“Out of all the times I’ve seen you, this is the best I’ve felt.” — me
“That’s great. You are making progress.” — my psychiatrist
Poor guy. I wasn’t intentionally lying. I honestly felt like I was doing soooo great. That was about two weeks ago. Now that I’ve cried everyday since that appointment, my next appointment will go much differently.
“So what changed?” — my psychiatrist’s future question
“Nothing has changed. Everything is the exact same. I had a lapse in judgement of my emotions. I wanted to believe I was better. I want to be better. I fucking want to finally feel fucking better. It’s been long enough, hasn’t it? This depression. My anxiety. The inner struggle and turmoil I fight everyday and have fought since third grade. When does it fucking end? How much medication must I be on? How many counseling sessions must I attend? How many cancelled plans and tear-filled conversations will it take to find out what the fuck the real problem is and actually fix it? What else can I do, as the patient? What else can you do, as my psychiatrist?” — my future response
…to be continued because I’ve never used the F-bomb when talking to my doctor…
