What’s Up, Doc? (False Truths Pt.2)
Two weeks ago, I went to therapy and said some things that I later regretted. I told my psychiatrist that not everyone believes my mental illness is real; some people think I’m faking it. So ever since I left her office, I’ve been paranoid as we could be. I got the thought in my head that I’d planted an idea in her mind and that she no longer believed the things I was telling her. I decided that she thought I was a liar and a fraud. I was unsure whether or not I’d be able to talk to her anymore. I even considered changing doctors. I wrote a blog post about my paranoia on this subject Here. I literally have obsessed about this morning and night ever since that therapy session. So I had my first session with her since the incident…I was incredibly nervous before I went in. Making me even more nervous and paranoid was the fact that they called me 3 times to reschedule the appointment; I got it in my head that they didn’t like me and didn’t want to see me. Then, once at the office, the waiting room was so crowded I had to be placed in an adjoining room, all alone. All alone is just fine with me-it’s far less stressful than being around people. So anyway, I wait and wait and wait. Over an hour and a half passes and still I’m waiting. I was just getting more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by. Finally, my name was called. I held my head down low as I walked slowly into the doctor’s office. I sat across from her but could not look at her. At first I couldn’t speak…then I got out my notebook, in which I’d written down topics to discuss, questions to ask, and journal entries to read to her. When I finally opened my mouth, the words gushed out all over each other. I let everything out-my paranoia about our relationship, my fear that she thinks I’m lying, my obsessing about our last therapy session, my worries of being doubted. I poured out my feelings on all of these matters, and she listened patiently and then smiled broadly. She told me that she didn’t think I was capable of concocting some elaborate scheme to make people think I’m mentally ill. She said that in our last session, when I confessed to her about the doubters and disbelievers, she thought that took courage on my part to bring those things up. She doesn’t think I’m a liar. She doesn’t think I’m faking my symptoms. Oh thank the heavens! Relief washed over me and my mind was cleansed of negativity and I felt like a new person. The rest of the session was spent discussing this weekend’s big event: my nephew’s wedding. I have to drive over 6 hours to get there. I have to meet the family of the bride. I have to attend fancy teas and dinners and cocktail parties and on Saturday, a black-tie wedding. A very-crowded, formal affair is not my idea of a fun weekend. Just sounds stressful and terrifying and panic-inducing. In fact, my psychiatrist told me that because of the stress and anxiety caused by the wedding, I’d more than likely dissociate. That does NOT help me feel better. I asked her if it would be OK for me to have some champagne at the wedding; she said I could drink IF I did NOT take my Xanax that day. Well, hell, I can’t even leave my room without taking a Xanax, so I guess that means I won’t be drinking. The last thing I want to do is tempt fate by not being sedated in a crowded public environment.