I learned a lot yesterday. A lot I didn’t want to learn, didn’t ask to learn, didn’t know I was going to learn.
So. I headed out hoping I interpreted ‘next Monday’ correctly. After several delays getting to the appointment, I was pleased enough to know I hadn’t screwed up the days. Unfortunately, that was my only pleasure in the entire experience.
While waiting, I played some sudoku on my phone. Heard my name and looked up to see….not the same woman I spoke to last time. Ooooookay, I thought. Something’s up.
Last time, I spoke to a 30 something woman with Indian descent – dark hair, dark eyes. She showed me real empathy and compassion when we spoke about the difficulty I had going cold turkey off my antidepressants, the confusion and anger I have towards women, and my fears over being diagnosed. She assured me they could help, and they had a psychiatrist who worked on site to whom I could speak.
Yesterday I spoke to a woman who set off every trigger I had. First of all, she had light hair and skin, which just sets me on edge because it looks too much like the coloring my family has. Second, she was obviously older; maybe she was in her 50s or 60s – don’t know. All I DO know is she set that older female authority figure shit off in me and I could barely look at her. She then informed me the following information:
- The woman I spoke to last time no longer works with them. I was dumped on another counsellor who knew nothing about what I discussed last time.
- They (the clinic) are not equipped to deal with bipolar issues. The psychiatrist they have only comes in once a week, and she felt that was not adequate to deal with the rapid fluctuations of bipolar or any hospitalization.
- She told me if she was my sister, she’d advise me to go to a different clinic in town. She then gave me their phone number.
- She kept repeating ‘bipolar depression’ until I finally asked her if she thought I was depressed and she said yes.
It took a lot of effort to not get up and blast this woman. I know in my head she didn’t mean to set me off in any manner. She was probably even being nice. I hated her.
I swear to christ that if I get stuck with one more woman as a counselor or doctor I’m going to get up, scream, and walk the fuck out.
So I feel completely abandoned (here, go and call this place which you know is going to have one of those mechanized answering services that’s completely in Dutch so you freak out and can’t get through it at all without help). I’m pissed off because I actually CARED about that first counsellor (what a jackass I was!) and it turns out she either lied, misrepresented what they could do, or just was too stupid to know what she was talking about – doesn’t matter; she’s now just one more woman I can’t trust, can’t believe, can’t count on even though I thought I could. I’m angry that someone would, in 15 fucking minutes, tell me I’m fucking depressed when she knows fuck all about me – all because some tears leaked out of my fucking eyes. Shit, that happens whenever I’m fucking stressed out or fucking anxious and what do you THINK I was feeling yesterday? And when she smiled and said ‘If I was your sister’ I almost blacked out: my only thought was if YOU were my sister I wouldn’t listen to a fucking WORD you said and I’d get up and beat your fucking smiling face to a fucking PULP!
And another thing. If one more person asks me ‘are you bipolar?’ when I keep telling them it’s only my own fucking observations and not ONE professional has diagnosed me with it, I’m going to say ‘Yes. I’m a learned doctor as well as an artist and I’ve diagnosed myself without fault, prejudice or biased views because I’m that fucking special, you fucking MORON!’
While walking back to the metro, I was right back at my original argument: fuck all the doctors, I’ll keep doing this myself. I felt like I didn’t want to call the new place. I don’t want to get on yet another fucking waiting list to see someone just to go through this fucking thing again. Raise my hopes that someone will listen to me and then fucking dash them again with the next fucking appointment. Don’t know that I can keep doing it.
To put the cherry on the cake, I still haven’t got through to the phone number the police gave me to report the suspected domestic abuse of my neighbor. Again, it’s all in Dutch and a nightmare to try and get through to someone who understands English. This is just a burr under my skin, and I’ve half a mind to go out and HIRE someone to make a couple of fucking phone calls for me – what a fucking nightmarish joke THAT is! Recurring nightmare number 3 for me is a dream in which I can’t speak or communicate at all, and it’s feeling an awful lot like that for me right now.
I feel so fucking stupid for not understanding Dutch better. I’m trying, but I freak out a bit when I’m not ready for it, and I’m usually just not ready for it. Then I say I don’t speak a lot of Dutch, so people keep trying but they throw too many words too fast. I’m at the noun and verb stage. I should learn how to say ‘talk to me like I’m three’ and maybe I’d do better. Keep it to things like ‘You walk slow’ or ‘today is hot’ or ‘we have fun swimming’. I can handle that. Not adult sentences. I’m just learning how to add ‘nodig’ to a sentence, which adds the concept of need. And my brain is in a bit of overload trying to remember the words for everything. Some words are easy because they’re very similar to English. A lot aren’t. I just haven’t memorized them all yet, and I’m slow in translating and in speaking.
I feel so isolated.