So I saw my psychiatrist yesterday. Sorta. I’d originally had an appointment scheduled for January 5th, but then I had a school thing that day, so I rescheduled to the 22nd. I was dreading it like crazy. I just had a feeling it would not go well. And man, was I ever right.
A little backstory: I had been off all psychiatric medications since 2010. Then, when I began seeing Zooey, shit started coming up and my symptoms worsened. By April, she’d started mentioning medication. I assumed she’d probably keep mentioning it until I tried something, so I agreed to see one of the doctors she works with at a local psychiatric Emergency Room. I actually liked this physician a lot, but it turns out she was leaving private practice in June. Great.
I was in the process of trying to find someone new when I was hospitalized for three days in August. Turns out the hospital staff cannot discharge you unless you have a follow-up appointment with a psychiatrist within one week. So they threw me in with some random second-year resident at their outpatient clinic and called it settled. Whatever. As long as he can write the scripts, I honestly didn’t care.
But that, of course, meant that my psychiatrist was now also a co-worker of Zooey’s. And he made a point of reminding me of that whenever I didn’t 100% agree with him. It was this strange “Mommy and Daddy” dynamic that I brought to Zooey’s attention (and, of course, we never actually discussed in any depth). It was super annoying to have him constantly using my relationship with her as leverage, but as long as those scripts kept coming, I figured it was tolerable.
Yesterday, however, was just a mess…