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8.12.11

You Need Help...

...You've Just Got To Wait A While For It.

I sat in the doctors waiting room. Heart beating faster.
And faster.
Words going round in my head.
"I need help?"
No that's not right.
"I'm not coping?"
Nope, not right either.
"I think I might be depressed?"
No. I know I'm not depressed.
I'd booked this appointment 2 and a half weeks ago.
I wanted to see my doctor. Rather than any of the other ones there.
I'm very very lucky that I have an amazing doctor.
I trust him fully and feel I can tell him anything.
He never thinks, or let's on that he thinks, that I am wasting his time.

Beep
Lauren to see Dr D.

I walk to his room.
Knock.
Walk in.
Smile.
Cheery hello.
Sit down.
Awkward giggle.

"Erm, its become a bit too much. Can you help me maybe?"
Ice broken.
I expected an atmosphere.
Yet all of a sudden everything was ok.
I explained to my doctor about what had been going on.
In my head.
The birth still replaying.
The voice of the midwife who came round to do our home visit on day one.
"It could've been fatal."
Little things. Silly little things which no one else thinks about.
Spiralling out of control in my foggy mind.

"Can you answer these questions for me please?"
My doctor turns his computer screen round so I can read some questions.
The questions are familiar. I've answered them before.
After I had Charles.
All was ok then. Apart from the anxiety. When they put me on antidepressants which I didn't need or want.
I came off them after 2 weeks of being on them and sorted myself out.

We answered the questions together. My doctor knew how I'd answer.
"Ok, so as I expected you are not depressed."
He then asked me questions about day to day life. As I answered I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders.
Someone is listening to me!
I have my husband to talk to.
And my mum.
But sometimes people don't want to hear these thoughts in your head.
And when I did try to talk to them, they didn't know what to say back.
Which is perfectly fine.
As there actually isn't anything that would make me feel better.
I have an answer for everything. And it frustrates me at times.

My doctor didn't think I was crazy.
Phew.
"You have a very severe anxiety disorder"
We discussed my options.
"You definitely need some help"
He remembered that I am not keen on medication. I took comfort in this.
So many times you go to a doctor and you know that they recognise your face but not your problems.
My doctor remembered my problems from 2 years ago.
Little things that wouldn't have been written on my notes.

We discussed the "Mental Health Team" who visit the surgery so many times a month but after 3 visits to them in 3 years I asked for other options as I felt the guy I normally see didn't "get" me.
In order to get better I need to see someone I can connect with.
Who I feel I can say things too, no matter how extreme, and for them to act as if its normal, yet help me to deal with it.

And with that I am now referred to attend Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy (CBT).
Its not totally knew to me as I did the same almost exactly 10 years ago and really took to it.
I feel its perfect, well I hope it is perfect, to help me get back to a "normal" way of life again.
Being able to watch tv programmes without having to switch them off because of how they effect me. To be able to read a real-life magazine without having to skip the majority of the stories.
Even the simplest of tv programmes or simplest of real-life stories can get my head in a whirlwind.

Except I saw my doctor around 4 weeks ago, if not more. And I'm yet to hear about an appointment.
"There is a waiting list"
He told me.

So, ask for help, but you have to wait for it.
And what do I do in the mean time.....

Tick...
Tock...
Tick...
Tock...