No referral needed

"I'll be retiring March 31st."  "You are doing just fine."

These were the words of my psychologist this month.  His retirement is welcome for him, though he admitted to some ambivalence.  He will miss the intimacy of his therapeutic relationships.  And it signals for me a milestone.  What he did not say was that we'd need to get me referred to another therapist.  He reflected on all his notes from the last year, and remarked how stable I'd been and affirmed that I'm in a healthy place.  No referral necessary.  I'm good to go.  It's time to fly solo.

I admit to some ambivalence.  The professional intimacy of a therapeutic relationship is a friendship of sorts that is rare.  It is not an overstatement to say that there is no one else on the face of this earth that knows more about me.  He has probed with me the depths of my soul and psyche and throughout it all has been an affirming, challenging, and healing presence.  But now there will be one more session, and closure.  It's time to fly solo.

I will continue seeing my psychiatrist.  This is necessary because of the medication regimen I am on.  So flying solo isn't totally alone.  And should I need it, I will trust her to refer me to another therapist.

For now though, no referral is needed.

I admit to feeling a bit like a kid, learning to ride a bike, who realizes that dad has let go and is no longer balancing the bike.  You know the feeling.  Simultaneously crying out "wait, don't let go!" but also being thrilled to realize that you are riding on your own.

When my disability benefits terminated I had similar emotions.  The process of termination was, in my opinion, cruel, without warning, and could have been handled much better.  And with the termination of benefits came the loss of the safety net that had sustained us through the tough times. But, there was also a positive.  Their evaluation was that I was no longer disabled.  You are good to return to the workforce.

And then there is a part of me that feels the need to cry out to the world "I'm OK!"

Part of the stigma of dealing with a mental illness diagnosis is that concerns linger.  So the insurance company determines I'm no longer disabled in any way.  My therapist determines that I'm healthy and do not need any further therapy.  But what about the world?  What about my family?  What about the Church?

For the last five years I've been out of the fire, so to speak.  For the purposes of my healing I've been sheltered in relatively low stress situations.  An unanswered question is whether the state of my health is such that I can engage again in more challenging situations without compromising everything that has been achieved.  Yet the fear of relapse can itself be disabling.  But it is only a fear.  And I hear the voice of Jesus say "Fear not, for I am with you."

Some clarity is emerging.  I know what I want.  I want to complete my years in my vocation serving to the full extent of my abilities.  I do not want to simply fade away.  I do not want to be restricted to semi-retirement until I can fully retire.  The bottom line is I'm probably healthier now than I've ever been, and I crave the opportunity to serve on that basis.

Yet there is another dimension.  To accept life on life's terms.  I do not know what life will offer me.  The fact is that even if I had been totally healthy up to now, I'm 61 years old.  There is age discrimination.  I may envision working till I'm 70, but many employers would view me as a shortimer.  It may be that my desire to reenter the workforce, that my hopes to cap off my career with a challenging and rewarding call, maybe thwarted by the two strikes against me, my age, and my history of mental illness.  That may be the reality.  I think that if it is so, its unfortunate.  But life is not always fair.

Confidence.  Health is one issue.  Confidence is another.  So my psychologist has determined that I'm in a healthy place.  He is confident in my ability.  Am I?  And have I been stable enough, long enough, that others are confident too?

If someone is cancer free for five years, or so, a degree of confidence emerges.  One might even dare say that one is 'cured'.  One may also stop thinking of oneself as a cancer patient and start thinking of oneself as a survivor.

I wonder if I'll ever experience that as one with a mental health diagnosis.

My official diagnosis regarding my chemical dependency is "in remission".  Is that a status the world will allow regarding being bipolar.

My son is a chemical engineer.  One of the things he points out is there is no difference chemically, between man made compounds and natural compounds.  Chemistry is chemistry.

So I am healthy today.  What that means is that the chemistry within my brain is balanced.  For me that is achieved through medication.  But chemistry is chemistry.  That I have the correct balance in chemicals in my brain is all that really matters.  What doesn't matter is whether that occurs 'naturally', or through medication.  Chemistry is chemistry.

I find hope in that.  And regardless what life throws at me, I know I'm in a better place to deal with it.  Yes, I wonder what the future holds for me, vocationally.  Too soon to tell for sure.  So I tend to the task at hand.  One of the things I do to find meaning and purpose is to write.  Many of you read this because of our friendship.  But I actually don't write for you.  I have received feedback from others who are bipolar, or who deal with other mental health issues, that has affirmed what I am doing as being genuinely helpful for them.  And so I see this as a calling.

Perhaps, writing from a place of health and wellbeing after having negotiated through the tough times of being mentally ill is the higher calling that I have.  I offer it up as hope for those still in the throws of the disease.  I didn't die.  It hasn't destroyed me.  And the fears associated with it were not real, they were just emotions.  Hope.