I just got my appointment with a psychiatrist; it's next week. I feel both relieved, happy, terrified and nervous enough to make me puke.
I just got my appointment with a psychiatrist; it's next week. I feel both relieved, happy, terrified and nervous enough to make me puke.
It was yesterday.
The verdict: severe generalized anxiety disorder, panic disorder and OCD. My reward: Rivotril twice a day and an increase of my Effexor dosage. And a place for psychotherapy which was given to me without me having to ask (beg, grovel) for it. Because my case is severe.
I lost my shit during the interview when they (they were 3, 2 psychiatrists and one trainee) told me the diagnosis and when one of them told me: "we could see how much suffering it's causing you". It was the first time in my life that someone was acknowledging the misery I've been in my whole life. It felt liberating in a way.
So, this is my new theme song:
although I've never had to deal with the baggage retrieval system at Heathrow.
I'm just beginning so it's too early to tell. Knowing what is wrong with me does help a little because it gives me a bit of understanding about how my feelings and my brain work.
But I have hope therapy (plus the meds) will help. I'm ready for it and I'm going willingly, not because someone else wants me to.
*hugs*