We’re resuming from where we left off in part 5. Also, in case you forgot, the usual content/trigger warnings apply…
The Indelible Sulk—part 7 (The “D” word)
I tuned back in just before Dr. Dude started talking.
First we’ll run through the preliminary diagnoses. Then we’ll address next steps. I’ll fax your family doctor a…
I hated this conversation… I just needed to hang on for a few more hours—no, minutes; I meant minutes not hours. I just needed to hang on for a few more minutes—ten minutes at most… Each minute with this
guy doctor guy felt like an hour… Why’d I agree to this again? Oh yeah, I wanted to appease Dr. Family. Was that really it though? No. It played a part, but only a small part. I mainly needed to convince myself that I didn’t need therapy. I needed to allay that worry before I could move on with my life—one where The “D” word didn’t exist.
I’d drifted off soon after he started talking, but The “D” word caught my attention. Well, it wasn’t The “D” word exactly; it was the medical term for The “D” word. Even subconsciously, I recognized The “D” word. Why?! Why did something that had nothing to do with me catch my attention. Perhaps it fascinated me because it felt alien. Yeah, that was it—or maybe not. Stop! That didn’t matter right now. Right now, I needed to calm down. I needed to focus on what he was saying—not ruminating about that word. After all, this was just a consultation. Consultations were just about possibilities—not certainties. Certainties were what truly mattered, right? The “D” word didn’t apply to me; I wasn’t depressed—so why did I fixate on it? Why did it disquiet me? Sure, The Sadness in my mind was a long-term roommate—not a guest; and of course, I couldn’t remember a time before The Sadness showed up—
NOTE: Ever used a PC?
- Yes? Well, The Sadness was like the antivirus software on a PC: it came pre-installed, it was practically impossible to remove, and it disrupted life with annoying notifications.
- No? Stop lying.
At this point in the story, I'm unaware that The Sadness was just another way of thinking about The "D" word…
—but things would clear up with a little more effort and time; it had to; this was just a phase. I clearly wasn’t working hard enough to dispel it. I was simply too weak to evict it. Damn self-pity! The “D” word didn’t apply to me. It couldn’t. What right did I have to be depressed? How could I be depressed when I didn’t have real problems? I wasn’t important enough to have real problems; I didn’t work hard enough to have real problems; I’d never experienced anything close to trauma: I had it easy… Now, my parents—they had real problems. They’d survived trauma; they’d sacrificed their hopes and dreams for my future (and Brobert’s). They’d suffered extreme injustice; they’d lived through something so awful that abandoning everything they knew was their best option.
NOTE: Discussing my family history from before I was born merits a separate discussion. For now just think about this: do you know how hard it is to abandon everything you know? I don't—I can't even ditch a Twitch stream to check out another Twitch stream I have open in a different tab: I use picture-in-picture… Seriously though, I'll never truly understand how they felt; I hope I never do.
They’d endured the hardships of immigration—they were refugees: they had real problems—yet they weren’t depressed! Technically, I was a refugee too, but I was less than two years old when I arrived in Canada; that didn’t count (in my mind). I was just soft. I neither had real problems nor depression: I had no right to be depressed.
Plus, if I were depressed, why hadn’t the antidepressants and anxiolytics prescribed by Dr. Family improved things? I tried one, maybe two medications—neither worked even a little. They should’ve improved things at least a bit. Clearly, The “D” word wasn’t my—
…Personality Disorders… some… Borderline Personality Disorder… Narcissistic Personality Disorder…
I had drifted off again. This time “personality disorders” alerted me. What the hell were personality disorders? I didn’t even know that was a thing… I had so much to look up. Thank Wikip—hold up… Did he just call me a narcissist?!
NOTE: No. He didn't. He mentioned Narcissistic Personality Disorder as an example of a personality disorder. Did I realize that at the time? Also, no—I was too busy panicking about covering up the onset of a panic attack to notice… Furthermore, back then I didn't know panic attacks weren't normal…
…you… any questions?
I’d zoned out again. Did I have any questions? I had plenty, but doctors are busy people; I didn’t want to bother him any longer. I thanked him for his time and left ASAP…
NOTE: Reminiscing about my life before therapy and medications makes me laugh. I thought I had a sick sense of humour: life one-upped me…
Thank you for your time,
Roybert S. Henanigans
P.S. 96: I’ve updated my Contact Me page explaining how you can help me if you choose to. This includes a messaging form, my gmail address, my Twitter account, and a donation button to my Ko-Fi page. I’ll update specifics gradually. If there’s one thing I could ask for above all else, I’d ask for two—then I’d use one of those two to say that the best way to help is to share my work with someone.
On a serious note, thank you so much for reading—it truly means the world to me!