So I have an appointment with my meds doc today. For the first time since the Zyprexa nightmare. And part of me wants to scream and yell and rant and rip him a new asshole and say "How DARE you. How dare you put me on a drug that has known severe side effects and not give me one word of warning that it could happen? Why did I have to learn from the INTERNET that Zyprexa can cause terrible side effects and that it could make me a zombie?
"Do you know what I went through that week? My apartment was in shambles, my cat was sick and I didn't even notice until it was too late, when I wasn't sleeping I either felt high as a kite or so stoned that I was walking into walls! And you never took the five seconds it would have taken to say "if you start feeling strange or off, call me right away" or "this drug has been known to have wicked side effects, be careful the first week." No, you told me to INCREASE THE DOSE after the first week. I didn't do that, by the way. I threw those fuckers down the toilet where they belonged. How dare you mess with my mind like that, I'm supposed to be able to TRUST YOU."
Will I say any of that? Probably not. Why? Because I am shamefully, embarrassingly meek when it comes to people in authoritative positions, and doctors are the worst. I become the terrified little girl again, with no sense of pride, or self-preservation other than to smile and nod. I defer. I back down. I disgust myself.
Really, even writing this is making the self-loathing well up to the brim. I can't believe how submissive I am to anyone in a powerful position, and how much unearned credit I give people, not to mention respect where it is not due. What do I do? I turn that anger inside, I punish myself, I allow my brain to take over and make me cower in the corner. I am so full of shame. It's sickening.
And I wonder why I have become so OCD as of late. Why I spend hours and hours cleaning things that are already clean, making rules for myself that I have to obey, rituals and rehearsed movements that, if anyone else saw me do, would land me in the bin. (Good thing I'm telling the entire internet, then) but I do know one thing. Ever since the Zyprexa debacle, and Stewie's death, I have become so hell bent on having some kind, ANY kind of power in my life that I have created this set of laws that only I know, only I obey, only I control. Because everything else seems so out of fucking control. I'll make rule after rule, and I'll follow them to the letter, because I have control over that. It won't get that week I lost back. It won't bring my cat back. It won't make that boy I went on a date with call me. But it gives me the only comfort I have. That I can make this the cleanest apartment in the world, and I can't break down, because all my dvds are in perfect alphabetical order.
Oh my god, LISTEN to me! I'm crazy! This whole diatribe is insane!
And I want to blame Dr. Douche. But I can only blame myself, now can't I? I deferred, and there were consequences, terrible ones that can't be undone. So I don't know what, if anything, I'll say today at my appointment. But I'll be sure to let you all know one way or the other.