I hate that pdoc knows just how to reduce me to tears. What I hate even more is that no matter how hard I try to hold it together, the dam wall still bursts. Even when she was awful and insensitive the first time I met her, I managed to hold the tears back, at least until I was out of her sight. But now, now that she’s known me for a year, somehow she manages to choose the words that kick where there are cracks in the foundation.
The relationship with my parents is one of few sore points. And the things she said today made me feel as though the finger is pointed at me. It feels as though it’s all of them siding against weak, defenceless little old me and there’s no one backing me. It hurts.
When I think back to my admission to The H Clinic and what led up to it, an appointment with Dr T is part of what set off the thoughts and emotions, which then took on a life of its own. Already today is one of the worst two days since discharge, the other being this day. I wish my mind came with an erase button. Instead I can’t help ruminating over what was said and the thoughts and feelings that came with it, and probably will for days to come.
Some days Dr T advises her secretary to make a follow up appointment for me, other days she won’t. From what I recall of the past few months, she hadn’t been asking her secretary to make a follow up appointment in so-and-so many weeks and so I’d been making appointments at my discretion. I was all prepared to get the hell out of there with the plan of making another appointment in oh, I don’t know, four months time? But then she told her secretary she’d see me in about four week’s time. Bugger. Then again, I could just cancel later on and do what I have to do to protect myself from slipping.
Oh, and apparently if you’re a psychiatrist, it’s okay to a) answer your mobile in the middle of an appointment with a patient, in which she’s paying for your services b) have a five minute conversation with ‘Kevin’ while your patient sits there awkwardly, forced to listen to your conversation c) not even apologise for it after you’ve hung up the phone. From what I could gather, ‘Kevin’ was another professional. Perhaps even the psychiatrist who assessed me at the ED two out of three times I’ve been there, who was also named Kevin?