This morning I met with my therapist. We talked about life, about how I’m doing and what I’m doing, as I haven’t seen her in about a month and a half.
I touched on a whole lot of activity that came up over the last month and a half, and we discussed my current state of existence.
Ten minutes before the session ended, she asked how we should proceed with therapy, given that I’ve been in therapy for quite some time and I’m able now to handle what life brings to me without punishing myself in any way.
After discussing for some time, we both came to the conclusion that it was time for me to move on from therapy. This came with the understanding that if something were to happen in the future, she would be available to talk and I could always come back in.
As of today, I am discharged from outpatient therapy.
I am so beyond ecstatic. I never thought I would be the person I am today, but here I am. I never thought I’d get “better,” and so many treatment providers told me I wouldn’t either, but here I am. Living.
The other side of being mentally ill is strange. The biggest issues in my life are the same issues that other people see on a daily basis (outside of my body having problems). I navigate relationships, work, school, responsibility in the same way that other people do.
The fact that I no longer have to go to therapy, that I am not on psychiatric medication, that I am by all means stable, is strange. My identity has changed from being sick to being alive. My life has changed, and I love the way it looks now.
There is always hope. No matter who says you are incapable of getting better–even if it is yourself–you can.
I am so proud of the me that kept trying, that kept working, that kept talking.
I am so proud of the person I am today.