I’ll try to write what I can before passing out from being completely and utterly exhausted. It has been a long day to start with, no sleep, getting the dogs walked and fed, worrying. Worrying about everything as always.
Dr. G, who must have surmised who I was at registration, introduced himself and led me to this little room. There were 3 comfy chairs and a small table under a large window with nothing to see really except the side of the building next door.
And then the talking began. Four and a half hours. 3 hours straight through with Dr.G and 1 hour more with both him and the head of the clinic. Then the last half hour writing a safety plan (more on that in a sec), reviewing my 18 meds (soon to be 19) and summarizing next steps.
Nothing more than sitting in a small room. Talk, talk and more talk.
Normally I’m not comfortable with men and discussions about my life. All past therapists, psychiatrists and if I had a choice all my medical doctors and dentists have been women. But for some reason I felt alright with the doc, and when he asked what pronouns I prefer, I started talking and basically did not shut up.
He did interrupt a few times, asking for more clarification on my relationship with my folks, sexual experiences and past treatments and therapies. But my answers were essays, long monologues about my past.
I was viewing this appointment as the last ditch attempt to get help in conquering this damn depression. If this angle wasn’t successful, I would try to gain insight through this blog. Maybe there was no cure, but at least a better understanding before I eventually have to give up, my pain threshold finally maxed out.
PTSD. All the signs, symptoms and predictable outcomes. The coping skills and past therapies all fail in one way or another.
I have tried to deal with it on my own, get over it, run from it, and drink myself into oblivion because of the nightmares.
“Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”
Hmmm…truth or not. So I went with the truth.
“Daily, and some nights hourly, kidding…. well I guess I’m not”
“Do you know how you’d carry it out?”
So I went through my plan. Which I won’t write down here. Sending love <3
Then the discussion got real serious, as if it wasn’t already.
“Am I an immediate threat to myself?”
I told them both the same thing, I could not hurt certain people in my life. My suicide would make a small circle of people very very sad, and I would never mean them harm.
The next half hour was designing a safety plan, a comprehensive safe guard done in steps based on level of self threat. Names and actual phone numbers and who to call when. Remove those items of harm from my thoughts. It wasn’t “take this home” it was “we are going to fill all this out together…now.” Real contacts and phone numbers and relationships. 211 and 911.
211 was new to me. A crisis intervention task force, not a boat load of police kicking your door in with lights flashing to wake the neighbors.
I took this one to heart, 211.
The doctors explained their next steps; a new medication to help sleep, and stifle the nightmares.
Then CBT, or Cognitive Behavior Therapy, to be held in 6 sessions. Once a week. CBT would help in reprocessing the trauma, get past the shame and guilt which would allow me to live, and hopefully even to move on.
Lastly, they offered a group for 2 hours (do we want to say “group therapy” here to be more clear?) The keyword “group” being what turned me off, but I knew the importance of trying.
The past therapies had failed and my coping skills proved to reinforce the problem, not correct it. I cry too easily, afraid of people, of new situations.
But I can listen.
I promised I would do it, at least try my best.
I’ve run out of options.