Tuesday, January 19, 2016

I Get My Kicks above the Waist Line Sunshine

                                                                     not my photo

I was going to go to bed. I was going to write my stories before I went to bed, but instead I'm at my blog. At least I'm not shaking like I was this morning. You see in case you're new here I have depression, and in case I didn't mention it yet the new Dr has me on a dose/cocktail that really works. Focus, feelings, confidence all improved. Like all the self help books made sense with the extra dose of Prozac.

But today I was reminded how hard it is to deal with these people in the medical profession. I don't have a Dr right now, so the psychiatrist? Has decided to ask me about my diet and my exercise. Well I don't eat meat. And he's decided to drill me on my religion. Which I really don't even talk about on my blog, because it's mine and no one needs to hear about it unless we've know each other for a long time and have a girlie drink in our hands; and you start.

So he said that it was weird that I don't eat meat. And he told me that if I believed in the bible I could eat meat. Because Jesus died on the cross so we could eat meat. It still makes me shake my head. He also said I sounded morally superior because I didn't eat meat. I didn't know how to answer so I agreed with him, I said maybe I was superior.

I'm used to getting people who are, or very close to, a cult. SO I'm terrified half the time to even use the word god, even if I'm referring to the power of the universe, heart and soul; that pull that is a greater power than what we know.

I'm used to sitting quietly for a Dr to finish their sexist speech, they're assumptions about my husband (remember I don't have one) and that Julia Cameron isn't a useful ally in depression,

Oh, but they are.

But remember 1) he's got the cocktail right and 2)no one messes with my animals. So i stood up for my beliefs and my decisions I said “I grew up with animals, chickens, cows, goats, horses, I know their personalities.” I may have mentioned their cute and cuddliness too.

“Even the Chickens?” He asked
“Yes” I said “even the chickens.”

And the conversation continued until he said I was getting better and I could go.

Now I would like to walk away be like all morally superior. Like when I was 20 and in the city. But I need my Prozac, and sitting with him for 45 minutes is easier than going to out patience every three months. But I still feel like I'm fighting an extra fight that I shouldn't have to, to be happy.



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