I have resisted Therapy and changing my Psychiatrist for a long time now. The Therapy thing I have always resisted since my first experiences with it in my early 20’s.
In the last year or so my Psychiatrist is less than stellar. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that he at least have my information up on the screen of his computer before he starts. That way he won’t ask how I’m doing on a Medication that we stopped 6 months ago and he asked about at the last appointment. And maybe he wouldn’t ask what my Primary Care Doctor is doing about my Celiac Disease when I was actually in KIDNEY FAILURE. He was told this on the previous visit also.
He had his jacket on asking if I was “the last one” before I was even there 15 minutes. He also changed my diagnosis in my file again to Bipolar II. He left out the Conversion Disorder, PTSD, and Anxiety Disorders. I wouldn’t care if I wasn’t on Disability and was able to work. Right now I am at the lowest I’ve ever been.
My speech is horrible the last few weeks. The stuttering and crying off and on is draining. My hands shake as I type. My sister threatens me with ultimatums and my father cries. I don’t know what to do.
I look at a Doctor and his/her credentials and see that they have written research papers on Bipolar Disorder and done studies. Then I see they get a rating of 2 from patients. Mostly for the amount of time spent with them. I want the correct diagnosis, that is what the Psychiatrist does. He/She also helps to figure out your medications. They have Pharmacologists to do that now too. The Therapist is the person you talk to and work out your issues with, I would guess. It’s confusing and I do not have the motivation. Getting dressed is a huge accomplishment for me these days. When the temp outside is 18 degrees I am not going anywhere.
So I sit here crying, stuttering, shaking and complaining to myself because no one wants to hear it anymore. I don’t want to hear it anymore.
I did do some things today. I cleaned the kitchen, cut the Pomeranian’s nails, gave her coat a trim, and washed her up. I’m afraid the Pomeranian won’t be with us much longer. She’s almost as old as JoJo was and she has Epilepsy. She has already changed since his death. Her breath smells fishy indicating liver problems, we’ll know more in a few weeks. As long as she is eating, drinking, and not in pain, she’s ok. When she stops having those short bursts of “puppy” moments I know it’s time.
I really hate Winter.