I woke up early today because of my GP appointment, enough time for a shower, shave and to pick out an outfit, went with black slim jeans and a black/white baseball top. It was freezing outside, I reached the surgery with around 10 minutes to spare. The doctor called me in on time, he was an older, skinny man. I sat down and looked at a wall, unable to make eye contact.
I opened the discussion, said exactly what I wanted, some way to check if I was permanently infertile. He read my notes and asked why/how I messed up, I just said that transitioning wasn’t a viable option and then somehow he got me to say I was suicidal and that I’m comfortable with killing myself. The conversation then shifted to depression, just like every other discussion with a doctor, I denied I was depressed, we were then interrupted by a phone call, another doctor was asking for advice from what I could gather. We spoke some more and then he gave me that standard depression quiz, I was then sent out of the room to complete the form while he hopped back on the phone.
While filling the quiz, I considered leaving as I had no interest in discussing depression but ultimately I stayed. When I was called back, he tallied up my score and mentioned Sertaline and asked about my life. I told him I struggled to take Sertaline consistently since I was so up and down, when taking about my job I forgot to mention how other peoples existence agitates me. I brought up my original issue again, asking about my fertility, he said that a sperm test could be taken but I’d have to stop taking the drugs, he laughed at me, remarked I’m certainly not fertile while using them. I insisted I’d continue using them.
Back on the topic of depression, I said I didn’t believe in it, that it’s a matter of circumstances, people aren’t just down for no reason, drugs would only delude me into being content and do nothing to change my horrid life. The doctor then started a mini speech, saying that he wanted me to be comfortable in my own skin and some “be yourself” bullshit, I was close to tears, the line that got me was his finale, when he asked how I wanted him to help me, I got up and left, he said he he just wanted to help, I responded weakly but sarcastically, thanking him for the advice, saying it was useful. As I was leaving he tried again, asking me to come back. Once I left the building I did cry.
I don’t know what help I need, just that that’s what I need help.
I ate exceptionally poorly the rest of the day as I was upset over the encounter.
Watched some Orange is the New Black.
I guess I fucked up not accepting shift swaps from co-workers since I need one now.
I feel as if I’m mentally around 17 due to my growth being stunted and possibly even regressing during my time at sixth form and university, only now at my job am I developing into a functional/normal human being.