I'm Okay.

Fuck. (What a way to start a blog post, huh?) I know I haven't been keeping up here.. but I've been writing in my other books and taking up some art pieces. I have had many intentions of posting something but the posts are all unfinished and saved as drafts. I just wanted to say I'm okay, also, not okay. Why? Because.

Because my psychiatrist is an asshole. It's my first time really being assessed monthly by one, so it makes it all the worst that the first time had been a terrible experience. "Had" because I am going to cancel my future appointments and try to dwindle down on the meds and deal without them. Unless my mom had asked what I had been diagnosed with the first time I came in, he probably wouldn't have told me. Let's start from the beginning though...

Let's call him Tuna, because I hate the smell of tuna. Tuna should not even be considered a physician, it's such a surprise to see the lack of empathy in this ward and in many doctors I've come across. It's a disgrace and it encourages me further to believe that I am a joke. I've come to resort to my own self diagnoses because I did not trust Tuna's. He was extremely vague. He did not introduce himself. He did not explain how the processes worked. He asked me basic questions which apparently supported an entire diagnosis. He just asked about what school I go to... my eating and sleeping habits, etc. He ended up sticking panic disorder in a sentence. I know I have a panic disorder, general anxiety disorder and major depression, yet I've only been treated for the former. He ignored everything else. He never asked how I felt. He handed me his prescription and asked to see me in a month's time. He did not ask for my availability or explained what the medication was or did. My mom and I left the room (after 10 minutes...) and kind of looked at each other. "Was it supposed to be that fast? He was kind of rude."

I did my research once I got home... on him and the medication. On the side my parents kind of neglected the idea of mental health and its true existence in this form, in me. I guess it's because I'm their child and they refused to accept the idea that their own child had resulted to "this". It's not their fault. Their reactions had gotten worse as I got worse.

Meanwhile, I was reading Tuna's reviews are rate my doctor ...terrible, terrible, terrible. Quite scary too, knowing I was reacting to the meds terribly. As the person that I am, I gave him a chance... waited it out, see if he lived up to the comments or if he changed. I see him once every month... I wait a month for a 10 minute appointment to his convenience. He's been blunt. Said my symptoms were "odd". Questioned why sometimes I cried in the room. I kept giving him chances. My last appointment was hell. I needed some forms signed for school, to be signed up for our accessiblity services, which is a program in which people help those who need it with extra help, physical or mental disabilities etc. He raged at me. "You don't need it. Why do you need this? I don't get it. You don't have cancer so you don't get to have special treatment. Everybody has this. You have to deal with it. You have to live with it. So no." This was the second time I had tried and that was painful. Since then I've been stopping some of my meds... cutting more... almost-feel-like-dying panic attacks. Helpless. And there has been a lot going on the side making it worse.

It's been chaotic and this is only a fraction of it. But I'll leave it at that. It's just been a huge disappointment. Mental health is something I truly believe in and with this experience I've become even more existential of the aspect of life and mental health. But, I'm okay.

Until next time,
Mer x