"So how have you been?", she asked.
"No more than normal. A few, but manageable"
"Any thoughts of hurting yourself?"
"Nope, not recently"
"How about highs?"
"Yeah a few"
"What were those like?"
"ummm, just, you know, UP, but nothing like manic, or illegal", I shrugged my shoulders and laughed.
"Well, that's good", she smiled.
And that is how a session with my Doctor generally goes now. Then she asked what I've been up to, I told her I was training for a 5k and I may not survive it. We discussed the reasons, and I told her I decided to get my body and my mind in shape finally. She smiled and seemed genuinely happy with my answers. She asked for my advice on how I ate, what did I avoid. She's really nice. My last doctor never looked up from the prescription pad, just asked a few questions about side effects and answered a lengthy call. Then handed me my prescriptions for a 3 month supply and I was out the door.
I always found it kind of ironic that a Doctor will diagnose you with PTSD, Bi-polar presenting (which is a oblique way of saying your Bi-polar but your lows are so low that your baseline would be a normal person's low and your high's would be a normal person's baseline, I can't even get Bi-polar right apparently), severe clinical depression, then send you out the door with enough drugs to commit a very effective and painless suicide. Interesting. Not that I've thought about it. Much. Just saying. Some things are dumb.