Confiding in people – part 3: psychiatric services and what happened in the last few years

I split my last posts Confiding in people – part 1 and part 2 because the are far too long.

By ‘confide in’, I mean talk about the worst of my mental health symptoms in particular suicidal thoughts and the things I am ashamed about in my life.

After I dropped out of university, I changed psychiatrist from Dr D to my fourth psychiatrist, Dr McL, which I found difficult at first but she became my favourite psychiatrist. She was a fat woman and was the first person to talk to me about fat acceptance though never called it that and I thought she was just kidding herself (I never said that to her).  She was the first doctor to take my eating disorder seriously and the first person at all to take the depersonalization stuff seriously too. I started to trust her and became less worried about having to censor what I could say in case she thought I was attention-seeking. She kept telling me that I’d get better, that I’d be okay and that I would work things out. I started to believe her made some plans for the future – I was going to do a part-time university course then either go back to university and complete a different degree or finish the open university degree. I thought I would be able to get a job from that. I had hope for the future again which was a lovely feeling.

Then I made another mistake and moved to a different city because my ex-boyfriend J had got a job there so was moving. The move itself was awful and I got ill again and had to withdraw from the open university course. I had to change doctors of course so a new psychiatrist, CPN and GP. But I was so ill that I got sent to the local version of the crisis team so had a different psychiatrist and nurse there first. The crisis team doctor was like my second psychiatrist and I felt like she thought I was the worst kind of attention-seeking, faking scum. That experience is a different story. I stopped confiding in any of the psychiatric services and didn’t trust them. What was worse was that my ex-boyfriend J didn’t believe how bad things were and told me it was just my illness making me think that way. He had been using that argument more and more in the increasing number of fights we were having. I felt very alone. When I got a bit better, I was transferred from the crisis team to the normal outpatient psychiatric department. I didn’t trust my new psychiatrist, Dr S, my new CPN or my new psychologist, B, at all and didn’t confide in any of them. I did start to trust B and begin to confide in her after a few months but that ended badly. Again, another story.

When I moved back to the city where I live, I had my sixth psychiatrist, Dr D. Fuck, already got a Dr D. This one can be Dr E. When I was younger I would walk into a doctor’s office and pretty much trust them straight off without thinking about it. That was just what you did when you went to the doctors: of course they had your best interests at heart! When I went to Dr E, I didn’t trust her at all and barely talked to her. I didn’t get over that, which she noticed (just changed all the “Dr D”s to “Dr E”s hopefully), but she did begin to repair my faith in doctors and never actually did anything bad to me or acted like she thought I was attention-seeking. Dr E moved jobs and I had a temporary psychiatrist, Dr P. When I first met him I think was a bit more open-minded than I had been for years. I was very ill again and I heard later that he’d been worried about me. He was kind to me and again, was repairing my faith in the idea that some doctors might be trustworthy and he never acted like he thought I was attention-seeking. In fact, he was more the opposite and I felt like he thought I was more ill than I really was but he didn’t insist I went into hospital the times he suggested it. He pissed me off the last time I saw him by insisting we shake hands (he was wishing me well) because I don’t like to touch people but that was the worst thing he did. I only saw him for a few months which I was sad about. Then I got my current psychiatrist, Dr H. He’s quiet and calm and has, so far, respected my decisions when I’ve said “no” to the crisis team and going into hospital. I’ve come to feel that I can’t trust a doctor unless they ‘let’ me say “no”. He’s also let me change some medications, even though he’s said that he’s not sure how succesful it’ll be, and that has made me feel more in control and like I can actually make some things happen. I like that he asks directly about “self-harm” as he puts it meaning self-injury and suicidal thoughts. Of course, I’ve lied and lead the conversation around past it. But I like that he asks because I don’t think I’d ever bring it up.

When I moved, I was also given my new CPN, M. I’m going to run out of fucking letters. I didn’t trust her at the start either. I thought seeing her was pretty pointless and that they were just checking up on me to make sure I hadn’t killed myself yet. Then I got the letter to see ATOS and holy fuck, I panicked like I have never panicked before. I phoned her at the outpatient department and I couldn’t speak I was so upset and hysterical. She came round to my flat straight away and… I can’t actually write about this just now because I’m too upset but she was the best kind of nurse and took care of me. She took me to the ATOS appointment. She made it okay and I got through it. So suddenly I trust her now. She was there for me on the worst day of my life and I am incredibly grateful. I don’t think she’d ever laugh at me or think I was a fake so I feel safe with her now.

It’s bizarre reading these posts back to myself. It sounds like I keep grudges and don’t talk to people about it which I didn’t realise. I still don’t know how to ask other people for help. I think that’s the shame: I’ll end up hysterically sobbing and unable to speak (I’m not over-reacting, it has actually happened). Also, I seriously still have the that ‘in denial’ thing going. The thought of “that didn’t really happen to me” keeps flickering in and out and puts itself between me and feeling like these things are my life. And how did I get onto a five thousand word rant of all this history from “I have a psychiatrist appointment on Tuesday”? Guess I’m still not too keen on psychiatrists.

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