Emboldened by my little speech yesterday morning, I said all my prayers, gave my core muscles the pep talk of the century and went for it: two slow rounds of reverse lunges, pushups, and planks. No grinding bones. Minor electrocution. Some holy crap, what the heck was that responsive inflammation afterward, but no spine crumbling. No dying. Just a girl who totally worked out like it was nothing.
Today will require just as much enthusiasm. Today is the day I march into my psychiatrist’s office and tell her I would like to remove two of the pills from my very crowded pill box. I have no reason to believe that this will be a huge conflict, my doctor is supportive, encouraging, and respectful. But she is a psychiatrist and I am a psychiatric patient and there are very few ways around the expectation that, in that relationship, I need to be on drugs. Lots of drugs. I am willing to be on one, maybe two drugs (I’ve shared a little about my thoughts on my current meds here and here). So we’ll see how that conversation plays out.
I am hopeful.
In general, I am more hopeful than I have been in a very long time. It feels a teeny bit irresponsible to let you all believe that I have transformed into a bright beacon of glittering enthusiasm because, while I am awfully sparkly right this second, the light is still only coming in bursts. I am only just sputtering sparkles. Ninety percent of the time I am still lamenting the intolerable length of the days and missing gluten free zucchini bread. I also only recently discovered that I have multiple holes in my three pairs of permanent outfit pants. So I need lots of prayer. And new pants.