I just walked in the door from my medications doctor, and I am so filled with impotent rage that I've been looking for something to break. Now lest you think this is just going to be another rant like the last entry, stick with me here, let me tell you a little story.
When I was a child, I idolized doctors. My grandfather was a pediatrician, and I thought doctors were gods, with their gray hair and their strange instruments and usually gentle touch. I was lucky enough not to have any bad experiences with doctors until my late teens, or at least none that I can remember, so doctors were always deities in my mind.
Then came my first interaction with a psychiatrist in an emergency room. Desperate not to self-harm one night my sophomore year in college, I called upon my Residence Assistant to just, please, talk to me, I just want to talk, please, I don't want to hurt myself tonight.
She flipped out and the next thing I knew, I was in a locked room at New England Medical Center all alone in the middle of the night under psychiatric observation. I couldn't call anyone, not even my parents, and I had never in my life felt so alone and scared. It was a night that scarred me for life. It was also the night that I stopped looking at medical professionals as higher beings. Quite the contrary, now they were something to be feared and never, ever to be trusted. Once someone became a doctor, they changed, became soulless. I knew that my grandfather was not the norm, but the exception. Doctors were evil.
Was I making grandiose claims and sweeping generalizations? You bet your ass I was. Was that kind of ridiculous of me? Hey, you know what? There was only one person locked in that observation room that night, so this is one person's opinion. If you are a doctor, or feel the need to defend them, I understand, but you know what? I'm just not in the mood right now.
After that night at NEMC, I was finally released, got back to the dorm, took a shower, and went to my 8:30 class the next morning. I didn't tell anyone about what had happened until a long while after the event. I didn't tell anyone because that was not only the night that I stopped looking up to doctors, it was the night I stopped asking for help. After that event, I would associate asking for help with being locked up or punished until I was in my 30s. I still have a huge issue asking for help in any way, shape or form. It stems from that night alone in the white room, interns taking notes on me from outside the little window on the door. Watched like an animal in a cage.
And no, I never got over it, not with over a decade of therapy under my belt, not with a masters degree in social work, not after working in an inpatient facility WITH doctors every day, oh no. I'm not over it. In fact, working WITH psychiatrists did nothing but confirm my fears, paranoia and suspicions. I've seen them on the other side, fellow "crazies." And yes, they do look at you as a blood sample, as a medication tester, as a pain in the ass, and most of all, as a paycheck.
So what's my bloody point?
I shouldn't be surprised that every time I get back from my meds doc I'm full of impotent rage. He sits there for a scandalous amount of money every month, putters around his office, opens his mail, wipes his face with a Handi-Wipe, and rifles through his papers while I sit there, sullen and withdrawn, and try to talk to him for 20 minutes. I've been going to him for two years and the only advice I've ever gotten from him has been "talk to your therapist about it."
So I shouldn't be surprised. He IS a doctor.
When I was in ICU, after I came out of the coma, I saw how medical doctors were just as bad as the psychiatrists, even worse, if that's possible. If it weren't for nurses, therapists, social workers, and one med student that night at NEMC, I don't think I'd be here today. Because doctors don't care. They're not paid to care. They're paid to fill you with pills like a Pez dispenser and study you like a rat. And if this sounds like the insane rantings of an unstable person, that's a damn shame, because I'm thinking extremely clearly right now.
Today I said "I've been so depressed, like it's always going to be like this. I'll always be alone, the crazy one, I'll just take pills and take care of cats, and be miserable and unloved forever. And when I don't feel like that, I feel such an unbelievable wave of rage that I can barely contain myself and rationalize my way out of smashing all my windows out."
He said "You know what your problem is? You can't live in the present. You torture yourself about the past, you agonize about the future, and you never let yourself live in the moment."
How profound, I thought. How accurate! So what do we do?
"So what do I do?" I asked, a spark of hope inside me.
"Stop thinking like that. Here are your prescriptions, see you in a month. I'll need that check now."
I hate doctors. I hate being a lab rat. But most of all, I hate feeling like I'm nothing but a nuisance with a yapping mouth, an annoying bug that a doctor has to slap away in order to get paid.
I'm not a paycheck, I'm a person. And I loathe every single doctor who has made me feel like less of a person, who has ever made ANYONE feel like less of a person because of an illness, a disability, a disorder of ANY kind.
I wish they made them like my grandfather these days. But I've yet to find one that even begins to come close.