Gold Pig















My first appointment with the psychiatrist was a relief.

Yes I was nervous. Yes I was worried about having to re-tell old stories, explain my current story and be honest with Sapphire about why I was going, what was needed and how I would get myself better.

Yes I was self conscious sitting in the waiting room with Love Chunks and Sapphire next to me leafing through trashy magazines. I tried to herd them out so that she wouldn't gaze up from her 'Ange Dumps Brad' edition and start reading the poster about the signs of mental illness written in font size 72 .

"Look, there's a Dimmey's over there - why don't you see if they've got some blue school shorts in your size, Sapph?"
She shook her head. "It's too hot out there."

It was my turn to go in. I edited my story down to a fairly punchy and precise version and then explained what the GP had done (increased the dose at my request) and what I was doing to climb out of the hole. Ordinary but important stuff like getting out of bed at a normal time, keeping fit, writing, working, cognitive exercises, being aware of what was happening to me and - hardest of all - trying not to feel so gnawingly guilty and sometimes allowing myself to do nothing.

Just two days after taking the increased dosage of antidepressant (a week before I got in to see the psych) I felt noticeably better. Less fog, less darkness. Then, when I actually had the appointment I felt better again because it was being taken seriously. By the psychiatrist, by LC, by Sapphire, my GP, my family, my friends and myself.

Like the psych who used to treat me in Adelaide, I think that this bloke - let's call him Melbourne Mind - understands that intellectually I know all about depression and that I really do try my very hardest to deal with it. Perhaps even try too hard at times. He therefore tackled it by pointing out that it’s a chemical imbalance in my case – serotonin and also another ‘onin’ whose name escapes me right now. This of course makes me feel less like a freak and a failure and more like someone who lacks Vitamin D or needs to rethink their vegan stance.

He said, “You’re on the right dose, you know your stuff and you are doing everything properly. Just keep doing what you’re doing and I’ll see you in three weeks.”

We set the appointment and I walked out to the reception area and saw Sapphire.

"Are you okay, Mum?"

I smiled. "You know, the doctor says that I'm a very good patient and that I'm doing all the right things." A simplistic explanation but not one that was patronising or untrue or edited for a child's ears.

"That's good." She reached for my hand. "You know what I learned today?"

"What love?"

"That you need to have really big fake boobs to get into these magazines----" she pointed to the raggedy pile of No Ideas, NWs, Grazias and Woman's Day's "-----and have weird puffy lips to match."

Maybe at the next appointment I'll tell him that I've taken to wearing a gold pig around my neck. Horoscopes, Feng Shui and the Chinese Zodiac have never affected my decisions or been a big feature in my life, but at the request of a person very close to me, I'm wearing the pig. As a Monkey in the year of the Tiger it's apparently going to be a tough twelve months. The Tiger needs to be fooled into believing I'm a pig by carrying or wearing one at all times.

People have complimented me on the necklace and it (almost) goes without saying that my GoneChocco reviewing job also allows me to take on the qualities that pigs are famous for.

Whatever works.