I saw my psychiatrist today. I've been needing to see him for about two months or rather I've felt like I needed to see him. The thing with him is, he's pretty much just a med doctor. Don't get me wrong, he takes his time and listens to me bitch and listens to my side effects but unless we change my mental medical cocktail there's not a whole lot he can do. Right now we both feel like this is the right protocol for me. I've been on this slew of meds for a few years and it seems to work the best for me, it keeps me as level as I can possibly be. So for that reason I always walk out of there feeling both let down and relieved. Let down that there isn't more I can do and relieved that I'm doing all I can do. It's nice that he had treated sissy and me together so he was able to see our bond and see how close we were/still are so he can understand why I'm in such a downward spiral of grief. Like my therapist, he says that nothing is going to change for a few more years. Grief is grief and the fact that sissy and I were so close was such a gift while she was alive but it makes her death that much worse on me.
I told him I read the book "Weekends At Bellevue" by Dr. Julie Holland. He had heard of it but not read it. I recommended it to him and told him how much I appreciated him choosing his profession as he is a wonderful psychiatrist and he has helped me in more ways than one. The roller coaster I was on before I was diagnosed and subsequently treated for bipolar was insane. I still have a roller coaster and the grief is compounding it, along with my chronic pain, but there's nothing I can do but just sit back and try to push things away as hard as I can. Not at his recommendation, of course, but that's how I am dealing with it, or not as the case may be. Both he and my therapist agree that I am pushing things away but that I can't deal with the intense emotional breakdown that comes with having to realize that my sister is, indeed, gone forever. So instead I push, push, push away, jump, jump, jump up and down trying to cram it down as far as I can.
I see my grief as a seed that is planted and I keep trying to keep it from growing. I stomp on the ground, try to pat at the ground, try to keep the roots from planting and pushing the seed up towards the light which is my consciousness. No matter what I do the plant HAS taken root and I DO have to deal with it but I keep trying to keep it at bay at all costs. It is costing me my mental and physical health but I figure I might as well try to keep it away as long as possible.
Just as something can't stay shrink wrapped forever, I know I can't keep my grief and loss at arms length forever.
But I continue to try.