Or, “One hour of me feeling defensive and being asked questions like, “Why do you use labels like manic depression”?
Because I have this treatable illness called “manic depression” and you were asking about it? I’m fairly well read when it comes to psychiatric diagnosis, mostly because I write this blog and like to be informed. Using the “label”of manic depression comes naturally to me, because I write about it so often. I also find the whole thing easier to understand and explain if I can use the bloody words that describe the illness. I hate this about psychiatry- I do my best living with this, but it does affect my life significantly. I don’t “let it”, I’m not weak, it just does because that’s what it does to me. Just because it affects me and I acknowledge that, it doesn’t mean that I define myself by it. I use the phrase, “I have manic depression” rather than, “I am manic depressive”. If I had another illness that significantly affected my life, nobody would call it a fucking label. People are always very suspicious if you know anything about psychiatry. I have the internet, a library and a curious mind- if I’d been diagnosed with any illness I’d have found out everything about it by now. It is how I make sense of it and deal with it. If it was still this faceless thing, like it was, it would be harder.
They also asked if I was showing them my scars. I wasn’t, I was fiddling with my bracelets because I was nervous.
I did talk about eating issues and body issues (which I find nigh on impossible talking about in the flesh- manic depression, fine, it’s almost my job to talk about that) but fucking hell, that was so traumatic and I feel completely shaken and tearful. I really didn’t expect for it to be so hard, and sitting there in front of two impassive faces was just fucking horrible.
They asked me what I wanted out of therapy. I told them Rob was worried about me, and I wanted to make an effort to try and sort out my eating and body issues as much for him as for myself. And because dysphoric mania is too easily triggered by antidepressants, I’d like some help in coping with depression since I can’t take medication for it. In short, just some help coping with things.
I just hated that whole hour and feel shaken by it. They were nice, it’s just so fucking hard to talk about that kind of stuff in front of strangers when you’re not absolutely pissed. Here’s why I prefer to write than to talk.
I’m repeating the experience next week. Ah fuck.
At least I went, though! I was so nervous beforehand that I chainsmoked for two hours.