Slipping

As feared, I think that I am slipping back into It.  I’m not laughing anymore.  At anything.  I’m on edge.  Little things, like not being able to find something, feel like the end of the damn world.  I’m crying over nothing.  I’m feeling terrible.  I think that I am slipping back into depression.

Before we moved, I made an appointment with a therapist in New City because I wanted to stay out ahead of things.  I went, and it was a disaster.  For starters, she was super unprofessional, eating her lunch during our session.  I tried to overlook it, because some days are just that busy, but it should have been a warning sign, because it went downhill from there.

She started with pretty standard stuff, why I was there, my history.  And I was honest.  I told her I had been sick before, but had been for the most part stabilized for a long time until I got pregnant.  I told her I’d been suicidal while I was pregnant.  Maybe I shouldn’t have told her that?  Because partway through our session, she says, “I don’t think I can help you because you need a psychiatrist.”  And I’m sitting there like, no sh**, I need a psychiatrist, I’m on meds and plan to stay on them, which I had told her.  No, I don’t have one here in New City yet, but I’m working on it.

This hit me like a ton of bricks, because when I was pregnant, I tried to get help, and no one would help me (until I finally found my amazing therapist who I am really upset about leaving).   And because I’m here, I’m sick, I’m scared, and I just opened up to you about some pretty heavy stuff, and now you’re rejecting me, telling me basically that I’m too sick for you to help.  So pretty much confirming one of my darkest fears.  And I should note that she did not do it especially kindly.

I asked if she could refer me to a psychiatrist, and she said she only knows one “and he’s probably out of the way for you.”  Because she knows where I live or what I’m willing to do or not do.  Then she gives me this lecture about how I need to see a psychiatrist and not a family doc or OB.  So not helpful.

At some point in all this, I kind of shut down, because I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with emotions but I wasn’t about to break down or freak out in front of this woman.  And then she got all defensive and starts telling me that she’s “just being honest.” Again, not kindly.   Then she tells me that no therapist will see me without a psychiatrist (which, again, I’m working on getting in with one, which I told her already).

I left feeling like a leper.  Like I’m too sick to be touched.  And I’m not even as sick right now.  I’m definitely better than I was.  I’m not currently suicidal.  But the interaction left me feeling like I’m a leper because I was suicidal.  And since I can’t change the past, I’m feeling like I’ll always be stigmatized because of what I went through.

Needless to say, I will not be seeing her again, and am looking for a different therapist.  I know that not every therapist is a fit for every person, and that it’s not unusual to need to try a few people before finding the right one, but the depression is telling me that I will NEVER find anyone to help me.  My depression brain is running wild with the idea that no therapist will see me.   And I’m scared.  I’m sad, I’m feeling sicker than before the move, and I’m really, really scared.   I feel so alone right now.

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