Sawyer finished 2 year old preschool last week. I didn't cry. It was like school with training wheels. Or really short day care. And that's all cool.
But next week? Next week I finish therapy. No, I'm not cured. Yes, I still have a lot of work to do to stay healthy. But for me, for now, this part is over. I have a giant list of tools I've been practicing with for the last 10 months. I've learned how to recognize a mood shift, how to be at peace with it, and how to weather the storm. I've put together all the pieces that make a complete picture of my life without the gaping holes that depression used to leave- and without the shattering, shaking, mess that the hypo-mania used to make out of everything.
Of course, this is all very dramatic for me right now. I've been relying on the practitioners so heavily for the last year that it's pretty scary to think of having a go at this without them. I've been walking with crutches for so long that, even though I know- I know- I can do this myself (and with the amazing support I've found from my family and friends), I'll definitely miss the extra hands.
And like everything in my life, there's a playlist for that:
"You hold me without touch, keep me without shame."
"I let you see the parts of me that weren't all that pretty. And with every touch you fixed them."
"I don't wanna be hurt. I just wanna be little old me. I don't wanna have to think, 'who am I supposed to be today?'"
"You just sit on your hands and quietly contemplate your next bold move: the next thing you're gonna have to prove to yourself."
"She says she talks to Angels. They call her out by her name."
"When I said I'd take it, I meant As Is."
"There's a hole in my pocket that's about her size. But I think everything's gonna be alright."