Tuesday 13 January 2015

My life might actually be some kind of experiment?

So my beloved readers; some depression news. I have seen a new doctor. She was quite young I think, it was hard to tell. Her face looked pretty. On her desk was a picture of her, a man and like five children. Anyway. She was, like most doctors I've met the last few years, quite rude and superior. I think it's easy to be superior when you honestly think that you are. Is that something they teach you at med school? That you are literally better than every other person in the world? Or is it just that kind of person that decides "I should be a doctor"? Or is it specific for those who work with us head cases? Most eye doctors and general physicians and people who work in the ER and stuff have seemed less inclined to treat their patients like crap.

Anyway. I told her about my sadness and frustration and feeling of meaninglessness and powerlessness. She didn't seem to like my attitude, questioning wether I actually wanted her help or not. I told her about my past and (some of) the difficult things that had happened in my childhood, youth, last few years. She asked me why I was bullied in school. She asked me why I got locked in a small room by my teacher. I felt exasperated. I told her I wanted to quit my meds. She told me she agreed and that I should switch to a different kind. The switch would make me more depressed and my suicidal impulses would be more difficult to ignore. She told me to go back to the psyche ward if I felt more suicidal. I set my suicide-o-meter to alert me if I got too suicidal. (No. No I didn't. There is no such thing. As a chronically depressed person it's difficult AS FUCK to tell when a feeling is right or wrong, true or imagined, real or just a product of the depression. Too suicidal? What?) I explained to her that I couldn't afford to commit myself again. That the last time, more than a year ago, resulted in bills I still haven't been able to pay and a "marking in the register" that means that I won't be able to rent a car or buy a house or shop on credit or get a loan or anything for several years. She said that didn't matter. I almost laughed. Almost. Death would at least solve my economical situation. 

I told her that I wanted therapy, not just new drugs all the time. "Oh, has no one explained?" She asked superiorly. "The wait for cognitive behavioral therapy is several months long." "Oh," I answered, "but I don't want cbt. I want ordinary counseling. I want to talk to someone." 

She looked at me. Arms crossed. Face empty of emotion. "No." She said. She explained that I needed cbt and new meds. Not talking. Cbt and meds. 

I told her several good reasons why I needed not cbt. I don't want it, I don't feel that behavior is the reason for my depression but the other way around and I don't think changing my behavior will effect my depression, several doctors (nice ones and superior ones) have recommended counseling and not cbt for me, et cetera. 

"No. Cbt will help. Cbt and new meds. Your depression stems from your behavior."

I felt stunned. Why force me to wait for months for a form of therapy that I don't even want? While at the same time making me more suicidal? (I kind if feel that suicidal is something that you either are or aren't. Like pregnant. Either you manage to stay alive and then you deserve applause or you don't and then you deserve sympathy.) I told her I personally would prefer counceling if that was at all possible. "I'll raise the question at the next staff meeting" she said, which I've heard so many times I know by now that it means yeah whatever kid you're not a doctor and I am. 

She gave me the number for a suicide prevention thing or whatever. I left feeling like shit. Why where you bullied? Well gee wiz missus doctor mam, I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE. I still wonder. Why do I inspire hatred in people? Why did my teacher lock me up? Why do "friends" still turn around and stab me in the back? What's wrong with me? I don't know. All my life I've been trying to conform, change, fit in, not be awkward and scared, be nice and pleasant but also cool and confident. I'm great at small talk. I think. But still people start hating me. All my life. Hate. 

So yeah doctor. Cause I suck maybe? Cause I'm just not likable? Cause I'm some kind of freak?

Today I started taking a lower dose of my meds and in two weeks I'll have quit them completely. After that I'm supposed to start taking that other kind. I don't want to. I probably won't. If she calls me before then telling me I get to go to counceling, then maybe I will. Otherwise I'll give up on a system that has abused me for three years and start trying... Homeopathy or some shit. Needles maybe? What's that called? The Chinese thing? Or maybe like telephone healing or vitamins or working out or whatever. 

Probably just painting and painting and painting. Like now. But without welfare and meds. (You can't get welfare in Sweden unless you look for work or have a doctor saying you're not fit for work, and if I don't take the drugs that will make me want to kill myself even more they'll just say that I'm not trying to get better and thus I'm obviously not depressed enough or something like that. And I won't try to find a job that I know I can't do. I can't get up in the mornings, I can't see any meaning with life or being awake or eating food or breathing so I know I won't be able to go to work without constant panic attacks. I get panic attacks from trying to go down to the shops for heavens sake. I'm pretty sure I know my depression by now. So yeah, my future holds zero income, again, and with that comes total freedom from having a place to live and I'll be homeless, again. I guess just talking to that doctor for 40 minutes made me more fucking suicidal, yay! 

Seriously. I'm in a catch 22 and I can't see how I'll survive. 

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