When my depression was getting worse and a whole series of med changes had me going from bad to worse, I went into my pdoc's office one day for an appointment & stopped in the doorway, hands on my hips. He rushed from his desk. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not happy," I said. "I think I will bite you," & showed him my teeth.

I knew I was in good hands when he said, "I have a better idea. Let me call *Mrs pdoc*, you'll come home, have dinner with us, we'll talk all night. Make a plan."

I didn't bite him, we made a plan, it worked.