How do I not have “Pretty in Pink” in my music collection? How?
Apparently the way I take criticism so personally, how I am so easily wounded, isn’t normal. That’s part of what I learned today when I tried to get back onto my anti anxiety meds. Though I am no longer any sort of fan of psychiatry, I had to take an initial consult again, since I haven’t any doctor in this area. Apparently also my tendency to distrust the world and distrust people is also part of what I’ve created, as opposed to the way the world is. Though I doubt anyone could agree on “how the world is”.
Discussion was hampered somewhat by a difference in language. I consider myself as always “disappointed”, whereas he had an interest in “depression”. Also he apparently knows of distinctions between “anxiety” and “nervousness”, whereas to me they’re the same word, just spelled and pronounced differently. So that was kind of annoying. I find myself annoyed when I am in the presence of someone who is smarter than myself. Than I am. Than me. Shit. One of those.
He correctly guessed that I sit on the aisles in movie theatres and classrooms, because I distrust the world and believe that this will somehow give me an advantage when I need to defend myself! (That was as fun as having one of those astrological charts correctly guess an aspect of your personality. Whee.)
And I have to admit, it is true I feel that way sometimes. As I sat there listening to him relate what he believed to be an accurate assessment of my personality, appreciating that he was getting it right and appreciating that he was probably a genius considering he’d only just sat to meet me some 40 minutes earlier, I couldn’t help but also think what an asshole he was for having the nerve to tell me who he thought I was. I wonder if he correctly guessed that I was thinking he was an asshole. He probably did.
Plus he had a really strong way to put-down when an answer went off-subject: “Do you remember what the question was?”. In fact I did remember, ass.
To his credit, he identified my anxiety as existing way earlier than my teenage years (which is when I assumed they did, since that is when I noticed them) (he, in contrast, noticed them from my description of myself in elementary school), and he also identified which side of the family my anxiety comes from (and I was wrong about which side that was).
So I got good value out of the outlandish price that he fucking charged, if trivia about one’s personality is something one feels is worth paying for (which I don’t, quite frankly), but, I have to now take a blood test and go back for the second visit, wherein he will presumably offer up a prescription. So he basically doubled his take. Resentment resentment resentment.
Psychiatry is useless, because all one really needs to do is be open to new experiences. And through them, learn new ways of how people and the world are.
Anything beyond that is simply paying someone exorbitant sums to listen to you chatter and remind you of that. So I have to get a prescription and then do my best to avoid therapy. He doesn’t offer therapy himself, he’d refer me out, but my plan is to avoid that since I’d rather buy a television.
And frankly, it is annoying to hear about one’s self. I don’t want to be reminded of when I felt depressed. I don’t want to be reminded that I may have made myself a little paranoid by smoking too much back in college. I don’t want to think about myself. Perhaps he has a different idea about what one’s self is, though: He does not consider anxiety to be part of one’s personality, whereas to me it is and he’s just being pedantic. But perhaps he is implying we can divorce ourselves from something like anxiety, whereas we wouldn’t divorce ourselves from our personality.
I just want a medication that will calm me down so that I can have new experiences and learn new things about the world. Period.
When I write things like this I am thinking in the back of my mind about K in MA, and how if I was with her that I would be trying to keep from seeing the world as threatening.