So I figured it out. My psychiatrist has no pulse. He sits there and stares at me while I rant and rave about my life. I finally came to the conclusion that he’s not helping me. He writes out his scripts for my ativan and off I go to the next bar to enjoy a martini or five to take the edge off.
Where the heck did this guy get his degree? No cognitive behavior therapy, no reverse psychology crap maneuvered and no questions asked regarding the situation at hand. During the 45 minute session, this man picked up his phone at least three times. I fell asleep during one of his drawn out conversations and he had to wake me up.
He stared at me for a good long while, and then asked, “How’s your love life?” I didn’t respond to it, after I had told him about the numerous amounts of anxiety attacks that plagued me and the depression that always seemed to follow afterwards. So to really see how good of a doctor he was, I tested him.
“Doc, I don’t wanna live anymore.” As I cried into my tissue about other things, peeking back at his face to see if there were any human-like expressions.
Nothing. Nada. He stared at me like a deer in headlights. So I took it a step further.
“I had a revolver in my mouth doc, I was about to end it all, but talked myself out of it. I still have those feelings though. What should I do?”
“Well, what’s giving you the anxiety?” He asks as he fumbles through his schedule book looking for some important piece of paper. Did he have a script he was supposed to read off of? ‘In case of emergency, read this to them!’
Aren’t psychiatrists & psychologists supposed to help in some way? It’s not just an ‘ear’ I need. I need a professional to help me get out of this anxiety-filled pattern so I can live a normal life. I want to walk into a large supermarket without getting tunnel vision or flipping out over the millions of voices coming from every aisle. (No, not my head!) I want to go to bed at night and not have my throat feel as though it’s closing up on me. I’m up late at night trying to sooth myself to sleep.
“Well do you have a friend or family member that’s close to you that you can talk to?" Doc asked me.
“Umm, this is why I’m here…?” I said, in this sarcastic tone trying to figure out what the hell he’s doing in this occupation anyway.
I had to think fast. I had to figure out a way to solve my problem with doc. I needed help, not a dead corpse sitting in front of me. I needed someone with a pulse who is able to give me the care I need. This wasn’t it. This doctor let me walk out of his office knowing that there was a potential risk of me taking my own life.
I found my solution ‘for now’. I started a work out routine and I’m back at the gym. I also started getting Reiki treatments and I am a regular again at the spa I used to go to. The do everything from manicures/pedicures to deep tissue massages. This Thursday is my manicure and facial treatment which is followed by a Reiki session. I cannot begin to tell you how relaxing this is. For the same amount of money I pay to see my zombie doctor, I spend it on getting pampered---and I even look better when I walk out the door.
I’m dropping doc this week. Wish me luck!
TO THE DOCTORS IN THE HOUSE:
This post is written to also get advice to the psychiatrists who read my posts as well. (You know who you are...) Drop me an email or comment to let me know what your thoughts are on this. He literally let me 'walk out the door' without getting the men in the white coats after me. Is this normal? Even though it was just a test and I knew what his response would be, I'm just worried about the people who really do want to take their lives and go to see him about it. Is there anything I can do to report him or maybe keep the place he works at informed? Or is that a bad move on my part? I need advice!
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