It was a day of highs and lows. Confusing and infuriating but positive. I have been very nervous today because I had an appointment with the mental health center to start therapy and recovery. I really want help but I am terrified of being committed again. I thought about skipping it but I have several great friends and family members that made sure I went.
My appointment was noon. I arrived at 11:50 and it took until 12:30 to get the intake process started. I had to talk to the director of the program and answer some general questions. The director was a total aging hippy-the type I notice hanging out alot in community mental health places. Saving the world one soul at a time. She had long, long hair that needed a good haircut and a lovely Walmart shirt stenciled with hearts. I desperately wanted to do a make-over.
Then, I went back to the waiting room and waited and waited and waited. Some idiot woman talked on her cell phone to her brother Steve the whole damn time. I learned she was homeless. She worked at Kmart. She was from Knoxville and thinking of going back. I was praying she would go back. Immediately. I learned Steve was getting construction on his house and his crown moulding was not to his satisfication. I also learned Steve could not yell at idiot woman because she was homeless and battered. I, unkindly, thought, I can totally understand that because I would kick you out and perhaps beat you too.
It was now 1:30 and I still had not been seen. My appointment was at noon. Somehow, since the suicide attempt, I have been even more impatient. I did not know that was even possible because I am the most impatient person in the world with the exception of my father. Dad leaves carts at grocery stores. He paces. He complains. I really, really wanted to leave. It seemed like the perfect excuse. I texted the boyfriend and my friend Patrick and that helped me to stay. They basically threatened to be very disappointed in me and to confront my bad decision making. Therefore, I stayed.
She saw me two minutes later. And she was awesome. She totally caught my bullshit and answered my questions honestly and thoughtfully. I now know my parameters which is what scared me in the first place. If I am in direct danger of harming myself, then she will report it and I might be committed. If I am having suicidal thoughts and feeling overwhelmed, they have a step down from being committed. It is a facility that is supervised but not a lock down. That is very comforting. I feel I have options and I have not felt like I have had options a very long time.
She changed my diagnosis and my medication. So, let's recap this briefly: I have seen a NP, a psychiatrist, and a psychologist in the last two weeks and have received three different diagnoses. I have a borderline personality and need no meds. Ooops, wrong. I have bipolar disorder and must take lithium to survive. Wrong again, I am unipolar and depressive and just need anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication. They all agreed I have an anxiety disorder. I agree with that-I worry constantly about the most mundane shit. I also agree with the depressive diagnosis. The diagnosis was given to me during my second suicide attempt at 19 and I have always thought I have been much more depressive than bipolar.
The main difference is depressive means you don't cycle like bipolar. In bipolarness, one goes through mania periods then crashes into depression and back into mania and then back to depression. I do have very small mania periods but not long enough, I believe, to be bipolar. Also, according to this NP, I do not have the sleep cycles of a bipolar person. Evidently, bipolar sufferers can not go to sleep and will be so full of energy they will get up and clean the house or do some other activity. Uh, no. First of all, cleaning is evil. Second, I fall asleep quite easily but I wake up at 3 AM and worry. And worry. And worry. I never have any desire to leave bed and do something. I just lay there and worry about stupid crap until I wear myself out. If one finds me cleaning the house at 4 AM, I have totally been abducted by aliens and my body replaced by a pod person.
I have therapy tomorrow with a woman at the same center. I asked her to hold me accountable because I leave therapists quickly. As soon as they get too close, I leave. I don't want to talk about pain and abandonment and my dysfunctional childhood. I want to be witty and thoughtful and entertaining. Putting on a show like I do my whole entire life. I have promised all my close relatives and friends that I will be totally truthful with them and with the therapist. It scares the hell out of me. I have compartmentalized my whole life so much that I am not sure how to unite it again. I tell the boyfriend one segment, my friend another segment, my mother another segment but I never tell anyone the whole truth. It is dangerous and it is what brought me to this point.
She mentioned that my depression is probably a mixture of genetics and situational. Since it started so early (age 13), it had a strong genetic component. In a bizarre bit of unself-awareness, I told my father this fact and he responded, "Well, no one in my family is depressed. You must get that from your mother's side." I didn't say a word but the pink elephant in that conversation is that my grandfather committed suicide. Currently, I have a cousin having a mental breakdown also. She is in a twelve step program for bulimia and a budding alcoholic. So, yes, there is depression in my father's lineage. Also, in my mother's. Double whammy.
After the intake meeting, I went to therapy with my mother. One week-three therapy appointments. It is like I tried to kill myself or something! Therapy with my mother was infinitely more painful. I feel abandoned by her in alot of ways and she feels overwhelmed by me. She doesn't trust me, she is terrified I will hurt myself again and she feels that she didn't help me enough. We both avoid confrontation and are passive-aggressive. There were alot of loaded statements and uncomfortable silence afterwards. We are going to keep going. The therapist and Mom was worried I was too delicate to handle working on our relationship. I said we have to work on it in order for me to heal. I have to heal that relationship in order to recover completely but it is going to be really hard.
It was a long day. Very, very long. And I have been exhausted since I got out bed this morning. I am trying not to take afternoon naps. I refuse to sleep my day away. It would be easy but I need structure and routine and productivity. Also, therapists are very interested in my sleep patterns. Sleep patterns are a good way, apparently, to gauge a person's emotional mood. I don't want to sleep all day and have to admit to it. Plus, I won't sleep at night. It is just a vicious cycle of frustration.
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