So, yesterday rather sucked. Mostly my fault. Okay, entirely my fault. But, the reason I've been out of it for the past few days is that I've been psyching myself up for this doctor's appointment. Expect the worst, hope for the best, you'll never be surprised.
The office was downtown, in a rather old-fashioned but nice enough medical plaza (I'd passed it before and thought it was an apartment building). The wait was longish, but I was prepared for this. I was a little nervous and caught myself stimming in the waiting room, rocking and humming and wiggling. But, things moved quickly once I was back there.
The doctor seemed nice enough at first. She asked a few in-depth questions about my family medical history and mine. But, then she explained that, due to the office patient load, I had to pick two things to focus on with her. Okay. That's a little odd, but okay. I picked a skin issue I've been fighting and my fatigue. At some point, depression, ASDs and anxiety were mentioned and the fact that I felt like my antidepressant wasn't doing its job any more.
Suddenly, she began asking me questions about whether I'd had childhood traumas and had I been treated for certain things. One thing stuck out as we talked. She said, pointe blank, "You're so articulate and creative, why do you think you have these problems?" There was a heavy implication that I was being melodramatic or histrionic. While I'm sure some incidents in my youth haven't done my psyche any favors, I seriously doubt I'm just traumatized and everything will be better once I handle that.
Then, at one point, she began asking about whether I attended church. She might have seen the raven necklace I always wear. It was given to me by a beloved friend, Wanda Runninghorses, because my name means "Raven" and I rarely take it off, because it's just comforting to wear. Either way, I replied that I'm Unitarian Universalist (for the most part) and didn't give her much more than that. Honestly, I felt it wasn't her business how I pray or who to. If I'd had the guts, I would have told her (without lying, really) that I consider myself a witch. But, by then, I was crying. This woman, who I was trusting with my health, was refusing to believe that my mental health was really a problem and, after I had told her what two problems I wanted focused on, she picked a third and wasted most of the appointment on it.
I guess I need to find another doctor.
The office was downtown, in a rather old-fashioned but nice enough medical plaza (I'd passed it before and thought it was an apartment building). The wait was longish, but I was prepared for this. I was a little nervous and caught myself stimming in the waiting room, rocking and humming and wiggling. But, things moved quickly once I was back there.
The doctor seemed nice enough at first. She asked a few in-depth questions about my family medical history and mine. But, then she explained that, due to the office patient load, I had to pick two things to focus on with her. Okay. That's a little odd, but okay. I picked a skin issue I've been fighting and my fatigue. At some point, depression, ASDs and anxiety were mentioned and the fact that I felt like my antidepressant wasn't doing its job any more.
Suddenly, she began asking me questions about whether I'd had childhood traumas and had I been treated for certain things. One thing stuck out as we talked. She said, pointe blank, "You're so articulate and creative, why do you think you have these problems?" There was a heavy implication that I was being melodramatic or histrionic. While I'm sure some incidents in my youth haven't done my psyche any favors, I seriously doubt I'm just traumatized and everything will be better once I handle that.
Then, at one point, she began asking about whether I attended church. She might have seen the raven necklace I always wear. It was given to me by a beloved friend, Wanda Runninghorses, because my name means "Raven" and I rarely take it off, because it's just comforting to wear. Either way, I replied that I'm Unitarian Universalist (for the most part) and didn't give her much more than that. Honestly, I felt it wasn't her business how I pray or who to. If I'd had the guts, I would have told her (without lying, really) that I consider myself a witch. But, by then, I was crying. This woman, who I was trusting with my health, was refusing to believe that my mental health was really a problem and, after I had told her what two problems I wanted focused on, she picked a third and wasted most of the appointment on it.
I guess I need to find another doctor.
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