6
May

Anger Issues?

I found out a gem of a comment that my (former) psychiatrist wrote in my chart after my first visit with him. Apparently, in that one session where he was supposed to do a quite long and intensive psychiatric evaluation, he spent 5 minutes with me and determined I had anger issues and severe anxiety. Given that I have a pretty good memory of the session, since this was before I was on Risperdal, all I can really recall is me giving a brief rundown of how bad my depressive symptoms were, telling him I needed a better anti-psychotic, and that I was wanting to come off of the Depakote since I had gained so much weight on it. He had put me on Effexor and Risperdal, then told me I could come off the Depakote because I was “on too much medicine”. (I was on the Depakote, Klonopin, Effexor, and Risperdal.) He then sent me on my way, only billing for a med check.

According to my therapist, in the next session he claimed to do a psych evaluation, which is crap because he never spends more than 5 minutes with me. He always tells me I’m on too much medicine. He ignores me when I tell him which symptoms are worse, and tries to get me to up my Klonopin, even though I’ve told him that I can no longer take it because it knocks me out. (Besides that, I don’t feel I need it because I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack in almost a year.)

He also said that I had the symptoms for Borderline Personality Disorder (which I had previously been diagnosed for, but I did not tell him I was experiencing any of the symptoms for it at the time of any of the appointments) and I guess this is his justification for not paying attention to my ACTUAL problems. Ugh. I didn’t really have any anger issues towards him until I found out about him going through my old parts of my chart to come up with his present diagnosis. Hasn’t he ever heard of actually doing the work himself? Yes, it takes a while to do a psych eval, but it was in his schedule and he would have been somewhat compensated for it.

2 comments

2
May

The Invasion of the Parentals

I’m about to sound ungrateful, which I’m sure el radio dude and compadres would think is fitting of me, but I’m generally a very grateful person. So, what’s eating at me? Kind of a long story.

Well, I’ve been working on genealogy recently. This is something I enjoy doing, but it’s something I’ve had to work on on my dad’s computer because he has the most up-to-date file. My dad DECIDED that I should put it on my laptop. (My laptop being the one that does not connect to the internet in this house, thus making further research IMPOSSIBLE.) Well, it took him a few weeks to find the one that works with Vista in his little spot where he keeps all the discs. (He even tries to keep all of my discs, because I’m irresponsible and lose things.)

I installed it last night, and my dad asks me where my flash drive is so he can give me the family file off his computer. I tell him that I lost my disk. He berates me for my irresponsibility. (I paid for the disk, so if anyone should be pissed at me, it should be me.) He then reminds me of a year and a half ago when I lost a memory card for my camera. (Another thing that I bought.) This is proof that I am irresponsible.

Then, he decides that during the middle of a thunderstorm, he will connect my new laptop to the network via a network cable. This pisses me off because one does not pay $3k on a laptop to have it fry because her father can’t get rid of a file fast enough. He also goes through MY stuff while he’s trying to do this and rearranges MY CDs, putting some where they will fall in the floor. (If I put my CDs where they will fall in the floor, I get reminded of how irresponsible I am.) When I explain to him how uber protective I am of my new computer, he gets pissed; forgetting that he is the person who always taught me that in the middle of a storm, I’m supposed to unplug my computer from anything that could fry it because computers are expensive and we don’t have the money to go around replacing them every time a storm hits. Eventually, I get it across to him that I want to wait on moving the files over.

This morning, after I go to bed a second time in the last 12 hours, my mom goes through my stuff where I keep my books to find the flash drive. Admittedly, I don’t keep the books all stacked nice and neat, but no one in my immediate family does that. Well, I wake up and I cannot find my glasses because my laptop has been moved and I keep my glasses on top of my laptop. My Bible is right where Gretchen jumps up and looks out the window, thus meaning that the Quad that I have spent almost $100 on will most likely be dirty and ripped up because my irresponsible place that I kept it was too dangerous and it should be placed in the path of a hyperactive dog. My books were put on a bookshelf across the room by my father, along with DVDs that I was keeping next to the laptop because I was watching them on my laptop. My screwed up headphones (because I’m too irresponsible for NICE headphones; keep in mind I inherited them in a semi-broken state from my father) are in a plastic bag somewhere.

When I get a little pissed, my mom quickly apologizes, and it seems like she didn’t want to go through my stuff. (My dad probably convinced her to because she understands that I don’t like having my stuff rifled through.) My dad tells me how my books were falling apart, which is UNTRUE! He starts telling me of my irresponsibility, and how “books go on bookshelves”, so dad, if you’re reading this: tonight, after you go to bed, don’t be surprised if I decide to go to your spot and rearrange all your stuff because you leave books off the shelves, you can’t find discs that you want to be responsible for, etc. If I’m allowed to have my life rifled through because of my irresponsibility, don’t act like you’re surprised when YOUR stuff is gone through.

Seriously, it’s not my paranoia and schizo-spectrum stuff that is eating at me on this one. I don’t think ANYONE would want a spot they keep stuff gone through without their permission. I know somewhere in their hearts, my parents had good intentions, but does it take that much time or energy to ASK if I want them to do this? I tell my parents I don’t like being touched, they touch me. I tell them (and have since I was a little kid) that I don’t like my stuff being touched, they touch it…worse, they MOVE it. They look through my things and try to find out what I do with my dad. I’ve ALWAYS been private, mainly because I’ve always been paranoid. My mom, who also has paranoia, should especially understand that I do NOT want anyone to look at my stuff and move it around. She would have a fit if I did the same to her, and my dad would probably kill me if I did it to him. So, why don’t I deserve the same respect? It’s my house and I’m the one treated like some kind of lout that can’t be trusted.

no comments

1
May

Apparently…

Apparently, I was asking for a pity party when I told el radio dude (he should enjoy that since he so loves anyone Hispanic) the 13 problems that currently and possibly will always plague my life. I didn’t tell him for sympathy. I didn’t tell him for anything other than the opportunity to answer a stupid question. He asked what was wrong with me. I told him. If he felt pity or anything of the sort, that’s his problem. I don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t feel like a victim or anything. Ooh, I have 13 problems…I’m sure there are people who have it worse. Some of them may only have one problem, and I would rather that they receive the attention for having massive issues than me. I would rather sympathy go to people who deserve it. I’m just a girl whose parents decided to have a child and decided to keep that child even when my mom’s body was trying to miscarry. That was a sign that there were going to be issues. I don’t blame my parents for my problems. I don’t blame God. I don’t blame the devil. I don’t blame anyone. It happened. I drew a short straw. I’m not sad about it. I would love to be one of those people who could go through a day without pain or depression or any of that, but if I did, then I would be miserable. I truly believe I would be miserable if I had it easy. That would take the intrigue out of my life. That would be boring.

My mom and I kind of talked about this today. This involves some LDS beliefs, so it may sound strange. Basically, we believe in pre-existence. Before we came to earth, we existed with God (I know, I’m a bad Mormon for not saying Heavenly Father, but I will rant on that topic another day). Well, my mom and I have always joked that before she came to earth, God asked her what she wanted to do with her life. She told him everything. That’s why she was given so many obstacles. Well, I apparently told him that I wanted challenges. I wanted life to be interesting. I wanted to learn what it was like to be a human…not one of those people who is “blessed” with an easy life. I wanted to get down and dirty with issues and problems. I wanted to experience what it was like to be in pain or depressed. I wanted to feel emotions and all that. I didn’t want to be denied the opportunity to leave this life without having an idea of what other people go through. (Of course, I was also blessed with the whole stubbornness of not wanting to have a blessing to rid myself of any problems, which some of my YSA friends don’t understand.)

I know I talk about having problems a lot on here, and I probably come across as the most miserable lout on the face of the earth, but I’m not. I’m 100% at peace with my life. I’m not necessarily perky and happy. I’m more cynically content. I rant on here about being in pain or upset because I have to have some place to do it. I try not to complain to anyone offline, mainly because it’s hard for anyone to understand. Most people try to relate, and with some of the stuff, it’s just impossible.

no comments