K. is one of the many doctors I've met in my life. She's also one of the doctors I kept seeing. Not very often, not as often as I should at least. The first time we met, she almost forced me into a panic attack. A lot has changed since then, I don't get panic attacks when I see her. I think it's her voice, she's changed it somehow. Made it softer. Perhaps she's doing it only for me but I'll never ask, so I'll never know the truth. We're getting along better now, that's the point.
We had an appointment a couple of weeks ago. I had prepared myself for any question she might ask and I looked very calm. Bonus points for me. She was very calm as well, smiling, using that soft voice of hers. I wonder if she could tell how much of a mess I've been lately. If she did, she didn't show it in any way. (Here, K. Have some points!) She asked how long it's been since the problem returned. Around Christmas, I said and I could see she wanted to scold me for not calling her sooner. She didn't though. Bonus points for K.
I told her there was a pause in January but then around February, boom, it attacked again, full force and hasn't stopped since. Have you been under a lot of stress, she asked. Even though it may be considered rude, I smirked. I told her I am always under stress. Did something unusually stressful happen during that time, she insisted. No, I said, not that I can think of. I could see she didn't believe me but refrained from commenting on it. (More points, K. You're winning, you should be proud of yourself.)
She gave me advice, I told her I already knew those things, she nodded and started writing down all the things I should do and the different types of medication we would try. We shook hands and said goodbye. I was glad it was over.
Like the good girl I am, I did everything she said and remembered to take my medicine. Nothing changed. I called her, explained the situation and she decided we should adjust the dose. What does that mean exactly, you might inquire. It means she increased the dose. Increased. Rules and restrictions and shitloads of pills. You wouldn't believe the amount of pills I'm going to take. I didn't complain.
It took a couple of days for me to see signs of improvement. That's a good thing. My little issue seems to be on its way out the door. Why then, in contrast to my physical health improving, did my mental health take a blow? I should be jumping for joy, not sinking into an abyss of depression and dark thoughts. Seeing myself getting better only made me think of when the problem would come back again, and that spawned other ridiculous concerns and sadness and all the like. Not that I've been full of rainbows and sunshine lately but... you know. It's worse.
I don't know why I thought about reading that carefully folded piece of paper which comes with every pack of pills. I don't usually do that because I imagine that whatever I need to know, the doctor has already told me. And I remember asking K, are there any side effects? And she said no. Ooh, losing points, K. It was very clearly written. "Very few people may show signs of depression." But I guess that makes me special, right? If only a handful of people get this side effect, well, kudos to me for being in that bunch of select few.
Since the downward spiral claimed me, I have successfully managed to drive people away. They called and I made up excuses not to talk to them or see them or have any sort of interaction with them. How could I let them see me like this? So, I locked myself inside the house, going outside only if it was absolutely necessary. Nobody looked for me and I was ok with that, seeing as the first stage of my depression was soaked in apathy.
Two days ago, apathy went away. I wish it would have stayed. Because I don't think I've ever been more scared or sad or lonely in my entire life. But hey, bonus point for physical health. Yeah...
We had an appointment a couple of weeks ago. I had prepared myself for any question she might ask and I looked very calm. Bonus points for me. She was very calm as well, smiling, using that soft voice of hers. I wonder if she could tell how much of a mess I've been lately. If she did, she didn't show it in any way. (Here, K. Have some points!) She asked how long it's been since the problem returned. Around Christmas, I said and I could see she wanted to scold me for not calling her sooner. She didn't though. Bonus points for K.
I told her there was a pause in January but then around February, boom, it attacked again, full force and hasn't stopped since. Have you been under a lot of stress, she asked. Even though it may be considered rude, I smirked. I told her I am always under stress. Did something unusually stressful happen during that time, she insisted. No, I said, not that I can think of. I could see she didn't believe me but refrained from commenting on it. (More points, K. You're winning, you should be proud of yourself.)
She gave me advice, I told her I already knew those things, she nodded and started writing down all the things I should do and the different types of medication we would try. We shook hands and said goodbye. I was glad it was over.
Like the good girl I am, I did everything she said and remembered to take my medicine. Nothing changed. I called her, explained the situation and she decided we should adjust the dose. What does that mean exactly, you might inquire. It means she increased the dose. Increased. Rules and restrictions and shitloads of pills. You wouldn't believe the amount of pills I'm going to take. I didn't complain.
It took a couple of days for me to see signs of improvement. That's a good thing. My little issue seems to be on its way out the door. Why then, in contrast to my physical health improving, did my mental health take a blow? I should be jumping for joy, not sinking into an abyss of depression and dark thoughts. Seeing myself getting better only made me think of when the problem would come back again, and that spawned other ridiculous concerns and sadness and all the like. Not that I've been full of rainbows and sunshine lately but... you know. It's worse.
I don't know why I thought about reading that carefully folded piece of paper which comes with every pack of pills. I don't usually do that because I imagine that whatever I need to know, the doctor has already told me. And I remember asking K, are there any side effects? And she said no. Ooh, losing points, K. It was very clearly written. "Very few people may show signs of depression." But I guess that makes me special, right? If only a handful of people get this side effect, well, kudos to me for being in that bunch of select few.
Since the downward spiral claimed me, I have successfully managed to drive people away. They called and I made up excuses not to talk to them or see them or have any sort of interaction with them. How could I let them see me like this? So, I locked myself inside the house, going outside only if it was absolutely necessary. Nobody looked for me and I was ok with that, seeing as the first stage of my depression was soaked in apathy.
Two days ago, apathy went away. I wish it would have stayed. Because I don't think I've ever been more scared or sad or lonely in my entire life. But hey, bonus point for physical health. Yeah...
2 claims:
Dear Lu. Many great writers, poets and musicians had health issues. And depression issues. And many beautiful pieces were born out of this. But they didn't have a happy life. Or an easy one. Do you want to be an unknown Sylvia Plath? Do you feel that through all your suffering, this is the only way you can leave something of value behind? That your sad nature is the motive for you to write a poem? I'm just saying.
I cannpot imagine what it is a young girl like you has, that is so serious. But even if you are unlucky with your health, you do have a preference to darkness, and I suspect the cause is not your health problem. There is a way out of this, and you can't find it alone.
@Μικρός Μπετόβεν
Oh, if only I could be half as good as Plath...
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