While I haven’t been okay for some time, things are much better now than they were when I was a train wreck just a few weeks ago. I’m thankful that the doctor was able to get me an appointment so quickly, since I wasn’t classed as a danger to myself or others. About one week after I first saw my doctor, I had my first appointment with the psychiatrist, Dr. Z.
That day was NOT fun at all. The one thing that made it bearable was the fact that Hubby took the morning off work to be by my side. You see, generally, I prefer to leave the past in the past and I don’t like to force my mind to remember my lost years, but in order for Dr. Z to be able to help me, I had to do exactly that. In fact, we talked for well over an hour about the past – what happened – how it began – why I sought help – why I stopped treatment. Then I answered Dr. Z’s questions, the easy ones, the painful ones and the ones I’ve never let myself consider.
I left his office in tears, with a prescription for an antidepressant I’d never heard of before and with a diagnosis – the same one I’ve always wondered if I talked my way into a decade ago. I was terrified; part of me still is a little bit. However, I know that this time does not need to be like the last. I believe I can get help without losing myself like before. I see Dr Z again next week and I’m optimistic that if I’m honest, he just might be able to help.
For the last two weeks I’ve been trying as hard as I can to just focus on one thing at a time. Initially, my goal was to make it through the Chemistry for Engineers Exam and then to make it through the Properties and Applications of Materials exam the next day. As I survived each exam the next loomed anxiously on the horizon, giving me reason to blind myself to all the other things I needed to sort out – allowing me the focus that I’d been missing for months.
Now is the difficult bit. There are no more big unmovable things approaching fast in my diary. Now I must sort through the mess that I have been this year and determine my best course of action. I must answer the question, where do I go from here?
I suspect I know part of the answer already. I must come to terms with the massive amount of guilt I feel: Guilt for not being okay for so long a decade ago – Guilt for not finishing my first degree – Guilt for letting things get so bad and for not getting help sooner – And most of all, I must face the dreaded Mommy Guilt.