Day two of my trip to St. Louis. This will likely be a relatively short entry, because while a lot happened today, it can be summed up pretty easily. I’m not spending a lot of time dealing with treatment here in St. Louis, or thinking on treatment issues, which is probably why there’s not much here.
I got to see my former psychiatrist, and he agreed that I was doing well, that I looked much better, that I should be the driving force in my own life, and that he’d like to make copies of a lot of the handouts I received at both Menninger and the step-down. What can I say? I keep everything like that. Right now the binder is thick enough to beat someone badly. But that visit went well, and I said so over lunch with my family.
After that, I went to see my department head at the university at which I was studying for my PhD. He agreed that my time in Houston seemed to have changed me quite a bit, and he could see that the PhD was not necessarily the right path for me. When I asked him if I could possibly come back in a year or two to finish the PhD if things don’t work out in Houston or I find it would be beneficial for my work, he said they would be happy to have me back. By this point, I was getting a little worried, because things seemed to be going my way far more often than is normal.
Then I went to a meeting of a medieval reading and study group I was a part of before coming to treatment. We spoke for a while on various topics, then there was a presentation on the late 12th-early 13th century English poem The Owl and the Nightingale, we spoke some more, and we parted amicably. A bit later, I sent out an e-mail to the group as a whole – since the presentation had only a few attendees – about my move to Houston, and how much I had enjoyed their company.
Then we picked up my brother-in-law from the airport and went out to dinner, where my father proceeded to spend almost the entire meal talking about food from every restaurant and country except for the one we were actually at. His memory for meals he has eaten is a little freaky; he cane remember meals he had over 20 years ago, while I can barely remember what I ate on Monday. That brings us to now.
It’s really beginning to seem to me that I place far too much stock in whatever part of my brain handles anxiety, because it prepares me for this total disappointment, makes me feel miserable, and then things rarely turn out anywhere near as badly as I think they might. That’s a valuable revelation, but I’m not sure how to make that part of my brain sit down and shut up yet. In any case, it seems like the rest of my stay here will be relatively smooth sailing, so I may take tomorrow off from blogging and pick up again Sunday after I return to Houston. Or not; I’m fickle that way.