I know this may seem commonplace for all you good buddies out there flip flopping from the depths of depression to the heights of mania (trying not to fall off the planet) but I, a proud Canuck, can now say, I have an appointment with a pdoc. It took eighteen months and a threatened self-harm crisis call, but it worked. In three weeks. I could dance on my head. You see, I've been bungling my way through, taking meds prescribed by GP who seems terrified to give me any real psychiatric meds. So, armed with a pile of paperwork, off I go. This is very good news. I awake each morning with a hippo on my chest. I need something to encourage him to return to the zoo and let me breathe, normally.