And Then She Asked Me How It Made Me Feel

Yep, the psychiatrist asked me the question I dreaded the most. And I humored her by answering, but only after telling her I did not like that question and informing her I would comply just once by answering her.

I started doubting the ability of Mimi Therapist-Pants and her 10+ years of doctoral degree education when she said, "I think you might be OCD". Come on people, anyone out there who has read more than 2 pages of my blog could tell you that.

I was also not surprised (because I am the Queen of Dr. Google) that she diagnosed me as Bi-Polar. Again, even if you are a casual reader of this blog, you have probably noticed the highest-highs followed by the lowest of lows and then a bounce back. Rarely (if ever) is there just a nice and normal (normal-schmormal) day where everything flows along without the ebb and flow of 20-foot waves of life crashing me.

Just as I was thinking I could have self-diagnosed myself and ordered meds from Canada or something, little Ms. Mimi Therapist-Pants floored me by asking, "In the 12 or 13 years you have been on anti-depressants have you ever felt relief from these symptoms?"

I blinked. I cocked my head to one side and then another. I really thought about the question at hand. Has anything I tried over the past decade plus truly relieved my symptoms?

No.

Taking everything in to my head, processing it and rolling around my new found diagnoses like a piece of hard candy you want to savor the flavor of as long as possible, I came to the conclusion that I don't think I have ever been truly just "depressed". After reading this handy little wiki-article it all made so much sense. It's the reason why I could be happy as a clam one second and lock myself in the bathroom for 2 hours and cry the very next breath- for no reason at all. It's the reason I'm singing and dancing one minute and can't bear to speak the next. It's the reason I start writing a story with true passion and then can't even imagine having to open the saved file a day later.

Perhaps I have turned a page. Perhaps I have started a whole new chapter. I might just be writing a whole new book on how my life got turned around.

However this all pans out, you know there will be adventure and chaos attached.

--The Milk Maid says her therapist didn't even have a couch!

Apparantly, I'm Really Wacky

Lady Doc (who goes by a nickname that makes me want to rub my legs together and make chirping noises in the summertime) managed to decide, after a very brief chat, that I am "way beyond her level of expertise" and referred me to a psychologist. She did agree with me, before turfing me to the shrink, that my meds were not working (yay for you on that 10+ years of med school, your parents must be soooo proud) and decided to go "old school" (yeah, she said that) and tank me up on some Pro*zac until the shrink could get a hold of me.

And by Pro*zac I mean something like 50mg of Pro*zac once a day (with permission to take it 2 times a day if I was "really in need".)

So, in my mind I heard the following from Lady Doc:

"You are completely kooky and I cannot help you and/or I am afraid you will sneak up the stairwell* and poke my eyes out with a 21 gauge strait needle as I am doing a pelvic exam on some one's grandma."

(*My ob/gyn is located directly above the lab, hence the reason why I point towards the sky whenever I say coochie doc, be it at work or home. And admittedly, when I am at home it is a little weird to say GYNO(!) and point to the ceiling fans.)

On a funny note, the shrink I've been referred to is named Mimi. I cannot pronounce her last name, so I refer to her as Mimi Smartypants. Oooh yeah!

Please stay tuned for the next episode of "OMG! They think I'm as nuts as I think I am (finally)!"

I am waiting for the moment the shrink asks me, "Well how does that make you feel?" and I punch her in the face and reply, "Yup- about like THAT!"

--The Milk Maid says she would never sneak up a stairwell (she would scale the side of the building!)