The psychologist who “healed” me

Psychologists. How are they supported to behave? I think found an abusive one. I thought they were supposed to be supportive and critical. Maybe I was wrong? Please tell me if I was.

I found one who spent the first half of the consultation healing my “depression habits” and they second half telling me how awful my life would be if I don’t get my shit together: How I would loose all of my friends and my husband would leave me.

Now my “depression habits” should be healed and next time I feel a depression coming a need to work on posture, sit up straight with my shoulders back, and the depression will pass. Right!? I think he was a dick. Not going back!


I have been dreaming about the future – wanna what?

14 days! and I can start treatment again as an out-patient. I am so excited. I swear, so excited. I am sick of uncontrollable movements and random aggression mixed with sadness. I am sick of knowing that I need a psychologist but not be able to get one. I am sick of being sick AGAIN.

I am still dealing at work so that is a win. I can read again (yay!), also a massive win. I can interact with my friends (win!) but nobody else (not so much a win). However, what I want to express is that things are “okay”. The shitty side of “okay” (you know what I mean, I’m sure). And I hate it.

I was asked recently what my dream is. I tell you what, these are my dreams:

I want to be NORMAL and not all about ups and downs. I want to be able to DREAM without it feeling like a distant lie.  I want to be able to TALK to strangers and to make acquaintances or even friends. I want a GOOD psychiatrist for medication and a NICE psychologist to help me deal with my bad self-esteem.

That is what I dream of.

Fire in my body

I’m starting to feel stuff. Like fire on my skin. I can’t see it (yet?) but it is there and it doesn’t help on my restless. It also keeps me from my favourite pass time: knitting.

Give the meds sometime to work, the doctors say. Okay, I’ll give it sometime but I don’t like it. I really don’t.

I give up on this post now. Concentration is gone.

I hate that I love when I feel awesome

My ideas at work are the best. Without a doubt.

I work really fast.

I look amazing.

I don’t need to sleep that much.

I get restless if I don’t do anything but I can work for hours without a break.

I’m impossible to stop when I start talking.

I keep buy random stuff that I NEED.

I’m clearly going manic. It is in the early earlier stages so no need to panic yet. Maybe a small change of medicine will help?

So they prescribed more abilify to me at the hospital. And now I feel nauseated during the day. Not so cool. Oxapax works better but really, I would kind of rather go without. I mean, I just hate that I love when I feel awesome.

The question I didn’t wanted at the interview

I got the question I had hoped I could avoid at my interview yesterday: why have you been unemployed for so long?

The situation was this: I was on skype for an interview for a course in personal development and leadership for young women. I have had mixed thoughts about the course. On the one hand, I would love to learn more about leadership and be supported on my road from illness to self-esteem. One the other hand, I am worried that there will be too much ‘communication through song’ and similar activities. But finally I decided that I would like to go and I was invited for the interview. It went fine until the doomsday question. “Why have you been unemployed for so long?” The honesty reply is that I have been ill for a year and that the past six months I have struggle with the fact that it is difficult to get a job as a graduate. So that was what I said. Was it the right answer? I don’t know. Was it honest? That was exactly what it was. Now I’ll just wait for the result.

Over and out.

The interview

It is freezing outside and the leafs are playing around in the strong wind. I am sitting inside. It is chilly here too. In front of me are two girls. They are asking me questions. Questions about my illness. I don’t talk a lot about it these days since I am much better. But it is nice to talk about it. It is nice to explain to somebody who is not a psychologist or doctor. It is somehow nice to say I felt this and that, this time was a hard one, these were the breaking points where I changed from mania to depression, etc. They asked me about reactions to my illness. My relatives have been nice and supporting. I had never got through without them. Never. So I told them and that is the truth.

Over and out.