It seems like a simply question. “Are you happy?” the doctors asks me across the room. Its been three weeks since I switched antidepressants. I knew that question was coming, but that doesn’t really prepare me. I’ve worried over the answer all week. Am I happy? Life can be a real shit storm that even the most optimistic folk don’t know if they can say they are truly happy. My life has been said shit storm as of late. Pile on to that the crippling mental illness and you’ve got a beautiful cacophony of bullshit.
I’ve weighed it in my mind. Am I suicidal still? Sort of, but not as much and not with as much conviction. It went from “right now” to “if x,y,and z happen I might”. Okay, so that’s better. Am I crying? No, and while I only did once before, I still consider this an improvement. Am I tired all the time? Yes, but that has been going on since high school, and nothing has effected it. Nothing. Am I satisfied with my life? No. I’m not, but I’m better. And I’m tired of the endless doctor visits, so this is good enough for now. Maybe when I can get circumstances sorted I’ll have a better idea of how things have been and I’ll see her again in three months for a follow up.
Most folks only see their doctor once a year, maybe twice if they’re kids or elderly. I’ve seen mine 10 times this year so far. My insurance only covers the first five visits and then you’re on your own until the deductible is met. Thankfully, mine is almost met. I wish I could say money wasn’t an issue. But it is.
“Are you happy?” is such a loaded question for people with mental illness for this very reason.
I am alive and not actively suicidal. For now, that’s enough.