Morning
I wake up the same way as the previous day, nurse taking blood pressure, breakfast, medication, shower, get dressed, wait for the Psychiatrist.
I do not join the group activity in the hospital, neither do I partake in the arts and crafts sessions. I don’t feel like engaging with the other patients…
The nurse calls me and let’s me know that the Psychologist is here to see me. Okay, well, let’s take a look see, he may be able to assist me with all the new terminology and conditions and symptoms they seem to identify in me. Autism, ADHD, Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder.
I sit down in the consultation room and we start talking. He asks me the usual questions:
- How are you feeling today?
- Did you sleep well?
- Are you eating okay?
- How is the wound on your wrist?
- How are you feeling about Borderline Personality Disorder?
- How are you feeling about Depression?
- How are you feeling about ADHD?
- How are you feeling about Autism?
- How do feel about how you feel?
Ugh…..sigh…..
With all due respect, I really do not see where any of this is going? I appreciate what Psychologists do to help other people but it is as if I just don’t connect with this guy. He keeps on trying to be my friend. Making jokes, trying to get into my world and sharing similar thoughts and experiences from his own life to make me feel we have something in common. I’ve read everything online about the so-called Borderline Personality Disorder he thinks I present with and I just don’t see it…
He’s next question got me thinking though…
‘What did the Psychiatrist say about my suspicion that you present with BPD?” he asks.
‘Nothing.’ I reply, and I watch his face. He seems disappointed. He dropped his shoulders a bit, even leaned forward slightly in a kind of a slouch. His eyes drifted towards the carpet and he held his breath for 2 seconds, as if he wanted to say something, but then decided against it and exhaled.
I got the distinct feeling that he wanted validation from the Psychiatrist rather than trying to figure out why I tried to commit suicide. This struck me as odd.
He started to explain to me that humans are like computers and that the Psychiatrist focused on the hardware and he focused on the software.
I nodded and after a minute or two our session was over for that morning.
‘I’ll see you again tonight and then we’ll chat about your childhood.’ he smiled.
‘Sure, let’s…’ I replied.
Afternoon
I had lunch. Alone. Not keen to engage with the other patients, my head felt pre-occupied.
The Psychiatrist visited just after dinner. I told him about my session with the Psychologist and he made a couple of notes on my file. He looked at me and said:’ I want to ask you if you are willing to try Ritalin tomorrow morning, just to see what happens with your thoughts and how you feel. Would you do that for me?’.
I agreed and he left.
I went to take a shower, and made myself some coffee when the Psychologist arrived.
I took my coffee with me into the consultation room. He asked me to tell him about the first 10 years of my life.
I took a sip of my coffee, thought for a minute on where to start and laid out the first 10 years of my life in extreme detail with vivid memory and recollection of sounds and tastes and events and specifics. I painted a great picture of this narrative: The history of my Life.
He listened and made very little comments, he wrote some notes and thanked me after 30 mins of me and my soliloquy.
I took my medication and I fell into a deep sleep…
anonymous gods 
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