Apparently, I'm crazy. I thought I was just a little stressed out, a little on edge, maybe dealing with some return of my depression, but nope. Nothing so simple.
I'm full-on bonkers. Good to know.
I went to the doctor today for a physical and to talk about some returning symptoms I've been dealing with the past few weeks. Nothing as bad as where I was after Silvia was born; just a nagging disquiet, anxiety, fatique, that kind of thing.
The woman I saw, the office P.A., was a nightmare in deep purple.
Seriously, I walked into the building feeling like a healthy thirty-year-old mother with some minor issues; I walked out feeling like a basket case who should be monitored at ALL TIMES.
Or at least that's how I felt for about an hour. Then I got mad. REALLY mad.
Among other things, like a terrible bedside manner and a nervous giggle, this woman was completely unprofessional. She made me take some depression quizzes and then added up my points, without even talking to me in depth at all, and said, "Well, you're clearly severely depressed, (giggle, giggle), I guess having that baby made you a little crazy, (giggle, giggle)".
After the quizzes and the diagnosis of my insanity, she asked me, "So, are you having any thoughts of suicide or homicide?"
"No, no, no. Not at all. I'm just a little anxious and tired, nothing severe like that. Just some stress."
She regarded me with complete scepticism. "Mmmhmmm.... are you sure? Really? (giggle, giggle). Even with the kids, you aren't feeling anything like that with them?"
I paused for a heart-beat, completely thrown that she could possibly be suggesting, after talking to me for less than 7 minutes, that I had homicidal feelings towards my kids. Then I decided, no, she's just playing it safe, covering her bases, being thorough. "No, really, absolutely not."
"Are you sure? Maybe like that woman in Texas who drowned her five kids(giggle), maybe some thoughts like that?"
"NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. I DO NOT FANTASIZE ABOUT HARMING MY CHILDREN IN ANY WAY. NEW TOPIC."
It just went downhill from there. As I left the office after having my blood drawn, she pulled me into a back office, dug out her purse from under a table and handed me a private business card labeled "Holistic Medical Professional".
"You should call me and do some hypnotherapy instead of taking the anti-depressants. There are no side-effects at all and it's totally wonderful."
I wandered to my car, in tears, and called Kurt. "Hi. I'm severely depressed and I'm going to drown the girls and I have to take a new medication and get hyponotized and she says I'm crazy and I feel AWFUL."
Being a practical and sensible man, my husband responded, "Huh? What?"
After talking it over with him and then with my girlfriends, as the day passed I got more and more angry. MAD. Furious. How dare she? How dare this stranger, this little fat crone in a violet stretch suit judge me, call me crazy, compare me to a baby-killing madwoman, and then try to poach me for her side business? HOW DARE SHE?
Strangely, though, as my temper soared, so did my confidence. I know, without a doubt, that I am NOT crazy. I am not hopeless or pathetic or weak-minded.
Yes, I've been feeling down and confused lately. Yes, I'm more anxious than I used to be, more sensitive, my skin has lost some of its thickness. But that doesn't make me crazy. That doesn't even make me severely depressed. I know the difference, I've been there, I've seen the darkness and I know this is NOT it.
And some stupid little cow of a pseudo-doctor is not going to make me believe otherwise.
Gee, I wonder how happy her boss is going to be to find out she's soliciting patients on the implied endorsement of his good name?