..today marks my last appointment at the Psychiatric Department of Hospital Putrajaya. It has been a heck of a journey, the past 16 months, most of them absurd.
I spent almost half an hour crying at GP one day and came out with one long referral letter to the Psychiatric Department together with an instruction to inform my O&G doctor about my condition. I was in my second trimester and has had some emotionally confusing moments. Like when I was angry to a motorcyclist because he was in front of my car on the road or when I cried because I *feel* there is something sad I must cry about but in the same time I *know* for a fact there is nothing wrong but I choose to believe the former anyway. The line between imaginary just blurred out (no I am not talking about the dUCk blurred lines anniversary edition, thank you) and before I knew it I was all over the place. The only way to compare it is with an extended magnified-to-a-million PMS.
Even with the referral letter in my hand, it took me weeks to bring it over to the hospital. At one point I thought maybe I shouldn’t, maybe I just overthink everything, that I am actually alright. But nevertheless one fine off-day, I collected my whole courage to do it.
The psychiatrist assigned to me is an Indian male. When I first saw him I wasn’t convinced he would know what I felt. I wasn’t even think he would know what PMS felt like. But I chose to trust him anyway, I had no choice. You see, when you decide to go see a psychiatrist, you need to decide to trust them too. It doesn’t work when you hold back from your psychiatrist, hiding secrets and whatsnot for it makes it impossible for them to know what went wrong. I agree it’s weird opening up to a stranger, but I had wanted to solve it once and for all, so I did it. It was much like shedding off your shyness when you are doing public speaking, it felt really awkward but after sometimes you’ll feel normal again.
..to be continued.