I named myself missohkay because I knew that no matter what happened, I'd always be okay. (The H is not an interesting part of the story - missokay was already taken on twitter so I cleverly spelled it wrong. Shh. Yes, we're sticking with clever.)
And I was right. Two years after going off birth control, thirteen months after my first loss (nine months after my second loss almost five months after my third loss stop with the counting already!), and maybe a quarter (?) of the way through my adoption journey, I am okay. But I'm not great. I used to be really happy, and I just can't quite get back there yet. Not that I'm bad - just kind of blah. Not as content as I'd like to be.
So I tried therapy last week. I believe in that sort of thing for, like, you know, other people. I don't need it because of my awesome ohkay coping skills. Or whatever. So I tried it, and I actually kind of liked it. Except for the parts where I learned something about myself. Which went like this:
THERAPIST: So what did your mother say to you that made you upset?
ME: She asked me if I was depressed. Suggested I wasn't handling the miscarriages well, which bothered me because I feel like I'm handling them really well and I wanted some acknowledgement of that.
VOICE IN MY HEAD: Good job for saying acknowledgment instead of the words you used in your blog ("fucking credit"). Now don't tell her your mom asked you if mrohkay would call her if he thought you were going to hurt yourself. Therapist doesn't know you well enough yet to know how ridiculous of a statement that was!
THERAPIST: So she asked if you were depressed. Did she actually say you weren't handling it well or she just made you feel that way.
VOICE IN MY HEAD: Shit! Feeling only. She didn't actually say that.
ME: (sigh) Felt.
...
THERAPIST: So how does mrohkay react when you are sad and cry?
ME: He's really great. He comforts me and listens to me. I know he gets worried that I'm not as happy as I used to be.
THERAPIST: He said he was worried that you weren't as happy or you feel like he thinks that?
VOICE IN MY HEAD: Haha! You cannot trick me with your wily therapist ways this time, beyotch.
ME: No, he actually said that. We've talked about it a few times.
THERAPIST: In what ways aren't you as happy as before the miscarriages?
ME: I don't know, I used to be just be a happy-go-lucky person. I don't feel that way anymore, and I'm hoping to get it back. I'm just not as...
VOICE IN MY HEAD: Shh! You were about to say you're no longer as interested in things you used to like doing, weren't you? That is, like, a total sign of depression - don't you pay attention to those cymb.alta commercials? Damn. I think you might be depressed. (Wuss.)
...
So there you have it. I have a potty-mouth voice in my head and my therapist is just a leeetle too perceptive for my tastes. I'll be going back in two weeks just in time to discuss the upcoming birth of my niece. Can't wait.
(Oh, were you still waiting for the response to my joke above? One, but the light bulb has to really want to change.)