Seriously, what is the fucking point of psychiatrist appointments because I as sure as hell can't see one. I've been faithfully attending weekly pdoc appointments since the beginning of the year, with the exception of his holidays and a hospital stay. Nothing has been achieved. Sure, the change to Lexapro has helped my general mood, but honestly, I've had a fucking gutful of this shit.
What's the fucking point? I sit in the pdoc's room saying nothing and avoiding eye contact as much as possible. It's not that I am trying to be difficult or anything. I just don't have a hell of a lot to say. I DON'T have some sort of half-hidden trauma in my background. I don't know if he is waiting for me to spill my guts and gush out some story about a sinister past. It's got me fucked what he wants me to bloody say. It's not gonna happen though. No sinister past exists. Sure, my mother was a raving fucking lunatic and we didn't get on during my latter teens, but that is the end of the story. Nothing else to say.
What's the fucking point? During the appointment today, he tells me that I am important. Yeah right ... about as important as one of the fleas that hop onto my dogs on occasion and they as sure as shit don't last that long. He tells me that he is concerned about me feeling worse after an appointment and that he doesn't want to push it. I guess that is because of my reasonably regular death wishes on the drive home. I can't fucking help those though. I have them when I have them. End of story!
What's the fucking point of self harm? I spent the best part of my drive home this evening stubbing cigarettes out on my lower forearm. It felt bloody good too! What's with that? What does it achieve? Nothing other than my arm is probably gonna start hurting like shit later on tonight.
What's the fucking point? Because he doesn't want to push me (apparently), he's cutting back our appointments to fortnightly from now on. What does it matter if the frequency of appointments is weekly, fortnightly, monthly or fucking yearly come to think of it. They achieve nothing. It's a waste of his and my time!
Do I sound frustrated? Well, that's because I am! They dangle a carrot in front of your face when they refer you to a pdoc. You think, "Finally, things might actually change", then nothing does. What is the fucking point?
yeah disso, i agree - print this blog out and shove it in ure pdoc's face next time u go!
ReplyDeletehe needs to know how frustrated ure feeling with him and his version of therapy.
and if u find it hard to talk in front of him, putting things in writing is a really good idea.
damn insanity huh. imagine what life is like for sane people...??
actually its prob pretty boring lol
:)
Yeah, going between my psychiatrist and my therapist is like this endless cycle of being numb and feeling like a chunk of meat. I do get some help from the drugs though so I just keep going to get the drugs. *sigh*
ReplyDeleteJames, it's sad hey, but I think that's the way I'll have to look at it too. Access to the drugs means that life is somewhat livable.
ReplyDeleteIt just seems like such a wasted opportunity. I guess I thought that getting therapy would somehow break the cycle of depression and dissociation. I just have to reconcile with the fact that it was never meant to be. Dammit!
Joey, yeah, I will definitely let him read this post. I'm a little concerned about what his reaction will be, but stuff it, it may lead to some discussion at least.