Not to blaspheme, but, I guess I will. JFC, this rigamarole wears me down.
If there's one place where you should be able to lose your shit, it's in the psych office, right?
Well, after I left the doctor's inner sanctum, post-meltdown, people still kind of looked at me as if I were an oddball.
Driving home from the psych office is always a time of interesting reflection. I resisted the urge to pull over in the inner city and run into a random church to ask for some spiritual guidance, like in the movies. I don't know what I would have asked. But that's what extreme anxiety makes me feel like doing.
Instead I drove to the pharmacy and filled the prescription for the new drugs that I'm going to try. I'm nervous about changing them again and dear God the side effect list scares the bejesus out of me. But I have to have faith that this doctor can put together the right cocktail. Fingers crossed, prayers said, (says the blasphemer.)
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