oh sinnerman, where you gonna run to?
Sad long post from me today, hidden under a cut, about how when things go wrong remarkably few people comprehend it. But I was mopey so I LJed it; you have been warned.
I went to the Student Health center because I suddenly had to stop taking a drug and things had gotten weird. The nurse who has to see you before you a see a doctor was kind of a bitch. She was a bitch largely because I kept telling her the truth. I kind of think that when people come in because the little green pills have been on the fritz, you should expect some crazy.
Troll: "When you come in for meds related issues, you should remember to bring them all."
Me: "Yeah, I'm afraid to go inside my house."
Troll: "You- why?"
Me: "I have a thing about it."
Troll: (with increasing contempt)"Last period?"
Me: "I don't keep track. Do most women?"
Troll: "YES, most women DO," (actually, they always do ask this. Hell, I may start. Not.)
Me: "Ok, two weeks-- no I'm thinking of August, two days ago. Five! Fifth of November?"
Troll: "Age."
Me: "Ummmmmm 22. 23!"
Troll: "Last PAP smear."
Me: "I've forgotten what that is."
Troll: (expression of despair that her life is reduced to interviewing women who don't structure their sense of time around menstruation and have aversions to demestic space) "Stirrups. There was a speculum--"
Me: (still unable to remember what one is, which, incidentally, I have had, but deciding it is easier just to consent) "Oh yes, definitely. And the results were... good..."
Obviously I was really upset by the fact that I can't remember things like that. She seemed to think I was being difficult on purpose. I mean if someone comes in with a broken leg, you don't get angry with her for moving slowly, but if someone comes in because escalating anxiety is making it hard to do things, it's ok to pissed of because she finds it hard to do things and gets agitated in response to anger? Really? Kicking a bitch when she's down?
Piss up a rope, troll nurse.
In the middle of my anxiety attacks my father sent me an e-mail expressing his concerns about Cindy the prophet's idea that a demon was bothering me, with a list of things which might indicate this (or, as Sam pointed out, schizophrenia). So I e-mailed him back and was like, demons, maybe yes, but more likely I different psychiatrist would be cool, which for a while he had offered to help me pay for, and then he e-mailed me about how much better I would feel if I went to confession.
I've always had kind of night terrors and fears of deomns; I had a panic attack about it this morning. I really feel like this may have been a counter-productive discussion.
So. Another 3.5 hour drive to see my insurance covered shrink in CA for 15 minutes, trying to guess what the magic words are she's trying to hear which will tell her what's wrong? Yeah, maybe. I missed a bunch of socially important readings last time. And the time before.
Talking to my friends? Yeah, they get it, but they also are all couples who will no shit organize dinners and movie nights and talk about books and where fresh produce is best-- ie, the basically functional of this world, who, however bad it gets, can probably sit in their house and drink a cup of tea if they want, or will assume they can get to work on time, or do most of their schoolwork. They're sweet but they can't be the kind of support network which helps, so I can't talk to them, so I resent them for being able to do the things I used to do.
Convince my dad to help me pay for a different psychiatrist? Will try, but all this demon-y stuff is upsetting. I don't like the idea of the Ghostbusters discussing me (which btw, he tells me they do). I think they help a lot of people in their own way but its upsetting me that he can only think of theological explanations for medical problems. He wasn't always like this and that freaks me out more than anything.
And I wrote a big whiny LJ about it, because seriously, the medical/psychiatric profession is detatched and apathetic, my parents care but are but are obsessed with demons and making me nervy, my friends think Fresh and Easy vs Sunflower Market is a valid discussion topic and as such cannot be psychologically trusted, and I don't ask for help from professors. Obviously.
I'd say I'd get some good writing out of this, but since it took me six hours to answer an e-mail yesterday, that would be optimism.
But on the bright side: I was such a wreck after my encounter with the troll that I instantly got a bunch of Xanex.
I went to the Student Health center because I suddenly had to stop taking a drug and things had gotten weird. The nurse who has to see you before you a see a doctor was kind of a bitch. She was a bitch largely because I kept telling her the truth. I kind of think that when people come in because the little green pills have been on the fritz, you should expect some crazy.
Troll: "When you come in for meds related issues, you should remember to bring them all."
Me: "Yeah, I'm afraid to go inside my house."
Troll: "You- why?"
Me: "I have a thing about it."
Troll: (with increasing contempt)"Last period?"
Me: "I don't keep track. Do most women?"
Troll: "YES, most women DO," (actually, they always do ask this. Hell, I may start. Not.)
Me: "Ok, two weeks-- no I'm thinking of August, two days ago. Five! Fifth of November?"
Troll: "Age."
Me: "Ummmmmm 22. 23!"
Troll: "Last PAP smear."
Me: "I've forgotten what that is."
Troll: (expression of despair that her life is reduced to interviewing women who don't structure their sense of time around menstruation and have aversions to demestic space) "Stirrups. There was a speculum--"
Me: (still unable to remember what one is, which, incidentally, I have had, but deciding it is easier just to consent) "Oh yes, definitely. And the results were... good..."
Obviously I was really upset by the fact that I can't remember things like that. She seemed to think I was being difficult on purpose. I mean if someone comes in with a broken leg, you don't get angry with her for moving slowly, but if someone comes in because escalating anxiety is making it hard to do things, it's ok to pissed of because she finds it hard to do things and gets agitated in response to anger? Really? Kicking a bitch when she's down?
Piss up a rope, troll nurse.
In the middle of my anxiety attacks my father sent me an e-mail expressing his concerns about Cindy the prophet's idea that a demon was bothering me, with a list of things which might indicate this (or, as Sam pointed out, schizophrenia). So I e-mailed him back and was like, demons, maybe yes, but more likely I different psychiatrist would be cool, which for a while he had offered to help me pay for, and then he e-mailed me about how much better I would feel if I went to confession.
I've always had kind of night terrors and fears of deomns; I had a panic attack about it this morning. I really feel like this may have been a counter-productive discussion.
So. Another 3.5 hour drive to see my insurance covered shrink in CA for 15 minutes, trying to guess what the magic words are she's trying to hear which will tell her what's wrong? Yeah, maybe. I missed a bunch of socially important readings last time. And the time before.
Talking to my friends? Yeah, they get it, but they also are all couples who will no shit organize dinners and movie nights and talk about books and where fresh produce is best-- ie, the basically functional of this world, who, however bad it gets, can probably sit in their house and drink a cup of tea if they want, or will assume they can get to work on time, or do most of their schoolwork. They're sweet but they can't be the kind of support network which helps, so I can't talk to them, so I resent them for being able to do the things I used to do.
Convince my dad to help me pay for a different psychiatrist? Will try, but all this demon-y stuff is upsetting. I don't like the idea of the Ghostbusters discussing me (which btw, he tells me they do). I think they help a lot of people in their own way but its upsetting me that he can only think of theological explanations for medical problems. He wasn't always like this and that freaks me out more than anything.
And I wrote a big whiny LJ about it, because seriously, the medical/psychiatric profession is detatched and apathetic, my parents care but are but are obsessed with demons and making me nervy, my friends think Fresh and Easy vs Sunflower Market is a valid discussion topic and as such cannot be psychologically trusted, and I don't ask for help from professors. Obviously.
I'd say I'd get some good writing out of this, but since it took me six hours to answer an e-mail yesterday, that would be optimism.
But on the bright side: I was such a wreck after my encounter with the troll that I instantly got a bunch of Xanex.