About six months ago, I decided to come clean with my family about my issues and went to a mental health clinic at a hospital where I am a regular. The reason was simple: I didn't have to make a phone call to make an appointment. It's all in one app—the less human interaction needed in the process, the better.
Funnily enough, it was actually located in the same area as the pediatricians. My first visit wasn't as nerve-racking as I thought it would be because I was looking at (and involuntarily listening to) babies crying, mothers chatting—everything all at once. It was safe to say that I was distracted.
I had to wait for almost two hours and I was so close to leaving when the doctor finally called my name. I didn't know where to start, but as soon as the doctor gave me some questions, I just blurted out almost everything that I had in mind at the time. I just felt lost, and I wanted answers. I wanted to know what was going on inside my head, and if there was actually something going on up there.
On my next visit, the doctor began to prescribe me a mix of Noxetine and Clobazam to fix my sleep schedule and basically let me chill on a daily basis. My mother was strongly against the idea of me taking these medications at first, and we repeatedly got into an argument. I had a meltdown once and things went ugly, but in the end, we all came to terms with my condition.
I took an assessment called the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory (MMPI) even though the result was deemed invalid because I was considered unstable at the moment. My doctor said that I could retake the test later at the end of my treatment, but to sum things up, I had a mood disorder and was diagnosed with depression.
There it was, my answer.
I was wondering if I really did have a problem or if I was simply unable to navigate my way through life as smoothly as others. At some point, I thought that it was probably just me being a self-centric egomaniac. It turns out that I do have a problem, and my doctor was actually taking all my words (and my problem) seriously.
There's a side effect from the medications, though. I sleep more than ever, sometimes even when I'm not supposed to. I fell asleep and almost missed a meeting twice. I didn't tell anybody at work because I don't want them to think that I was seeking attention. They don't have to know. It's enough to just be present and give my all.
Anyway, I stumbled upon this funny but low-key deep video on the internet which says that on a day where you only have 20 percent and you give 20 percent, you are actually giving 100 percent. You are doing your best at the moment. You are giving your all. It's a rather refreshing take on productivity. Remember this every time you feel guilty for not being as productive as you planned to be.
Now, back to my psychiatrist. She is a cheerful, petite lady who wears the cutest surgical caps ever. On my first visit, it was a Baby Shark cap. On my second, I don't remember exactly, but it was either a Winnie the Pooh or a Doraemon cap. She restored my faith in mental health professionals. From the moment we met, there has never been a single judging look in her eyes.
The reason why I kept putting off seeing a psychiatrist was my trust issue. I was afraid of not being taken seriously. I was afraid that the doctor would say it was just me, which probably would've only amplified my doubt and anxiety. Thank goodness, things went a lot better than my extremely low expectation.
I don't know how long I'm going to be seeing my doctor. My next visit is due next week and I'm running low on medications, so let's see what life has in store.
To end this post, I would like to say that I am forever grateful that I took that first step—that I chose to finally see a mental health professional even though it was a rather impulsive decision. It's always hard to start, especially when you don't know what to do or where to go first, but things will eventually get better.
Take that step. Get some help.
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