Yesterday at an appt with a relatively new med doctor. She said a diagnosis. The above title, which happens to fall under a bipolar 1 disorder. In the years of being treated I have never asked for my diagnosis. Most doctors hand me pills and send me on my way.
This woman sits with me, talks with me, tells me what each med helps, and that after time the side affects should go down. She saw what being off of my zoloft did to me.
I have never cared for the med doctors. But I like this one and trust her.
My mother however, felt differently. She admitted that she doesn’t spend as much time with me or talk to me so she can’t judge for sure my level of fucked upness. She felt it was just thrown out there.
Me to her in my most candid moment:
She didn’t throw it at me. She mentioned it casually. In all this time I have been seeing doctors no one has ever told me a diagnosis. They have given me pills an sent me on my way. This woman spends time with me, talks with me, and makes me feel more normal when it comes to certain behaviors. If she was one of the other doctors I wouldn’t be so inclined to believe it.
You’re right in saying you aren’t around/talk to me enough. Without the meds I can feel myself slipping into an abyss. I don’t think you understand the full extent of rage of feel towards myself and others. How I have beaten myself with hairbrushes or my fist till I can’t feel my legs or arms. Which I’ve been doing off and on since my early teens.
I feel so guilty and full of panic. My mind rushes and rushes.
And most of the time all these feelings and actions are happening all at once. I will be screaming at donny and the boys and I won’t know why. I’ll feel so guilty and I want to claw my body apart, or smash my head into a wall.