Most of my psychotherapy remains a big ol' bowl of alphabet soup. My damaged memory has made a mess of all the acronyms, job titles, degree holders, affiliations, etcetera, etceteri. Just another meander through the world league library shelves. My peers I remember well. The pros? Alphabet soup.

As my BP dx transitioned in to a PTSD dx, there was some discussion on whether to challenge the Bipolar dx already on my charts. I shrugged. One name is as good as another. Fact is, I made some impressive progress during the Bipolar therapy and still use the tools I learned there. Let it hold as accurate herstory. Paying attention to accuracy is an important element in my own amnesia therapy.

Among the exercises I benefited from in the Bipolar workshops centered on the way Bipolars so often trigger one another into rapid cycles. I did the bulk of these workshops as my eldest son (now 36) came into adolescence with enough similarities to cause some horrendous trigger events between us. I am leaning heavily on those exercises this week.

Eldest son (36) is still rapid cycling his way through the bachelor break-up drama. He is unemployed, homeless, lost his dog, grown a dramatic list of broken car windows, pending legal charges, et al, but the important thing is that we know this, that or the next thing about the Significant Other who has already disappeared, deep into the safety of the Ex Hall of Fame. Bye bye, Love.

I have been holding steady in my own cycling. I think. The weather has been ideal for channeling the mania into gardening. Think I'll be planting corn later this morning. I am making headway with the grow lights in "The Sand Box," but moving slow on that one. Keeping wires and timers straight is a bit of a challenge just now.

Just an update. . .