After quite a few meltdowns in a very short space of time, I decided I needed to get my arse to my doctor before things got out of hand. Well, even more out of hand than they already were. At first I thought I could manage it on my own. That I had the experience and knowledge to tackle the growing anxiety and depression which dominated every single waking moment of the last few weeks. Turns out I was very, very wrong.
My doctor said that going to see her was the right thing to do but I’m not sure I see it as “right”. Looking at things now, the right thing to do would have been to go and see her much sooner, not when I’d started zoning out on painkillers again or was on the brink of resorting to self-harming in order to deal with the frustration. I didn’t self harm though. I was about to but I almost got caught, so I stopped. Although we do now have a very sharp set of kitchen knives, ready for any culinary purpose. So I guess almost slipping back wasn’t a total waste of time?
When explaining how I’d been feeling to my doctor, I was sure I could just explain everything and ask for her advice. No emotion, just a nice clinical approach so I can get the point across. However as soon as I opened my mouth I could feel myself crumbling inside. I was really about to do this. I was really about to admit I wasn’t able to cope. Now, there’s no shame in admitting that you can’t cope. It’s ok to not be ok. If anybody isn’t ok, I would be the first to offer to talk with them about it or encourage them to seek help. What made me crumble was the fact that I knew there was little my doctor could actually do. Opening my mouth and saying the words were one thing. But I knew those words would only be listened to. There was no way she could help me fix the frustration of having to wait in limbo for any sort of medical treatment in order to continue my transition. My doctor even admitted there wasn’t anything she could do. She agreed that putting me forward for counselling was pointless because it’s not that I had to deal with stuff or work stuff out. We both know what I needed and that nobody could do anything about it, except for my chosen GIC or the private psychologist I saw previously. Both involved waiting. Not just a few days either. We’re talking months and even years. No amount of therapy can change that. In the end, the only thing she could do was put me on antidepressants. Something to take the edge off whilst I wait. Thing is, I don’t really want to have to rely on tablets to keep me sane whilst I wait for somebody else to say I am allowed to carry on moving towards who I am.
It’s been a few weeks now and I’m over the side effects of the antidepressants. Although I was on them years ago, I’d forgotten just how hard those side effects hit you, as they slowly change the way your brain produces certain chemicals. I remember that missing a dose, even by a few hours, can really mess you up, so I’m making sure I do it properly. Weird to think that depression can still come about even after you’ve stopped being depressed about who you are and are trying to do something about it.
If you’re struggling, depressed, feeling like there’s a problem, or that you can’t cope: please talk to somebody. Email me, talk to a friend, talk to a professional…just talk. Nobody ever goes through life feeling fine. We’re human. Not perfect. Nobody will laugh, nobody will judge and nobody will criticise you. If anything, you’ll find that you’re not alone in how you feel – especially when so many people are so good at hiding how they’re feeling.
Featured image: by me
[Square Peg] (Round Hole) 