I’ve had several conversations with my husband recently about my current status in the realm of mental health, that being my mental health. In psych research, he is known as one of the “normal’s” and I presume I am known or referred to as one of the “crazies, incompetent, abnormal, nuts, etc. – please stop me!” He just finished reading the book The Psychopath Test by Jon Ronson. It’s a non-fiction book about Ron Ronson exploring how or who came up with the current DSM-IV diagnose of a psychopath and other disease/disorders, which every human posses in one form or another. I’m only on page 53 and find in relatively funny, yet sad that I can relate to how I’ve been arguing this point of labeling for years.
I just had an argument with both my PDOC and Enemy – I feel argument when they disagree with my point of view when I’m correct in all aspects of my thought process. My thought processes are logically correct at times, yet they feel I am the one who needs medicating and in-depth psychotherapy. We all know this is so totally wrong. Maybe I was a little whacked out when my PDOC put me on one medication, yet it was entirely his fault, not my mind or brain function. I had taken myself off of my meds slowly and was just depressed this past Spring and had acquired intrusive thoughts. This could happen to humans without any DSM-IV tags in their files. O.K., it was not my choice that I apparently emailed the Enemy which threw my husband and me for a loop. We still are recovering from that whole episode. Intrusive thoughts with the Bipolar 1 disorder can erupt into a party without the human involved. The PDOC does not agree each time I come into his office for a visit. I call it a visit because today I believe I am not nuts and my PDOC is just a quack who likes to visit with me. It works for me!
Speaking of my PDOC who likes me to visit from time to time and charges ME $100.00 -can you believe that? – will not help me with my happiness. No Saphris again. I try but both my PDOC and husband have banned me from my happy medication. Friday I went to a pharmacy in the building where my PDOC works part of his day to pick up my prescriptions. One of the prescriptions was not in and I told my husband that it was O.K. that I would run out Sunday but it was fine. There is a door closed from the pharmacy to the offices and clinics to this building and apparently the PDOC’s offices are next to the Pharmacy. It was amazing; my PDOC comes right into the pharmacy where we are and asks if everything was O.K. It’s like he heard me say I was going to be fine not taking one of my meds. This is an ongoing argument we have every time we “visit” each other. Next thing I know he is back with three bottles of samples. What a guy! No chance to get off even one med. Maybe the PDOC’s are a little touchy here because of the cinema shooting close by. He said they all checked their files a day later after the incident to see if that nut was their client. I can imagine. The PDOC of that nut has moved out of her house because of death threats. What a profession; I guess she got that DSM-IV code in his file wrong.
My husband has so understood this time around with the episode into my world of 2012. He said it was just us now. I asked if he wants me to stick around. At times it is so incredibly hard not to stay. My husband wants me to try to volunteer, be around people one hour a day, one day a week. This thought mortifies me. To be around people without anyone I know. To interact with complete strangers is something I have not done to my knowledge in a long time. I’m cordial of course when I’m out doing what I need to do, which is very little, but I do not engage in conversation like most people do. I can’t talk to Enemy very well at times. But at times I just want to leave in the middle of the 40 minutes. To volunteer – scary proposition. I’d rather learn something to do with the computer, like the spread sheet where all the bills are. My husband has tried to show me, but BORING!
Labeling, it is a cruel human action to engage in.
On a sad note, they found the missing girl, Jessica, dead last week. She was found in our city, just a few miles from our neighborhood. My daughter wrecked my car a few years ago in the field where Jessica was found. I do hope no pieces of my old car is anywhere close to that location. There is almost a which hunt going on here; over 4000 tips have been called in about this case. I told my husband not to talk to any child for any reason what so ever. Luckily we were in Seattle at the time. I feel so bad for the family of Jessica.