I’m still alive.
Last week was beyond horrific from a mental standpoint. My mind was so messed up I basically shut down. Aside from child and pet car, I didn’t engage at all. I was angry, flying off the handle, teary, depressed, all of it simultaneous.
Then I saw the shrink. We’re trying Lexapro now. She thinks I have a strong disposition for bipolar 2 because of the manic episodes set off by anti depressants.
Which is awesome because my new counselor, who is all of 27 and soo full of experience, has decided my diagnosis is leaning toward borderline personality disorder.
Something I had asked the former counselor about numerous times and she said she absolutely did not believe I was because most of my symptoms were standard issue bipolar and those that aren’t are part of the rapid cycling/cyclothymia.
It’s like this girl barely out of school is trying to invent the wheel.
Proof she didn’t read my file is she asked me why I think people don’t like me. Had she read it, she would have seen how I was ostracized and bullied every day for 7 years so I have been programmed to believe it.
No, it’s just some delusion I cooked up because suddenly after 20 years and ten therapists and shrinks, THIS genius has it all solved.
I keep telling myself to calm down, keep an open mind, stop acting like borderline with the overreaction to something I simply disagree with.
Thing is, after doing some research EVERY EMOTION WE HAVE AS HUMANS IS A DISORDER BECAUSE TO NOT BE A DISORDER YOU HAVE TO FEEL NOTHING STRONGLY.
I am pissed off, and I don’t think it is without justification. This counselor has seen me 3 times, and two of those were an intake and assessment. She has spent zero time talking to me in depth. But she’s got the label ready to stick in my permanent record.
That’s hubris, to me. Arrogance.
And ya know, if everything that’s wrong with me is my personality, how the hell am I ever gonna work on it when she only sees you for fifty minutes every two to three weeks?
I am thinking about dropping out of therapy. It’s pointless. It’s actually confusing me more, because every time I think I have a diagnosis to work from, some genius comes along and plants seeds that it could be this, or that, or…You get the idea. I am frustrated.
And disgusted to put all these meds into my body, allow my identity to be scrutinized and picked apart by strangers…AND NONE OF THEM CAN AGREE BECAUSE NONE OF THEM HAVE A CLUE.
Not even gonna try regulating indignation. Would invalidate being indignant, ffs. But wait, being angry about something that makes me angry is probably a whole new personality disorder.
AND HOW WAS YOUR WEEK?