Shrinkxiety- that sinking panicky anxiety felt before a psychiatric appointment because you’re not doing well and have little hope that the doctor will actually listen and do something to help.
I’ve been on the fence what to do about my kid today while I see the shrink. It’s a half hour max, and taking her to my mom’s just opens a can of worms. I thought I might drop her off at the shop, let R repay me for all the favors I do him. My kid can be very disruptive and I need this doctor to pay attention to ME. But since my current state affects here, as well, and my biggest fear is failing her as a mom…I think I am gonna take her with me. Let him meet my reason for continuing to fight this shit. MAKE IT REAL TO HIM. Plus last night, I sat down, wrote a letter (he can read it or I can read it to him, imploring him to hear me out on Trileptal matter) and I made a list of things that are new compared to two months ago as well as worsening depressive symptoms. I get in there, I’m panicky, he thinks I am hypomanic, and thus he seems dismissive. I am hoping if I go in prepared….He might actually hear me out. Not just sit there, listen, make snarky comments about all the meds I’ve tried, then force his will on me without regard to the misery this is causing me.
I have that sinking feeling in my gut but then again…I have to force myself to be hopeful because any fear and pessimism could be used against me. Suckage is major.
Yesterday was a “rip the bandage off” day. I felt like shit, but forced myself to go all the way out to her doctor’s office to retrieve my phone. Then I pondered blowing off the whole shop thing and remembered that’d just make me feel shittier. So I stopped in, with Spook in tow, thinking as annoying as she is, he might just tell me to leave. Ha. Was still there four hours later, mostly fetching him smokes and drinks and checking his email. My kid was okay the first hour, but then she got bored and whiny and defiant. I was feeling absolutely paranoid outside my comfort zone. The headache came and went, by the time I got home it was back in full force. Drained to the bone marrow.
Still…I didn’t crash. I didn’t even cryptify til almost ten. I am pushing myself, trying to push myself out of this depressive haze and rut. It’s not working but at least I can say I am trying. Of course, it took forever to get to sleep. That’s getting old real fast. Then not staying asleep. Weird dreams. Teeth gnashing. Ugh.
But I am gonna go in with my papers, my kid, and I am gonna plead my case. I don’t think this doctor is evil. I just don’t think he’s had a case as chronic and outside the box as I am. No, I am not special. I am also not textbook and treating me as such, and making me feel bad for all the med failures, is cruel on his part.
I even took a full Xanax in hopes it might calm the nerves enough for him not to jump to the conclusion that I’m having some sort of ADD hypomanic state. Now I just gotta work up the gumption to throw on clothes and maybe scrape the moss off my fangs. Least today I’ve made sure my kid’s clothes are rightside out, her socks match, and her shoes are on the right feet. Which leaves me no sporks to give a damn about my own appearance. I have pants on, it’s a success.
Sad when your standards drop that low. I used to be a fricking vain fashionista, not because I cared what people thought, but because it was fun and it made me feel good to do my hair and make up and wear cute clothes. I haven’t been that person since the Nardil fucked up my brain. It’s not that I don’t want to look nice. I want to want to look good. I just..my give a damn is busted.
Onward and upward. Just gotta remember to breathe. And not forget where I parked. Or lose my phone. Or…
I’m a beautiful mess. That’s my story and I am sticking to it.