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Sep. 24th, 2013 05:43 pmADVENTURES IN MENTAL HEALTH.
I saw a doctor about a week ago (terrible experience -- never going back to them) and one of the things they said is that they would not treat me until I fixed my depression. Because it is that easy. But filling out the little "are you depressed y/n" form they gave me, yes, okay, I am more depressed than usual and should probably work on that. Apparently that doctor called my NICE doctor who I saw today, and HE said yes, really, do something, here's the name of someone.
I don't like therapy and I've never made a secret of that; I also don't like medication for me personally, with the screaming caveat that if therapy or medication work for you, GRAB THEM HARD, I don't want to be like "they don't work" they just typically haven't been much help to me. I have shrieking trust issues that make me dislike telling strangers how I'm feeling. At least, outside of blogging.
ANYWAY so around noon I call this lady my nice doctor recommended, because he's the one who warned me off the terrible doctors in the first place (but would I listen, noooo) and left a message saying I'd like to schedule an appointment, et cetera.
There's no better way to put this: she called me back while I was pooping.
I WAS ON THE CAN, OKAY, and the phone rings, and if you have a smartphone don't tell me you have never once at least considered taking the phone with you to the bathroom. So there I am, and I recognise the number and I don't know if it's like this everywhere but if you don't schedule an appointment ASAP, any doctor in Chicago generally has a two month wait period before you can get in to be seen.
So I answered. On the toilet. And she was very nice! And I made an appointment. For therapy. While pooping.
The best part was when she asked "Are you somewhere you can write this down?" and there was a pen in my pants pocket....and there was the toilet paper roll...
Yes.
Yes I am somewhere I can write this down.
I saw a doctor about a week ago (terrible experience -- never going back to them) and one of the things they said is that they would not treat me until I fixed my depression. Because it is that easy. But filling out the little "are you depressed y/n" form they gave me, yes, okay, I am more depressed than usual and should probably work on that. Apparently that doctor called my NICE doctor who I saw today, and HE said yes, really, do something, here's the name of someone.
I don't like therapy and I've never made a secret of that; I also don't like medication for me personally, with the screaming caveat that if therapy or medication work for you, GRAB THEM HARD, I don't want to be like "they don't work" they just typically haven't been much help to me. I have shrieking trust issues that make me dislike telling strangers how I'm feeling. At least, outside of blogging.
ANYWAY so around noon I call this lady my nice doctor recommended, because he's the one who warned me off the terrible doctors in the first place (but would I listen, noooo) and left a message saying I'd like to schedule an appointment, et cetera.
There's no better way to put this: she called me back while I was pooping.
I WAS ON THE CAN, OKAY, and the phone rings, and if you have a smartphone don't tell me you have never once at least considered taking the phone with you to the bathroom. So there I am, and I recognise the number and I don't know if it's like this everywhere but if you don't schedule an appointment ASAP, any doctor in Chicago generally has a two month wait period before you can get in to be seen.
So I answered. On the toilet. And she was very nice! And I made an appointment. For therapy. While pooping.
The best part was when she asked "Are you somewhere you can write this down?" and there was a pen in my pants pocket....and there was the toilet paper roll...
Yes.
Yes I am somewhere I can write this down.
