much happier person. Of course, I had an incredibly cooperative cat, who was also a veteran mommy. Talk about a high point and a low point coming right slammed up against each other! My life sucks, but that was definitely a bright spot!
Blessings,
Lil