One down, one to go

So, yesterday, I saw the GP. I did not make my excuses to the receptionist and leave, despite having to wait what felt like an intolerable 15 mins while part of my brain was screaming “run away from here, now”.

And I spoke to my GP, probably rather incoherently, there was a lot of tears and staring at the desk to avoid eye contact. At one point he asked me to stop rubbing my eye so much before I damaged myself. Anyways, I don’t think I explained myself as clearly as I might have liked, but I reckon I got the basis of my message across.

And he talked to me about North Korea and UKIP (establishing my anxiety wasn’t at world events) and leopards in trees (how our brain evolution hasn’t caught up with modern life) and why I should have a woodburner (to get rid of the piles of paper that stress me out). We also talked about the Boy quite a lot. I’m pretty sure we overran my allocated 10 minute slot. Oh and he said he didn’t think I was properly depressed, just having a hard time of things.

And he asked me if he should prescribe me something and I managed to tell him that I hate it when medical professionals ask my opinion on treatment options (if they’re not sure with all their training, how the hell am I supposed to know). So he prescribed me some pills, antidepressents (I read on the packet later, he didn’t call them that), SSRI, to increase my seretonin levels, at a half dose (that is associated with panic attacks according to the leaflet).

So now I’m officially bad enough to try medication. Based on my past thoughts I should be pleased that finally I’m “properly” ill and not just malingering. But actually it’s pretty scary. The leaflet looked pretty scary.

Hubby told me to take a more manly approach. Which it turned out, doesn’t actually mean, Man Up, Stop Whining, Take it. Rather it means, act like a man, don’t read the instructions, don’t think, don’t worry, just do.

So I did.

More on that another time I think. Today I’m about to go and see the counselor again that I saw a couple of times last year.

Seems I was really organised last week. Beginning to wish I’d been a bit more lax.

Trigger warning

I didn’t tell all of the story yesterday. I scared myself. I was doing something, trying not to think about The Stuff I Haven’t Done for 5 mins, and I realised I talking to myself under my breath, a bit like you might catch yourself humming or singing a song. Except I was muttering “I’m going to kill myself” on repeat.

WHAT?

That is not my thought, I’m not thinking that, I don’t want to do that, why am I saying it?   It must be some part of my brain that isn’t me saying that because I do not want to do that, not even close.  Except there is no part of my brain that isn’t me.

I’m struggling to explain what it felt like, because describing it makes me seem, well, mad, like a person in a story with voices in their head kind of mad (which is surely an ignorant/rude/insulting way of describing it but I’m struggling with the words for this so please understand I don’t mean it to be).  But the reality was far from what my media conditioned brain thinks of as “mad”. It was the opposite. It was mundane, uneventful. I was concentrating on a task and it just happened. And I only just noticed.

Which is why I kind of need to make myself go the GP. I’m guessing this counts as a change in symptoms. I don’t want to overplay it, I’m not planning on doing anything. But, still. If there is a small part of my brain that is thinking these things without me realising it, then, yes, I need help.