... in the wee hours of the morn at a new emotional low.
In less than 10 hours my mum and dad are leaving once more for Seattle so he can receive his stem cell transplant. Whenever the subject of leaving comes up, my mum's eyes tear up and she says in an unconvincingly brave voice that she "won't cry." I finally asked her what exactly she was so worried about; Seattle is only on the other side of the state, and it's not like the move is permanent. Her reply came down to this: she is scared to leave me here alone. She wishes I had someone here with me, she wishes our relatives would for once be as dependable as she has always been for them. I somehow think she knows that despite seeing a counselor and being on meds I really am not making progress towards mental stability. She's been dealing with depression for most of her life, so she'd know.
This is worse than cutting. This is worse than anything I've ever done.
My father is on the brink of a potentially fatal procedure but it is me who is the object of angst.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Session With Dr. P (Take I)
How did my session with a new psychiatrist go? Interesting...
This particular doctor--from here on to be known as "Dr. Prattle"--is thorough. Very thorough. Dr. Prattle is the type who analyzes every word coming out of a patients mouth. After extensive exploration into my past/present/future, my awkward ability to survey a room and maintain eye contact simultaneously, and (of course) choice of words when answering one of the thousand questions he advanced, he ended our inaugural session with a lengthy summation of what could possibly be my problem and how to advance with medication and counseling.
I've only spent two hours with the man and I hate him already.
Mid-session he proposed that I go off effexor xr and start prozac. NOT happening. Prozac is for housewives, cubical workers and hypochondriacs NOT people like me with drug-resistant depression AND anxiety. I think someone needs to reread his medication literature.
As for my sudden and extreme drop in mood over the past six weeks... It turns out my sleeping pills (prescribed by my not-so-enthusiastic GP) can make depression worse. Worse. Make that two someones who need to reread their medication literature. ACK!
At least I now know I am not as crazy as I thought. (That last sentence was awkward).
This particular doctor--from here on to be known as "Dr. Prattle"--is thorough. Very thorough. Dr. Prattle is the type who analyzes every word coming out of a patients mouth. After extensive exploration into my past/present/future, my awkward ability to survey a room and maintain eye contact simultaneously, and (of course) choice of words when answering one of the thousand questions he advanced, he ended our inaugural session with a lengthy summation of what could possibly be my problem and how to advance with medication and counseling.
I've only spent two hours with the man and I hate him already.
Mid-session he proposed that I go off effexor xr and start prozac. NOT happening. Prozac is for housewives, cubical workers and hypochondriacs NOT people like me with drug-resistant depression AND anxiety. I think someone needs to reread his medication literature.
As for my sudden and extreme drop in mood over the past six weeks... It turns out my sleeping pills (prescribed by my not-so-enthusiastic GP) can make depression worse. Worse. Make that two someones who need to reread their medication literature. ACK!
At least I now know I am not as crazy as I thought. (That last sentence was awkward).
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