I’ve decided I am going to resume writing here as usual, despite a few people I know in real life possibly having access to my blog address. Posts I had temporarily made private while considering what to do have been restored once again. I’ve already moved once to attempt to deter those pesky stalkers, they’re not driving me out of my home once again. If you are reading this and you do know me, I ask that you please respect my anonymity, do not go spreading the word about my mental health issues or link anyone else to this blog, and avoiding even visiting this URL if you can help it. The purpose of this blog was not to parade out my entire life story in it’s sordid detail to everyone I know, it was to provide a space for me to write about what has been going on in my life, a place to be honest and a place to connect with other mental health bloggers.
I have far too much on my mind to stay away.
It’s been exactly a week since I was in hospital. It’s been on my mind a fair bit, and today I remembered something the hospital psychiatrist said, a comment which I had previously forgotten about. In addition to saying that there are problems with ‘some aspects of her [my] personality’, he also told my mother that I’d require ‘long term psychotherapy.’ HAHAHA. Long term psychotherapy indeed. Guess he doesn’t believe I will recover any time soon. Thank you for your vote of confidence. There goes my plan of discharging myself from mental health services…
On one hand, it gives me justification for seeing my psychologist and psychiatrist. Yes I do need help, a supposed ‘expert’ has said so. Long term psychotherapy though? Long term psychotherapy? What does that even mean? That I’ll be in therapy for years and years, or even the rest of my life? I put off seeking help for my mental health issues for years and years because I thought my problems ‘weren’t serious enough.’ So since when did I become someone who’s viewed as being severe enough to warrant needing ‘long term psychotherapy’? It scares me it’s come to this. It really does.
In a previous post, I have mentioned that I realised I gave Dr T’s secretary the wrong phone number for which to contact me. Today, I finally gathered the courage to pick up that damn thing called a phone, and make a call to her consulting rooms. The secretary advised me that an appointment has been made for me on Tuesday 14th of September. She also told me, ‘Dr T has asked me to remind you that you’re bringing your mother along.’ I paused, followed by a surprised ‘Oh.’ ‘Yes,’ she said, and gave a small laugh. Well I’m glad you’re amused, because I’m certainly not. My mother coming along is news to me. In other words, it is not something I had previously discussed with Dr T. I have discussed it with G (my psychologist) before, who encouraged me to bring my mother along to an appointment with either with her or Dr T. I let her know that I am not very keen on the idea. Yet I have now been pushed into doing so. NOT HAPPY. How is Dr T’s secretary even ‘remind[ing]’ me? According to the dictionary definition of the word ‘remind,’ it means ‘to cause [a person] to remember.’ I don’t remember, because oh yeah, I wasn’t even told of this intention of having my mother come along in the first place.
My mum has yet to meet either Dr T or G. This course of action was taken purposefully. I had intended on keeping it that way. I guess that’s all about to change…
Dr T letting me know via her secretary. Good tactic. Well done. It means that I do not have the chance to argue with her or refuse. I should just NOT bring my mother along, as an indignant ‘bugger that!’ to her. Huh. Yeah. I wish. I am far too obedient to actively disobey her instructions, and she probably knows it. 😐
I am not appreciative of being forced to involve my mother. I am 18. A legal adult, dammit! If this is what happens when it is witnessed I am struggling, then forget it! My life is full of sunshine and rainbows and fluffy bunnies so there is no need to involve my mother. Kthx.
Well. Given that my parents visited me in hospital post overdose, I suppose they already know the worst of it anyway. Which is far more than I ever wanted or intended them to know. Bah.