EPT
isclaimer*Okay, a user on TLnet PM'd me asked me to post this because his parents and teachers know his ID on teamliquid.net and would probably kill him if they knew about this. isclaimer*I've got a pretty interesting story to tell you guys. It starts out with subject pointed to by the topic title, and that acts as a catalyst for the rest of the story I want to tell you (in future posts). First things first: who am I? I'm an 18 year old toss player from America. On TL.net, I'm a regular poster. I came to this site in 2002, registered in 2003, and have posted consistently ever since. I'm not trying to hide my identity from you fine fellows, but I don't want my parents to be able to google this post, so I'd rather not have my nickname attached to this thread in any way. You may be able to guess who I am (in fact, if you read TL.net regularly I'm sure you will), if you know, please don't post it in this thread.
So I go to a psychiatrist. She's very cute (a she obviously). Probably in her late twenties; certainly not her late thirties, I can say that for sure. I like her immediately. I'm not going to make any moves; I'm no fool. She wants me to like her. But that won't stop me from acting nicer to her than I would otherwise. Before I tell her how I'm feeling, she tells me I'm the first patient of her second year of psychiatristing. Cool.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I was sent to this shrink (I need to abbreviate psychiatrist, I can barely spell it) by a doctor. This is how it worked for me: one appointment was guaranteed, more if the shrink thought I needed it. Doctor told me not to be shy and tell her exactly how I was feeling.
How was I feeling. Yeah, you'll be able to guess who I am. Forget about it, man. I told her (prefixing it by saying: "I'm not crazy!"), it wasn't that I was afraid people could hear my thoughts, I was afraid I would vocalize my thoughts without knowing it, so I constantly whistled, hummed, and mumbled to myself. I told her sometimes I would (and I don't know how to be explain this to someone who hasn't experienced it) lose myself in myself; that is, I'd stop thinking (or maybe think about something and forget about it later), and sort of freeze where I stood, often in the strangest positions. I told her when I was alone I would speak to myself without wanting to speak to myself. And I told her a bunch more. Shrink says (as you might suspect) come see me twice more this week.
Like I said, I like this shrink, and truth is, I think she likes me too. Again, I've got no shot, and even though she's not very professional, I know she'd never make a move on me, but I know she likes me. We joke around most of the time (first time I saw her was one hour -- second time three hours -- third time maybe four), she tells me it's sad that she can spend so much time doing nothing because she doesn't get many referalls. Apparently referalls are big for shrinks, and since she's not getting them, she's not doing good. I agree that's it's unfair, we bitch together, and generally joke around after she ask about my "symptoms" for the first half hour of our meetings. After the third meeting, she tells me it may be a dissassociative disorder, or ADHD, or both. But they need to rule out some medical causes at this point. My old doctor won't be able to do the tests, so I'm sent to a new one.
I get a bunch of xrays on head. They take some of my blood. Hell, I even have a fun time doing a stress test (running up an incline). Gosu. I'm damn nervous. I don't really know why. I guess like most people, I prefer ignorance of an incurable disease over knowledge of it. Doc exacerbates the situation by telling me it will be several weeks before I get the results. Lot of worry for nothing; I get the results almost immediately; all tests negative!
Doc sends me back to the shrink. His guess is ADHD (very trendy I supposes, they kept trying to tell me I had that despite the fact I told them that while I didn't like to focus, I could focus and did so well when taking tests for example). I'm happy to go back; I have a great time with the lady. She's not happy to see me though. She looks scared when I come back in. I'm in a good mood though, laughing about how it's a miracle I don't have AIDS (I say "I'm so good-looking girls off the street just jump me"). But all she wants to talk about is my symptoms. I repeat 'em. Nothing has changed. She tells me to come back.
Days go by, I'm seeing her four times a week now (almost any time I want; her schedule is basically free!). I tell my parents she's trying to teach me how deal with ADHD without medication. They hate medication, so they're happy to send me off to them. I'm pissed though; we don't joke around any more. One beautiful day she tells me she needs to talk to my family, friends, anybody that knows me. And she needs my parents to better explain my family history (oh this little things turns out to be so important!). I tell her straight up no. I'm a private person, and fuck, I'm embarrassed about going to shrink.
Then she hits me with it: She thinks I have schizophrenia. She shouldn't be telling me this, though. My delusions aren't frequent or intense enough to be positive. And there's a whole protocol for diagnosing a patient with schizophrenia. Usually it takes months, with tons of consultation with family and friend. But she's breaking the rules (I told you she liked me!).
I'm still not letting her consult with my family, so what does the kind lady do? She gives me some medication. She tells me that some psychiatrists believe that a ton of the damage done to people who have schizophrenia occurs when they have those first few intense delusions. She can't prescribe me the meds yet, but she doesn't want me to suffer. She warns me pretty sternly about taking the meds capriciously, though. Oh yeah, she also tells me to stay with other people constantly.
How do I feel about this? Not great. Apparently if you're schizo you get more and more schizo over time. "Degenerative." If there's not a cure found, I'm going to go insane by the time I'm seventy. And a cure is not in sight. In fact, for a cure to be found would require a quantum leap in medical science. Even magical stem cells aren't too promising. Still, surprisingly, I'm not overly worried; medicine was really shitty in the 1950's. I'll get my quantum leap. I'm really sure about this.
Any ways, she still wants a family history. Mine is "not complete." What does that mean? "Not complete?" Well google my last name and fill out it. Apparently that's not sufficient. She writes a note and tells me to give it to my parents. And I quote "please send me blank's complete family history." And soon the fun begins!!!
