Me: I lowered the dose on my antidepressant because I think it’s making my hair fall out.
Doc: Your hair looks fine. It looks like a full head of hair to me. (He smiles)
Me: No. When I shower or brush my hair it falls out.
Doc: That’s normal. Are you pulling it out?
Me: No, I’m not pulling it out. I’ve had my hair my whole life so I know what a normal amount of hair coming out in the shower looks like and this is more!
Doc: Is it stress?
Me: I’ve been stressed for a lot longer than I’ve been on this medication so I don’t think it’s stress.
Doc: I don’t know if that’s a side effect of your medication.
(Well at least he’s honest, I guess. I wonder what other side-effects he is unaware of.)
(The session starts to wrap up)
Doc: You’re doing better.
Me: Why exactly do you think that?
Doc: You’re not as anxious as you were before hospital.
Me: Yes, that’s true but I am much more depressed and disconnected from the world.
Doc: Maybe you were this depressed before but the anxiety was masking it. Now that the anxiety is getting better…
Me: It’s NOT better. I mean, it’s still bad, it’s just not as obviously bad. (It’s not like a freaking cold!)
Doc: Well you didn’t talk about suicide and death today and I hope that means you’re not thinking about it.
Me: That’s because… (I don’t want to bore him? I don’t want to worry him? There’s no point in talking about it?) You never asked! I could tell you all about my thoughts and urges. I could tell you that right now would be the perfect time to die or I could tell you about the graphic plans I think up…
Doc:But you’re here. You’re fighting. You come to appointments. You take medication. You care for your cat. You’re doing better.
Me: Well I feel worse than before hospital but hey, you have to say what sits well for you as an optimistic psychiatrist. (I smile. I feel bad for him. I need to find a psychiatrist who is bleak and depressed.)
I like my psychiatrist. He’s a good man but he doesn’t understand me. He understands what the books say about me but he doesn’t know me beyond my diagnosis. I want shit to get real. I want to find a psychiatrist who has experienced major depression and can agree that it fucking sucks instead of trying to tell me that I am doing okay because what- I got out of bed? I went to an appointment?
Doc: You worry about what others think because you think those same things about other people.
Me: No I do not! That’s an awful thing to say. That would make me a horrible person!
Doc: Why do you think those types of thoughts are horrible? Are other people horrible for thinking them?
Me: Yes they are.
Doctor: There are good people out there too. There are nice people who don’t think horrible thoughts about others.
Me: We’re all horrible.