I moved to North Carolina from Tennessee in August. For a couple of months I saw a psychiatric physicians assistant near my parents’ home where I was staying. Then I moved out on my own. The soonest I could get in to see someone for medication management was a couple of month.
That brings me to today. I got up at 7:30, stomach in knots. I had to go to new psych doc. Much like therapists, they ask the hard questions: Have you ever attempted suicide? Have you ever hurt yourself? And there is nothing more embarrassing than admitting that at some point you had such self-loathing you would do those things. But you see, it isn’t self-loathing. It is mental illness. Not that that makes it okay to try and harm yourself, but sometimes your mind just isn’t right.
After she asked her questions and typed in my list of meds, she gave her diagnosis. “Yes, I believe you have bipolar one and definitely anxiety disorder, probably obsessive compulsive disorder.” Nothing I didn’t know. We are altering some meds once again. I am so tired of the roller coaster that is my life.