My cousin is in the Philippines at the moment. He is safe, we’re told; he’s been in contact. But there it is again – guilt. And more guilt because I’ve made it about me. Why can’t it be me dead instead of all those people? A silly thought, I suspect. It’s unrelated. Still, I feel bad. Other people have it so many times worse. I feel like a first world problem. What are my issues compared to theirs? At the same time that thought seems to invalidate others’ experiences of mental illness. But then again I feel like a fraud. Again, other people have it worse. If someone else was saying these things to me, I would tell them that pain is relative. My worst experience is the same as another’s. I can’t seem to believe that when it comes to me. It’s not that I’m a bad person, just that I can’t possibly be trying hard enough to recover.
In other news, I saw my GP today. He is a saint. We wrote to him with regards to my meds not doing their job and my mood being rubbish. He phoned a couple of days later saying he had a plan, could come in to see him, he’d let reception know I’d be phoning so they could squeeze me in. So today I went along. He’s concerned about my mood and the voices, we talked about how I was and what I was experiencing. He mentioned words like psychosis, paranoia and delusions, but said I still seem to have some grip on reality. Which I do. I’m still fighting. The long and short of it is that he will be writing to my arse of a psychiatrist and explaining what he’s seen and what he thinks I need. Namely more antidepressant and either more haloperidol or olanzapine. Behind his professional veneer, he was rather disgusted by Dr Arseface’s actions or lack thereof. We’re all hoping for a more proactive approach now.
Oh, and I can’t see a different psychiatrist as there isn’t one.