chemical pressure
"What did you do over the holiday?" asked Barden D. Arnette, MD. Even his name was an SNL parody of a psychiatrist's name.
I opened my mouth to answer,"...." and was interrupted.
"What I mean is what did you do to pass the time? Did you do anything enjoyable?" He was doing Joaquin doing Cash again.
I opened my mouth to answer, "...." and was interrupted again.
"Visit with friends or family, things of that nature?"His head was turned to his left. His chin was tilted upward. He was looking at me from the side, although his body was facing me. I wonder if he has Tourette's?
I waited. He looked up from his legal pad. He was dressed a little better today. Still a little strange for our town of Palookaville, home of the Fighting Chickens (Go you Chickens! Bawk! Bawk!), but better, nonetheless. He raised his eyebrows as if waiting for me to answer.
I opened my mouth, "....Well, I..." and he cut me off again.
"I understand you don't have many friends or family, so if you didn't visit with anyone, that's ok, but what did you do instead?"
I jumped at my chance, "Itookmydogtothedogpark!" and then I teared up.
Taking my dog to the Bark Park was the best experience of my holiday. A medical professional had just reminded me that I don't have many friends or family. I was tired of sitting in badly furnished rooms with strange people, telling them things I don't tell the few people I hold close to me. I was tired of trying to figure out why I can't seem to function like a regular person. I was tired of having no meaningful connections. I want a family. I just don't want the one I've got. I can't find anybody to love me. I have revised(translated; lowered) my standards. I have made accommodations. I have tried not to be judgmental or picky. Still; nothing, nobody. I am aging fast and soon it may be too late. I have lived with this mood/ neurological issue/mental illness for my entire life. I have been trying to find some relief for eight years. Besides, I found his communication style to be really freakin' irritating.
"MmmmHmmmm," he was writing on the legal pad,"What else?" now he turned his head abruptly to the right, tilted the chin up toward the ceiling and looked at me from the opposite side of his head.
"Nothing else. That was the enjoyable part. That's it." I was wiping my nose with my hand. A psychiatrist's office with no visible box of tissues, go figure.
"I see you brought back the mood chart." he extended his hand for it. He had given me a mood chart at the last appointment. It was a table made up of 3 main sections; Treatments, Daily Notes and Mood. Within the Treatment section, there were 8 columns with different psychotropics listed along with a "verbal therapy" column and some blank columns to fill in meds not listed. The Daily Notes section was just blank horizontal lines.The Mood section was disected into three subsections; "Depressed", "WNL" and "Elevated". Under "Depressed", there were six columns, headed Irritability, Anxiety, Hours Slept Last Night, Severe, Mod, Mild. Under the mysterious "WNL" column, it says "Mood Not Definitely Elevated or Depressed. No Symptoms." Underneath in smaller print it says, "Circle date to indicate menses." Each row in this column had a subsequent number. The "Elevated" section was made up of four columns titled, Mild, Mod, Severe and my personal favorite, Psychotic Symptoms, and below it in smaller print, Strange Ideas, Hallucinations. I handed it to him and he looked it over.
"You've done a very good job with this." he stated. "Did you read the information I gave to you?"
At the last appointment, he also gave me some reading materials about anxiety disorders and bipolar disorder. I had read them and highlighted the information that applied to me.
"Yes." I started to hand the materials back to him.
"No, no, no!" he made a waving gesture with his right hand, "Those are for you! I don't want them back!" You would have thought I was trying to return borrowed underwear.
"I thought you may want to look at them..." I started to explain.
He cut me off, "Oh, no..no, I don't need them. Those are for you. They contain very valuable information. If you want to throw them away, you certainly may, but they are a good resource for you."
"I understand, but I read them and made note of what symptoms seem to apply to me, I thought you may want to see them." I was able to complete the sentence because he had picked up a pen from his desk and was studying it intently while nodding.
"So...tell me...what you thought." He was making a "round and round" gesture with his right hand, a "keep it coming" sort of gesture that I have seen people use to help drivers back into tight spaces.
"...About...?" I was staring at him.
"The reading, the information, what did you think about it?" his head was tilted far to the left and with his right hand, he was placing the pen against his lips. He is such a freak.
"Well, as I said, I read it and highlighted the parts that seemed relevant to me." I opened the first page of the anxiety booklet. "Would you like for me to read those parts to you?"
"No! No! Why don't you tell me what you think, based on the reading, I mean what do you think...sticks?" His head was turned to the right and he was still swiping the pen across his lips with his right hand while holding the legal pad in his left.
"...Sticks...?" I was so irritated at his point, I wasn't hiding my facial expression, which must have been a cross between, What? and What the hell?
"Uh, meaning, which description do you think best describes what's happening with you?"Pen to lips. Swipe Across. Pen to lips. Swipe Across.
Ah, I see. Ol' Barden wanted me to diagnose myself. Nope. He was going to have to work for this one. "I don't think I fall neatly into one category. Many of the symptoms in both booklets seemed to apply to me. I have some of the symptoms of OCD. I have some of the symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder. Some of the elevated mood symptoms of bipolar disorder apply at times, most of the depressive symptoms apply all the time..."
He pointed the pen toward me. "You didn't tell me about OCD symptoms at the last appointment."
"I hadn't read this information prior to the last appointment." Did he really think we could have covered every facet of my mental state in one setting?
"You can't have generalized anxiety disorder and ODC." He stated. I find this hard to believe. The human mind is vast, complex and multi-faceted. How could he say something so absolute?
"I didn't say I had either." I closed the booklets and set them aside. "I said that some of the symptoms for each applied to me. I am in no position to say I have anything. I can hardly diagnose myself. I read the materials and took note of what applied to me."
I was exasperated. I don't know why I was allowing this situation to piss me off so much. I just felt so tired. I teared up again.
"I know we have touched on some difficult subjects. I think we may have to do some psychological testing. I am surprised that you haven't completed any tests before. Given your rather chaotic upbringing, I am sure you have some personality issues. I don't see how you couldn't...I will discuss this with Dr. Samson, see what he thinks, and then there is the issue of your insurance. Some insurance won't pay for testing. We can look into that. Now, what I want to know is...if you thought you may want to act on your suicidal impulses, would you tell somebody? Would you go to the hospital?" he had slid his chair to the farthest point away from his desk. His right shoulder was grazing the wall. He was still pointing at me with the pen.
"I don't feel suicidal right now. I am not in danger of acting on any impulses." I felt so exhausted, I wanted to fall on the floor. I probably looked suicidal. I couldn't stop crying. I gathered my things to leave. Ol' Barden stood to walk me out. He turned suddenly and was obtrusively in my personal space. He extend his palm with his fingers splayed out and touched my upper arm. Perhaps this is how they show concern on his home planet, Nerdtron. "Are you sure you're not going to leave here and do anything stupid?" This was so ridiculous I started to laugh. As I was already crying, the laughing looked like uncontrollable sobs. I had to get control of myself or this freak would admit me to the local inpatient unit.
"No!...Yes!...I mean, I am not going to do 'anything stupid'." I pictured my self pulling a ski mask over my face and robbing the GasNSip, yelling, 'Everybody on the floor! Don't make me do anything stupid!' this made me laugh again.
"I have a dog. Who would take care of my dog?" I asked him.
I opened my mouth to answer,"...." and was interrupted.
"What I mean is what did you do to pass the time? Did you do anything enjoyable?" He was doing Joaquin doing Cash again.
I opened my mouth to answer, "...." and was interrupted again.
"Visit with friends or family, things of that nature?"His head was turned to his left. His chin was tilted upward. He was looking at me from the side, although his body was facing me. I wonder if he has Tourette's?
I waited. He looked up from his legal pad. He was dressed a little better today. Still a little strange for our town of Palookaville, home of the Fighting Chickens (Go you Chickens! Bawk! Bawk!), but better, nonetheless. He raised his eyebrows as if waiting for me to answer.
I opened my mouth, "....Well, I..." and he cut me off again.
"I understand you don't have many friends or family, so if you didn't visit with anyone, that's ok, but what did you do instead?"
I jumped at my chance, "Itookmydogtothedogpark!" and then I teared up.
Taking my dog to the Bark Park was the best experience of my holiday. A medical professional had just reminded me that I don't have many friends or family. I was tired of sitting in badly furnished rooms with strange people, telling them things I don't tell the few people I hold close to me. I was tired of trying to figure out why I can't seem to function like a regular person. I was tired of having no meaningful connections. I want a family. I just don't want the one I've got. I can't find anybody to love me. I have revised(translated; lowered) my standards. I have made accommodations. I have tried not to be judgmental or picky. Still; nothing, nobody. I am aging fast and soon it may be too late. I have lived with this mood/ neurological issue/mental illness for my entire life. I have been trying to find some relief for eight years. Besides, I found his communication style to be really freakin' irritating.
"MmmmHmmmm," he was writing on the legal pad,"What else?" now he turned his head abruptly to the right, tilted the chin up toward the ceiling and looked at me from the opposite side of his head.
"Nothing else. That was the enjoyable part. That's it." I was wiping my nose with my hand. A psychiatrist's office with no visible box of tissues, go figure.
"I see you brought back the mood chart." he extended his hand for it. He had given me a mood chart at the last appointment. It was a table made up of 3 main sections; Treatments, Daily Notes and Mood. Within the Treatment section, there were 8 columns with different psychotropics listed along with a "verbal therapy" column and some blank columns to fill in meds not listed. The Daily Notes section was just blank horizontal lines.The Mood section was disected into three subsections; "Depressed", "WNL" and "Elevated". Under "Depressed", there were six columns, headed Irritability, Anxiety, Hours Slept Last Night, Severe, Mod, Mild. Under the mysterious "WNL" column, it says "Mood Not Definitely Elevated or Depressed. No Symptoms." Underneath in smaller print it says, "Circle date to indicate menses." Each row in this column had a subsequent number. The "Elevated" section was made up of four columns titled, Mild, Mod, Severe and my personal favorite, Psychotic Symptoms, and below it in smaller print, Strange Ideas, Hallucinations. I handed it to him and he looked it over.
"You've done a very good job with this." he stated. "Did you read the information I gave to you?"
At the last appointment, he also gave me some reading materials about anxiety disorders and bipolar disorder. I had read them and highlighted the information that applied to me.
"Yes." I started to hand the materials back to him.
"No, no, no!" he made a waving gesture with his right hand, "Those are for you! I don't want them back!" You would have thought I was trying to return borrowed underwear.
"I thought you may want to look at them..." I started to explain.
He cut me off, "Oh, no..no, I don't need them. Those are for you. They contain very valuable information. If you want to throw them away, you certainly may, but they are a good resource for you."
"I understand, but I read them and made note of what symptoms seem to apply to me, I thought you may want to see them." I was able to complete the sentence because he had picked up a pen from his desk and was studying it intently while nodding.
"So...tell me...what you thought." He was making a "round and round" gesture with his right hand, a "keep it coming" sort of gesture that I have seen people use to help drivers back into tight spaces.
"...About...?" I was staring at him.
"The reading, the information, what did you think about it?" his head was tilted far to the left and with his right hand, he was placing the pen against his lips. He is such a freak.
"Well, as I said, I read it and highlighted the parts that seemed relevant to me." I opened the first page of the anxiety booklet. "Would you like for me to read those parts to you?"
"No! No! Why don't you tell me what you think, based on the reading, I mean what do you think...sticks?" His head was turned to the right and he was still swiping the pen across his lips with his right hand while holding the legal pad in his left.
"...Sticks...?" I was so irritated at his point, I wasn't hiding my facial expression, which must have been a cross between, What? and What the hell?
"Uh, meaning, which description do you think best describes what's happening with you?"Pen to lips. Swipe Across. Pen to lips. Swipe Across.
Ah, I see. Ol' Barden wanted me to diagnose myself. Nope. He was going to have to work for this one. "I don't think I fall neatly into one category. Many of the symptoms in both booklets seemed to apply to me. I have some of the symptoms of OCD. I have some of the symptoms of generalized anxiety disorder. Some of the elevated mood symptoms of bipolar disorder apply at times, most of the depressive symptoms apply all the time..."
He pointed the pen toward me. "You didn't tell me about OCD symptoms at the last appointment."
"I hadn't read this information prior to the last appointment." Did he really think we could have covered every facet of my mental state in one setting?
"You can't have generalized anxiety disorder and ODC." He stated. I find this hard to believe. The human mind is vast, complex and multi-faceted. How could he say something so absolute?
"I didn't say I had either." I closed the booklets and set them aside. "I said that some of the symptoms for each applied to me. I am in no position to say I have anything. I can hardly diagnose myself. I read the materials and took note of what applied to me."
I was exasperated. I don't know why I was allowing this situation to piss me off so much. I just felt so tired. I teared up again.
"I know we have touched on some difficult subjects. I think we may have to do some psychological testing. I am surprised that you haven't completed any tests before. Given your rather chaotic upbringing, I am sure you have some personality issues. I don't see how you couldn't...I will discuss this with Dr. Samson, see what he thinks, and then there is the issue of your insurance. Some insurance won't pay for testing. We can look into that. Now, what I want to know is...if you thought you may want to act on your suicidal impulses, would you tell somebody? Would you go to the hospital?" he had slid his chair to the farthest point away from his desk. His right shoulder was grazing the wall. He was still pointing at me with the pen.
"I don't feel suicidal right now. I am not in danger of acting on any impulses." I felt so exhausted, I wanted to fall on the floor. I probably looked suicidal. I couldn't stop crying. I gathered my things to leave. Ol' Barden stood to walk me out. He turned suddenly and was obtrusively in my personal space. He extend his palm with his fingers splayed out and touched my upper arm. Perhaps this is how they show concern on his home planet, Nerdtron. "Are you sure you're not going to leave here and do anything stupid?" This was so ridiculous I started to laugh. As I was already crying, the laughing looked like uncontrollable sobs. I had to get control of myself or this freak would admit me to the local inpatient unit.
"No!...Yes!...I mean, I am not going to do 'anything stupid'." I pictured my self pulling a ski mask over my face and robbing the GasNSip, yelling, 'Everybody on the floor! Don't make me do anything stupid!' this made me laugh again.
"I have a dog. Who would take care of my dog?" I asked him.
posted by katherine at 6:36 PM
2 Comments:
Go, Katherine! Once again you have met the enemy and prevailed...or is it the enemy or just a citizen of Nerdtron...your writing makes me laugh and cry, I only wish it was fiction. I love you.
Examinez-ainsi le dehors pour assurer vous-m�me, et faites quelqu'un savoir.Truly, Stacy stress and overeating
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