The.rapist

Why, yes, really, I'm fine, thanks.

Okay, so maybe not so much. Yesterday saw me undertake my initial "getting to know you" appointment with a therapist (henceforth known as "the rapist"--it's how I've long referred to therapists since A) I'm a geek, and; B) the moniker is sometimes accurate given how you feel after leaving a particularly productive appointment).

Nice rapist lady did agree that I've been through/am going through a lot recently. Can I tell you how good it felt to get it all out, every last bit of it, to cry for all I was worth, to just unload? (Yeah, but I still had more in me when I went to my monthly hair appointment--gotta keep the grays at bay--and my stylist asked about Daniela. She hadn't seen me since about 4 days before my induction so she didn't know what all had gone down. )

And you know you've got "the crazy"* down pat when nice rapist lady tells you that the OB should be able to "give you something" to help you get through this and come out intact on the other side. Why hello PPD and whatever else (PTSD?), nice to meet you.

So, my appointment with the OB this Friday will find me being honest...and taking the hand that has been offered to me, hopefully along with a script for mother's little helper.

May the meds kick in quickly (though, like all good things, it takes time. And yes, I've been on A-Ds before...I had a run-in with clinical depression about 6 years back; P-zac worked wonders for me).

*I kid, I kid. I don't think I'm 'crazy' (not technically, that is).