I am tired.
I went to my psychiatrist appointment today, after going every week for about a month and a half. This was no exception. I went in to the appointment with a paper to remind me of a question my dad wanted me to ask. I also went in with my own question. That question was “Do I really have schizoaffective disorder?” I truly believed I did, but my parents suggested I ask to make sure.
After signing in, I sat down in the waiting room for all of one minute. I was the only one waiting. When I was called back, I got weighed and had my oxygen levels checked. My weight has been going up since I got off Adderall and was put on a medicine that made my appetite go up to high levels. I am not happy about that at all, as I am extremely self-conscious about my looks, especially my weight. It makes me feel terrible that I have gained so much weight, and I’m afraid I’m going to get to the point where I go back to my unhealthy eating behaviors. I’m trying hard not to.
The nurse led me back to the other waiting room. This one has a comfy couch that I enjoy sitting on. My appointment was scheduled for 12:40 PM and I like to be called back earlier than or at the time it is scheduled. I get nervous when he is late. That happened today, and I started rocking back and forth to calm down. He finally got me at around 12:55 PM.
I went in with my questions and prepared to answer the ones he threw my way. I told him that my new medication, Depakote, was working well. It really is, and my mood is getting more stable every day. However, the psychotic symptoms are just getting worse.
I asked him about the schizoaffective diagnosis, which he told me had been a mistake on his part and I was actually diagnosed with Bipolar I. The paper now says that my bipolar is mixed, severe, and with psychotic behaviors. I don’t believe my episode is severe, and am wondering if he put the wrong diagnosis. I doubt he would do it again.
Suddenly, I felt tears coming to my eyes. It started out as a sniffling soft cry and turned into me being a full blown sobbing mess. He asked me if I needed to go to the hospital, which I told him I definitely didn’t need to. Then he suggested a medication he called the “gold standard”. He explained to me that it was a medication that worked really well for psychotic and mood symptoms. However, it has many possible bad side effects. First of all, it can lower your seizure threshold. Luckily, I am taking two anti-seizure medications. It can also cause white blood cell counts go down. To check this, I have to get my blood checked once a week for six months. This sounds awful, but I’m willing to do anything to feel better. The medicine can also cause dizziness when standing, but I have that already.
I went to get my father so we could discuss the medicine with him. He said that it sounded good, and that the help it would give me would outway the bad. We also talked to my mother when we got home, who agreed with me and my father.
I have an appointment next Friday, and will most likely be put on the medicine. You might be wondering why I said I was tired at the beginning. I am sick at doctors. I am sick of medicine. I am sick of feeling the way I do. However, I know I need to deal with all of this to finally feel better. If I give up, nothing will get better. So, I’ll keep on going to doctors. I’ll keep taking my medicine. I will keep working on feeling better, no matter what it takes.