So I went for another assessment. You know, for more labelling. As if I didn’t have enough already. They love them in Psycho-babble land. The last big one of consensus was Depressive. Others were hypochondriac, problematic, troublemaker, unstable, unhelpable. I loved that last one – it drove me to be whatever I wanted to be. So I guess I then wanted to see if I was going to go and qualify for another one. Maybe one that would have some answers.
I’m not sure why I went. I hate labelling – they’re restricting and demoralising. On the other hand, they come with help and some insight… if they’re correct. The if is a big if for me. I can’t communicate properly with these people, and am never able to say what I really think and feel about things. I drivel on forever and never able to make my point. I can write my thoughts perfectly coherently (not on here – this is the “lab” where the ideas are cooked up… for want of a better metaphore…!), but I certainly can’t say them. So no one ever really gets the bigger picture.
I did it a couple of weeks ago or so. I was terrified. Extremely anxious. In a place, a clinic, that I hated and unnerved me. And then there was the stranger sitting in front of me… asking me vague questions and wanting to know all about me. Again. This must have been the gazillionth time I had been in this situation – one that I really hate.
So I do what I usually do – talk non-stop drivel at them until they leave. I can’t make my point, or answer any questions coherently. There were no straightforward questions – they were all open-ended, barely actual questions even… Those “tell me about…” type ones. So I just babble on about stuff without listening to myself or thinking about what I am saying.
I was frozen and sat like a stone, unable to think clearly, or speak coherently. I babbled and babbled, speaking about whatever was in my head, relevant or otherwise… and probably mostly otherwise. I was mainly panicking inside. I just know as I’m speaking, somewhere in my subconscious, that I am not saying anything that I should be. Yet I still can’t actually say it. I wish they would just email me instead.
I’m OK with straightforward questions, where there’s a clear and precise question and a clear and precise answer. I don’t do so well on the others… those vague ones that are open-ended and aren’t really clear in what they’re asking. That’s what they give me, though. The vague ones. So I never answer their questions properly, and usually land myself in the wrong place with the wrong “diagnosis”… All because I could never tell anyone what I really wanted to say, because they never ask the right questions in the right way.
Ever since that meeting, through that evening, that night, and ever since, this has been spinning in my head. All the things I wanted to say, all the things I should have said – they’re all floating around in there, screaming to be said. Only they will never be said because I don’t know how to get my words from my head and out of my mouth properly. They haven’t left me alone even for a minute and hound me.
Now I’m going back for another appointment. That letter finally came, and gave me less than a week’s notice. I got it on the Wednesday, and the appointment was the next Monday. By a very kismety stroke of luck, my best friend actually had already randomly booked that day off, so I don’t have to go alone. I can’t go back there alone… I hate the clinic I keep having to go to – they’re all appear to be idiots with the combined IQ of a kamikaze gnat, and always answer my questions with “I don’t know“… very helpful.
The guys in this place just can’t seem to do anything right, and, at best, feign strained politeness. They’ve screwed up everything that both I and my GP have asked of them, and cancelled my one and only appointment with a psychiatrist for assessment for CBT 20 minutes after it was supposed to start, claiming an “emergency” came up. They then seemed to cancel my CBT request and never made a second appointment. I had to ask my GP to send them another one. They also sent me to an “emergency” appointment instead, where I saw an idiot junior GP on a psych rotation who tried to goad me into admitting to things that fit me into a certain “Personality Disorder” box she was trying to stuff me into, because she had just been working somewhere specialising in it. When I looked up this disorder (which I forget now) it was almost an exact list of everything I wasn’t – apart from the “traumatic childhood” bit, which everybody seems to obsess about. My problems started way before then. I was already not OK by age two… shame they didn’t think about that too.
And so… I’m scared he’s going to say yes. I’m also scared I’m going to say no. One way I have an answer I don’t really want. The other way means I still have no answers and I’m still lost. OK, I do not need another one of those labels – all they do is generally cause trouble. On the other hand, answers are always good. You can deal with them, and other people can help you deal with them. Maybe you no longer have to struggle so much with it anymore. In theory anyway… There’s no real guarantee anyone will actually help you at all. Given I’ve been waiting 9 months for a follow-up appointment with the pain clinic, and 8 months and counting for a CBT assessment, I should be rather more realistic and know that help isn’t always there for you when you need it. Or maybe it’s a diagnostic thing… given I’m still waiting for diagnosis for anything.
I guess I just have to wait to find out…