Had a lovely night where my kid woke up at 1am and didn’t go back to sleep til 4:30 am. That was grand because I had a dr appt at 8:40 am. Surprisingly, once the cobwebs were off my brain, I moved quick enough and felt less physically shitty on less sleep. My mood, however, was in the gutter.
Seeing the shrink did not improve it. She was there on the TV screen with her ink pen and paper and my file writing little notes and reading past notes…And asked me how Vistaril was working for me. Um, hello? I asked for that last time, YOU are the one who nixed it and said it wasn’t strong enough. Then she asked who put me on Xanax last time. HELLO? Do I even exist here? I’m supposedly the one with mental issues and I have to remind the shrink of what she did a month ago?
I tried to be upbeat and point out changes for the good without making it all seem hunky dory. I asked for a dose increase on Cymbalta since it seems to be doing more than any of the other anti-depressants did. She agreed and left the other stuff the same. Then she told me I have underlying depression and emotional issues that impact my will to live more than the mental stuff does and no medicine will ever help that, I have to work that out in therapy. Which she asked me if I was seeing anyone. Um, same question, every month, eighteen months, always the same answer YES! and we can’t even make a note of this, ffs?
Okay. Number 1, twenty years ago when all this erratic behavior began to destroy everything in my life, I went to the mental health center and told them it was all in my head and I didn’t want or need meds, just a counselor.
That worked for about six months before things got even worse and I cried uncle and asked for the meds because they swore I needed them and they would solve everything including cure malaria and unicorn cancer.
I have jumped through flaming hoops for 20 years taking these meds that are supposed to help me so damn much because something is off with my brain chemistry.
Now the meds WON’T help with my depression because it’s just my personality and I need to talk it out?
Jesus. I am not asking for a pill to cure all ills, nor do I blame everything in my life on bipolar or panic disorder. BUT how am I ever going to get into a stable mental space to work on the personality quirks if my brain chemistry never stops shifting and ebbing and flowing on a daily fucking basis? I just had four of my worst depressive days in a long while but that’s all in my head, I need to get over it by talking about it.
THEN she asked why my anxiety and panic are so high. UM, HELLO, READ THE FILE, 20 PLUS YEARS OF PANIC DISORDER! If it made sense and was only related to outside stressors, it wouldn’t be a fucking disorder.
I am once again getting so sick of the shrink bit, every month, same fucking thing, always walk out feeling relieved that it’s over but like I am a non person and I am never going to get any better when the damn doctor can’t even record accurate notes from one appointment to the next. It’s frustrating. I am also not unaware that in spite of my complaints and less than ideal situation, I am at least getting treatment, which is more than others in my situation can say.
It’s just….tiresome.
I want her to take accurate notes so the pen isn’t necessarily a bad thing…But the fact that every single month she asks the same questions and even her notes are wrong…It’s like I am being judged inaccurately, like this is all just some sudden thing I cooked up because my marriage imploded and I found myself a single mom. READ THE DAMN FILE, IT’S AS THICK AS A COLLEGIATE DICTIONARY! This is not new, this is not all because of the marriage or the donor, this is long running stuff I have been dealing with and having it all dismissed as personality or current stressors really makes me lose faith in ever really being helped by the shrink or the meds.
Again, even if I agree that a certain fraction of it all is my personality and the way I tend to view things as glass half empty…How am I ever going to resolve these issues in therapy if every appointment is spent discussing the latest wave in panic and mood swings and how I am struggling to juggle it all and at times, failing miserably even though more than anything, I want to declare myself cured and move along with life. How the hell is that even possible? Having it all made to seem so trivial by a doctor who should understand this sort of thing is anything but simple is insulting and angering. I am trying so damn hard here, and some days, I am buried alive, and the very people who are meant to help and be my support system only assist in making me feel more useless…How is that healthy?
Blah. Just get so sick of it. Out of 20 plus years, I’ve only ever had one shrink who truly helped and that was only two years. She served her time in this shit hole and got the hell out. Which is all I have ever wanted. Out of here. It won’t fix my chemistry or psychology but it’s fucking hard to try and fix things when you’re doing it in the vast wasteland of every bad decision you’ve ever made. I can’t get a fresh start because nothing here ever changes and the people here are not at all understanding or forgiving. The whole job thing proves that. I keep getting back e mail even from work at home outfits telling me I am not qualified or didn’t pass the background check or whatever. I get rejection comes with the whole job thing, but if no one is going to give me a chance…It gets me down, it really does. It shouldn’t, and I guess this is my character flaw, but it really makes me lose hope.
Other than that…
Has been a miserable week. Cold, gray, raining, my mood has been shit. It pepped up a little this afternoon but after almost five days straight of feeling doom and gloomy-I didn’t even go to the shop MOnday because my stress stomach ache was so bad…Then tonight we came home to find out one of the kids in the trailer park completely broke one of the swings off Spook’s swingset while we were gone…
Cripes, what is there to be happy about? It’s all kind of sucky. I mean, I got out of bed and put on clean clothes and pretended I wanted to be alive…If that’s all I have for today, it should at least count for something.
But according to the shrink, that’s just my personality and I need to work on it.
Hey, Doc, here, put on this shock collar. I’m gonna give the remote control to some unknown person who is just gonna push the button at random intervals ten times a day…You try to control your personality’s reaction to the shocks.
Because that is what bipolar is like. Exactly what it is like. It’s not an excuse, it’s not laziness. It is just this neverending cycle of brain zaps that you cannot discover a trigger for, cannot control, and cannot seem to get a grip on.
My personality is not perfect, it does need some work. (I really need to upgrade from the Windows ME/Vista brain to Win XP or Win 7).
But it’s never going to get the attention and work it needs and deserves if the damn shock collar doesn’t quit zapping me wily nily.
And frankly, if I could narrow it down to certain triggers, that would be wondermous because then I could have a starting point in which to work on such things.
But if one thing sets me off on Monday yet the exact same thing barely makes me blink on Thursday, it’s very hard to identify a trigger EXCEPT FOR THE RAPID MOOD SHIFTS. WhiCH IS CYCLOTHYMIA,SO READ THE BLOODY FILE!
Sometimes, even if I don’t agree with it, I really truly understand why a large segment of people with mental disorders just go into denial and try to fix it with booze and drugs.
It’s not ideal, but then, neither is the so called ideal treatment.
None of us ever really improve, we just keep functioning, and that’s all the world cares about. Screw quality of life, just amble through like a semi coherent zombie because NO ONE wants to hear about your woe-is-me mental problems.
Not even the very people being paid to hear about them.
