Safe Space

Today is my second day in bed. I get up for important things, like going to the kid’s swim practice, eating, going for a walk on my treadmill, spending time with my partner and kids, doing the dishes, taking a shower, picking the kids up from school. I am not so bad off that I am not doing the things I need to do to maintain my life. I still write this blog everyday. I still write in my novel everyday. I still get exercise everyday (almost). I brush my teeth and wash my face and fold the laundry.

But today it struck me, as I was contemplating what else I could lop off my list of things I have to leave the house for, this isn’t a way to live. I am not thriving. I am just barely surviving. I hurt all the time. I cry all the time. Now I am spending days at a time in bed?

My mental state is preventing me from living a full and functional life. What has become normal, is nowhere near normal and something huge needs to change.

So I asked for help. I asked my partner to help me find a psychiatrist (my partner is practiced in hunting for insurance providers). I called. They told me I need a referral. I emailed my doctor asking for a referral. And I did it all within thirty minutes.

Now I wait.

I think I will wait in bed.

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