Yesterday, after I blogged, I descended into a full blown panic attack. When the receptionist came to fetch me for my ECT appointment I reacted with suspicion and wariness. She ended up fetching a doctor that was able to help me into the office and order anti-anxiety medications for me. One of my favorite nurses was working there that day and helped calm me down and I went through with my treatment for that day.
That wasn't quite the end of the drama though since as I was waking up in recovery another patient (one I had been in-patient with) was having some sort of reaction/complication. It was upsetting and scary, especially when I didn't want to be anywhere near that place anyways.
Today I am feeling down, not quite suicidal, but very cynical and feeling like the doctors and nurses and whole industry around mental health care is all based on a ruse. I don't see any treatments working for me and it's so disheartening. I'm not quite feeling suicidal but I am concerned for my son's future and feeling like he's nearly guaranteed to struggle with this just as I have and that makes me feel horrible. The hubs says, "No way, he's such a happy, outgoing guy," but I just don't know.
So. Today is an appointment with my psychiatrist and my therapist. I'm feeling pretty skeptical about getting any encouraging news but I'm going anyways. Already not looking forward to the ECT Wednesday. My dad was quite surprised at my state when he arrived there (he was my ride home) and said that if I'm freaking out like that Wednesday he's going to have to pick me up, not Mom cuz she might freak the hell out seeing me like that so soon after her sister died. I know it's totally reasonable what he's saying but it made me feel like a hopeless freak.
But for now, to the psychiatrist.