Which Dwarf Shall I Be Today?

Now I know I'm a little out of the height range of Snow White's seven little friends, but I'm thinking of taking on one of their names, more specifically: Grumpy.
I had my appointment with the psychatrist this morning. She seemed nice enough, asked a lot of questions. Hashing over my slightly colourful family history was a blast, I assure you.
At the end of the appointment, she suggested group counselling (which freaks me the H-E-double-hockey-sticks out), took me off one medication, and upped my dosage of the other to the maximum. She wants me to come back in six weeks.
Six weeks. Man, that's a long time. And in the meantime it's just supposed to be more of the same? Okay, there's the group counselling. It scares me though, though I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's because I'm afraid that I'll see people who are sicker than me. Maybe I'm afraid that I won't. There are certainly days when I feel I'm the most messed up person on this mortal coil. (Oh good, I'm referencing a monologue debating the merits of suicide. Bloody brilliant.)
I want to be healthy, and happy, but apparently just because the only other option is being miserable. I surrendered my right to end my life when I gave Christ Lordship over my life. I'm thankful for that, that I don't have to torment myself over a decision because it's one I've already made, but I hate that I've had to remind myself so often lately.
You are not your own. You were bought at a price. (2 Cor 6:19-20)
I think it's become my mantra. This, these feelings, the things I want to do...they terrify me. They frighten and hurt the ones I love. If I tell them, they worry; if I don't, I'm alone. I don't know how to strike a balance. I don't know how to be okay.