I don’t know how this blog has ended up somehow being all about my mental
health illness. Hopefully in the future I will have something more riveting to write about. Summing up, My ex was a douche, I’ve been depressed forever but my ex made me sicker so I went to a place for three years. Like I mean, I didn’t like, go to an insitiution. I didn’t go AWAY to a place (if only….) I just you know, got therapy and shit. I loved my shrink and my therapist. Then it got taken over by some freaks and all the good people quit. SO I had to get my meds from my wack-o 90 thousand year old primary care physician while my name sat on a waiting list. His idea of therapy was to ask me the same questions every week because he had old man memory loss: do you go to church? When do you start your student teaching? Do you think you need your clonazepam?
The wait is over and I just met my new psychiatrist today. I don’t like him. And it’s not because he’s an Indian. But for the visual, picture an older thin Indian man, glasses, very serious. That’s the fucking problem. The intake interview took TWO HOURS. TWO. AND I had both boys with me (they were angels the entire time but as I was leaving he said he wants me to come by myself from now on). I already feel shitty talking to a stranger about my problems and when he is a stuffy non-smiler it is a million times worse. So I cried for the whole two hours and answered his questions through snot and tears. Just all the usual shit: when was the last time you felt really good for a few months at a time? Have you ever been hospitalized? Do you experience periods of excessive happiness (LOL).
And then he asked me what I want. What the fuck does he mean what the fuck do I want? I put my own name on the waiting list, I told him I received services through the other place religiously for three years. I am dedicated to trying to make my brain healthier so………ummmmmmmmmm……….I want my fucking meds?
I like my new therapist but I need the dr to give me my medicine which doesnt really fucking help anyway. He acted like I was trying to get some super good opiates or something. Then he went on some rant about how I do not have to follow his RECOMMENDATIONS. It is my choice whether I take his RECOMMENDATIONS. But if I don’t I can’t receive services. So doesn’t that mean I DO have to follow his RECOMMENDATIONS? And OF COURSE he wants to change my medicine. I told him he needs to wait until the end of May when my student teaching is over because I can’t be a lab rat or guinnea pig until then.
That offended him. He said it implies that he is just going to throw medicine at me and see if it makes me feel better. Well, ISN’T THAT WHAT HE IS GOING TO DO?
I told him prozac was really the only “anitdepressant” I had ever been on that I felt helped. But after a year or two it gave me that nasty “unable to have an orgasm” side effect so my doctor switched me. He said I need to weigh the side effects against the benefits and sometimes I need to decide what is more important.
So then I felt like the town whore.
Basically I am a mental wreck. My brain is like a nasty traffic accident. And that dude made me feel worse.
So hopefully my name will come up on the OTHER waiting list (if it didn’t already: I have no memory anymore and can’t remember if they called me and I told them I was already with a place or not…)
I know what my problem is: loneliness. I want a partner, a support, a man. It’s funny how I’ve only had a couple serious relationships in life and I am far far far from the type of chick that goes straight from one dude to the next. One would think that, due to my intense desire for a working marriage, that I would have been one of those serial monogamists that has not been without a relationship since middle school. But I am quite the opposite. I didn’t even realize how much more content and whole I felt with a man until my broken marriage. That’s when I realized: all I really want in life is to be a good woman who loves my family and has a good man to love me back.
Unfortunately for me, a man doesn’t come in a pill. And I’m fat right now so I seem to only attract men that prey on fat women because we usually have low self esteem and are more likely to agree to get stepped on. Sad but true. Hot body girls get better men. Statistically speaking. And I’m not being a hater. I love skinny bitches. I wish I was one.
If I can just find a hobby that replaces the need for male companionship.. reading, writing, and embroidery have not worked. And alcohol just makes me fatter and………..is imbibing considered a hobby? All I know is that I am on the brink of a really dark mental hole and I have so much pressure on me right now that if I make it through student teaching it will truly truly be a miracle. If I can’t look at myself in the mirror when it’s over….well, if I complete it, anyway……………If I can’t look in the mirror and tell myself that I truly am an amazing woman and the strongest bitch I have ever met in my LIFE for NOT being committed, for NOT giving up completely and turning into a raging drug addict crack head street walker, then all hope for self-improvement is lost.
All I have left is prayer at this point because nothing at all is going right and I am 10000000% overwhelmed to the 10000000000000000th degree. NO I’m not suicidal, my dear readers. Just ready to snap out of reality and turn into one of those people that sits in a rocker and tries to peel myself because I think I’m an orange.