Thursday, 22 November 2012

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Psychiatrist...

Not that I've ever been to one. Just liked the title.

Related blog though.

Recently been struggling with a few things with Trace being sick as a dog with the potential of worse case scenario looming like a fucking freight train while you're tied to the tracks, and work being a nightmare and the bloke I work with being a nightmare and no sleep all adding up to yours truly taking a day off yesterday just to gather my thoughts because I just felt like I couldn't fucking escape from ANYTHING.

I've had depression. I got shafted by my first real relationship with losing a house, a best friend, a dog, and a cat all in one foul swoop. I hit me. It hit me hard. It took me three or four years to figure out I had real head issues going on and I needed those issues to piss off. A basic realisation was all that happened. I woke up one day and just let it all go. Really, it was as simple as that. I went to a doctor back then and asked for help. She asked if I wanted anti-depressants ... just like everyone else who asks for help, apparently. Maybe, they just want fucking help, like I did. I said no thanks, and told her to go fuck herself, and walked out.

I found a men's 'group' that apparently dealt with things like this. Beauty, I thought. Went to like a meeting with this chick and her second question was "Do you go to church?". I told her to go fuck herself too, and walked out.

THAT'S when I thought I'm the only one here being punished for other's sins. Are these arseholes really worth beating yourself up over and what are you gaining from it. No, and nothing. And away it went. Like a black dog in the night.

Fast forward to yesterday.

I went to the doc yesterday, mostly for the docs certificate I needed for work for the day off. Hadn't slept since two that morning and I kinda felt a bit emotional. The doc asked what was going on. Long story short, it was like "BLEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH" and he asked if I wanted to see a shrink. Then it hit me.

Dunno if you really realise how many times you're asked in interviews, or applications for ANYTHING, that if you've ever sought psychological treatment? How much of a double edged sword is that. You can get treatment but the consequences of seeking professional help potentially VASTLY outweigh the issues you may be having before you see one. They can't tell the weapons office that you were only there because you felt a bit shit and needed some random shrink to just blow out on.

Get help, but here's a dildo for doing it, and bend over. It seems to me that mental health is a fundamentally flawed concept and as much as people are becoming more comfortable with people needing some sort of help. Probably because these days nearly everyone is fucked in the head, but there's still a lingering punishment for doing it. Bizarre, really.

As for me. The work shit will work itself out after Xmas. Trace is feeling better and she got some decent news so we'll wear that one till the next episode.