Navigating My Mental Healthcare: Part Two

I can’t even tell you how many therapists and psychiatrists I’ve seen over the years.

Dozens.

Easily.

I currently deal with a doctor that doesn’t really believe me.

He gives me the right medications.

But when we talk he is judgmental.

He holds what others have done, against me.

When I was asking if I could get my injection early some months, when I was having symptoms.

He told me that if he says yes, then I’ll try to push it even earlier and he wasn’t going to deal with that.

That was the second time I saw him.

It’s impossible for him to know me in that time frame.

Our limited amount of time together doesn’t tell him much of what’s up with my mental health the last couple of months.

But he sees countless patients each day.

He doesn’t want to hear about who I am.

He wants to give me meds and send me away.

With very little conversation.

He doesn’t have the time.

So I shouldn’t take offense, right?

Well, it’s hard not to.

He asked me today if my hearing was okay.

Like if it had ever been checked.

I told him my hearing is fine.

Mind you, this was after I told him that I’m still hearing – every three days or so on average, whispers and static.

Momentarily.

But they’re still there.

I only say this because he is prescribing my mental health meds.

So he should definitely know this type of information.

Instead I feel judged.

I feel invalidated again.

I have spent a lifetime masking and covering up my symptoms.

I’m good at acting “normal” to others.

Especially when they don’t know me.

I can act like nothing is happening to me.

I am great at masking.

That doesn’t mean that I am not having symptoms.

I covered up my hallucinations for decades.

I’m finally talking about them and it feels like I’m running into people that don’t believe me.

Which is really a wild thought to me.

Why would I ever.

Ever.

Ever, make up the fact that I hear voices.

They’re not fun.

They’re not cool.

They’re horrible and maddening.

They’re uninvited and appalling.

Why do I feel so judged by someone whose job it is to listen?

Why do I feel like I’m making all this up?

Maybe it’s from the voices finally subsiding.

Maybe it’s from recent bouts of invalidation.

But I feel like if I’m not bursting with symptoms, then my mental illness doesn’t exist.

Why is that?

Is it because I’m not showing that I’m obviously sick.

I’m not looking sick.

I look and act fine.

Acceptable.

The fact is that I covered up myself for decades.

I told myself conspiracy theory thinking so I wasn’t a “crazy person”.

Until I was.

Until I was in the streets, spitting and sputtering about being watched by the CIA through my phone.

But this NP didn’t see me like that.

None of these people knew what I had been doing.

I haven’t really talked about it with them.

Most people who work there do comment on how much better I look now than when I first showed up in December of 2021.

How I’m not as wild eyed.

Then I see the provider and he doesn’t ask about my symptoms.

He instead reflects on a possible physical issue that I have never even brought up.

Don’t you think if I was having audio hallucinations, and my hearing was impaired or hindered or amplified for some reason, that would be the first fucking thing I’d tell you?

Like, come on dude.

What’s the problem?

Why do you not trust what I’m saying?

It’s not my fault he’s jaded as fuck.

I wrote a bunch of things down over the last month for this morning’s appointment too.

I barely read any of it.

I felt rushed.

He asked me how the meds were going before I even sat down.

At least he didn’t change any meds this session.

Which is fine with me.

I’m over changes and increases for the time being.

It’s been a year and a half – on top of years and years before now, of medication changes.

I’m spent.

But I feel like he didn’t want to even see me today.

I was in his office for about seven minutes.

How can anyone possibly get a rounded picture of what’s going on with me in seven minutes?

It just doesn’t feel like my provider cares.

It’s an isolating feeling.

I’ve had people at the clinic tell me that at least he’s doing what I need with my medications.

And I agree.

Don’t get me wrong.

I’m not upset with the medication aspect.

It’s the hearing me part that’s totally lacking.

And I feel like this is a running issue with mental healthcare in general.

I haven’t felt heard since I was with an old doctor of mine back in Denver.

I don’t really have a choice who I see now.

Between insurance coverage issues and money issues, I have to go to the low income clinic.

The people who work there care.

The providers are on a whole different, mistrusting playing field than me.

Because this is the second provider I’ve seen there.

– Keren