A Proper Post

Just before Christmas, I went to see my new psychiatrist. My old one was one of the only healthcare professionals I’ve seen who I actually felt comfortable talking to and actually enjoyed spending time with. She seemed much more understanding and friendly than the others and helped me set some reasonable goals and didn’t patronise me. Unfortunately she moved on to another place and now I’m saddled with this creepy new guy. I found it really hard to speak to him, I totally froze up at a few points, that’s not happened for a while.  I also didn’t think he was very professional, he kept putting his hand on me, probably trying to comfort me and calm me down or something but I didn’t like it. Also there was a med student in there and when he went out of the room, he said I should talk to her which seemed rather unusual to me.

He didn’t seem to know much about me either, he spent a while reading my file at the start of the appointment. At one point he wanted to speak to the consultant but instead of asking me to wait in the waiting room like the others did, he phoned him while I was still in the room and read some things out of my file, which says that they aren’t supposed to be handled by the patient. He said something about avoidant personality disorder to them, which I’ve never been told about.

Towards the end of the appointment, he chastised me for using the phrase “I’m not sure” too often and said that I shouldn’t use it again. I don’t know how else I’m supposed to respond to questions to which I don’t know the answer. He also asked me if I see a CPN, and then asked why not when I told him that I don’t. Well I have no idea why not, I only know what one is from reading other mental health blogs. Very little has been explained to me about how the process works as I am shipped from doctor to doctor.

I really wish I could see someone else instead, but I don’t know who I could complain to or ask about it. Nobody told me who makes the decision about who I see, I just get letters in the post from the doctors’ secretary and I can hardly complain to them. Luckily I don’t need to see him again until the end of January, hopefully I can ask my mum to try and help me get things sorted before then.

In other news, my depression has lifted slightly over the past few days. Hearing back from a very reclusive and avoidant internet friend of mine cheered me up a lot. The suicidal thoughts are still there in my mind though. I don’t feel a sense of despair and crushing helplessness when I think them now though, it’s more an inevitable solution that I’m slowly drifting towards. I don’t know how much time I have left where I can tread water and pretend everything is ok. I found a more reliable sounding method than jumping and I know where I can get the required items now. I’m not feeling sad about this, it’s weird.

I’m sick of myself

I’m sick of being me. I’m a hideous, disgusting excuse for a person. Why do decent people die of starvation and I get to live? I hope someone can make better use of these organs than me.