So I don't know which disorder I have, only that I have a great deal of trouble with dissociation and amnesia and losing time and dozens of other symptoms which you'd think she could use to give me a motherfucking specific diagnosis. FUCK ALL THIS SHIT!!! Just fucking say what you want to say for God's sake. I am upset with my psychiatrist because she refused to give me a specific diagnosis. I want a label. I need to know who and what I am. This shit can't be normal. I've been pretending my whole life and we're absolutely exhausted by it at this point. I don't think I can fake it anymore. I don't think I can paste on a smile and be whomever you need me to be without blowing my cover, so to speak. I need to be ME, who happens to be an US. And I'm OK with that.
Obviously there must have been something terrible in my childhood to mess me up in the head this badly. We can't even discuss this shit with our doctor. To my horror, we talked about psychiatric hospitals, and she pretty much said that if it comes down to it and we get worse, she won't hesitate to hospitalize me. NOT what I wanted to hear. I've had some horrific experiences in mental hospitals over the years. Most important question I asked her was this: "Do I have to remember the childhood abuse in order to get better?" I was relieved to hear that no, it isn't always necessary or desirable. I don't think I could handle the truth anyways.
Fuck this shit. Just fucking take a pain pill and go to bed. Your head feels like it's been hit with a hammer. You've been in a manic state and haven't slept but 3 out of 48 hours. I've eaten one meal this whole week. I think I might be dying. And FUCK ME I haven't told you the rest of it. How Hubby says I'm spending too much time on the computer and he says I don't do anything else anymore. Nothing. No eating, no sleeping, no sex. He says I'm obsessed. He's right. I'm obsessed with learning about my mental illness so that I can take better care of myself and live a better quality of life.
FUCK ALL THIS SHIT just fucking give it up. You're beyond help. You can't even talk to your own husband about your true feelings because it freaks him out. None of your Real Life friends know you're sick, except for some depression. I'm living a LIE. Our life is a sham. I'm not K, I'm an imposter. I don't know who or what we are anymore. Just want to sleep away the pain.
(The Next Day:)
Which I did. Took a handful of pills and slept for 12 hours straight. God I needed that. Still, woke up feeling frustrated and angry, at everything it seemed. To make things even worse, Mom had a talk with me about how I'm being a terrible wife and am going to lose my man if I don't stop spending every minute on the computer. Apparently, I'm ignoring him, the housework, cooking, laundry, etc. I don't mean to. It just seems less important to me than this project I'm on, this project of self-discovery. I just need some support from people who understand some of what I'm experiencing. I'm going through a major mental health crisis right now. I mean, I just found out that the diagnosis I've had since 1998 is incorrect. I'm NOT Schizophrenic. It's going to take me some time to realize that I'm not that person anymore. As soon as the diagnosis was stuck to me, I became that. This is why my current shrink says she won't label a patient; she says they become the label.
So how am I supposed to fill out forms which ask about my mental health? Just put down "non-specific madness"? Or "Sometimes psychotic weirdo who's kept heavily sedated"? Every so often, paperwork comes in the mail to reassess my mental health for The System. I just hope that Dr. H refusing to give me a clear-cut diagnosis doesn't cause me to lose my benefits, i.e. my health insurance. FUCKFUCKFUCK What a miserable day. Too much worry about being hospitalized, too much worry about losing my husband, too much worry that Twitter has taken over my life.
Well, this morning, I started my hand-written diary, just as my psych told me to do. I didn't know what I was going to say, but it took 7 pages front and back anyway. And I'm 99.9% certain that I'll be writing in it some more tonight. Man. I wish I could talk to someone in Real Life about this, someone who also dissociates, someone who also doesn't recognize them self when they look in the mirror half the time. Someone who won't be freaked out if I switch and start speaking differently or acting differently. Fuck. This just fucking blows. I'm not important enough to wear a label I guess. And the kicker is, I've always resented the labels. I've worn so many over the years....it's ironic that I'm now label-free and feel lost without one. Who the hell are we and what the fuck is wrong with us?!? Be specific, doc. We need to know.
Incidentally, while I was in therapy, I asked my shrink what her job was and why I come to see her. (I'm not sure which K was at the session, but she had a ton of information and questions and wanted answers) She told me that the reasons I came to therapy are whatever I want them to be. She said it's her job to help me anyway she can, but that what I got out of it depended upon what I put into it. Once again, non-specific answers. Fuck this! I think I"m just going to get trashed tonight and be pissed off and drink til I pass the fuck out. Yeah, that sounds like a plan. And I bet I'll be an angry drunk tonight. Oh fun.
::Hugs:: Hey there girls. Sounds like you’re having a really rough patch.
ReplyDeleteThe lack of label is very common with mental health profesesionals. My therapist doesn’t like to use labels either. She doesn’t want to trap us in a checklist of qualifications which could inhibit her ability to see outside of that box.
Labels aren’t always good for us, but they’re also not always good for our professionals. My psychiatrist labeled me right away and gave me medication. Instead of looking beyond that label and trying to understand he full extent of my more important issues and triggers he just tried to treat my Borderline label. My ignoring my eating disorder and my depression he made me even worse and I refuse to see him again ( I see his PA now). Your psych may be trying to keep their mind open to all of you, while at the same time trying to help you accept yourself as more than just a disordered diagnosis. He/She sees you as a whole person(s), not just a label. You’re TOO important to wear a label.
You are not your label besides. Even if your label changes, who you are, what conditions you have, those are actually still the same. Calling a dog a rose, doesn’t make the animal a flower.
One of the hardest things for me in therapy is understanding that there is no end goal. When you ask “what her job was and why you’re there”, for me it’s similar to asking “how are you going to help me and how will I be when this is over?” The simple truth is your psych doesn’t have an answer for you. She doesn’t know everything about you. It’s a journey for her, WITH you, as much as it is your journey. She’s walking next to you, helping you work through things, but she doesn’t know where your destination is because she’s never been there before with you. She can’t give you a specific answer because one doesn’t exist yet. This is a frustration I have all the time. Try to take it one day at a time.
As far as medical forms if she won’t give you a label you might want to go with DD NOS (dissociative disorder not otherwise specified) though honestly I think you’re right and DID is your experience. Talk about this concern about health insurance with your psych.
“He says I'm obsessed. He's right. I'm obsessed with learning about my mental illness so that I can take better care of myself and live a better quality of life.”
For you and ultimately for the both of you. Have you tried to explain this to him? Understanding and working through your mental health is an incredibly important journey. Sometimes life requires a balance though. Try talking to your husband, explain how important it is for you to do this, for you to have his support, but also find a workable compromise so he doesn’t feel neglected as well.
::more hugs::
Amazing. You make more sense to me than my psychiatrist. Why can't she talk to me as honestly as you do? You're much easier to understand than she is-you don't give me a bunch of vague non-answers. Bonus: you give much better advice!
DeleteAs always, thanks for reading and we truly appreciate your comments.
((hugs))