How can I help you today?

At first she said she would call me tomorrow. No, actually -- "Sometime this week."

It's 5 pm on Friday and still no call. Maybe the team meeting was eventful. Maybe she is waiting on decisions made by other people. Maybe she forgot. Either way, it was out of my hands the moment I walked out of the clinic, so nothing has changed for me. (We are called patients after all...)

I would have rather had something to report. But in lieu of news, here is the formulation (of sorts) that I made for my New Patient appointment with the local psychiatry team registrar:

Eliza's self-made formulation of sorts

I hope that I get better at asking for help each time I meet with a new clinician, but in reality the reason I need help is because I'm not very good at explaining what is wrong. There's this Really Big gap in my brain where most kids learn how to be vulnerable with and trust in others... it covers things like how to translate that sicky stomachy feeling into "Mom, I'm scared" and how not to panic every time you desire something (or someone).

Talking to me and reading my blog now, it's easy to forget that not so long ago I nearly went psychotic trying to say I'm angry. 

I remember how it felt, in exquisite detail, to turn the feelings inside into words: shaping my mouth, pronouncing the sounds. I hope I will always remember the pain it took to create, for the first time, synapses and connections where there were none before. That level of terror is meant to disable us, but still I persevered. 

"Have you ever had medication?" She asked, her voice gentle and bright. 

I shook my head. 

The conversation continued. A few minutes later, we looked again at my timeline: multiple moves, a lifetime of depression and anxiety, dissociation, psychotic blips, and --

"You've really never had medication." Her expression was a mixture of disbelief and concern.

"Never." I watched her carefully. She looked at me a brief moment and then turned away. 

I think she expected me to protest. But instead I said that medication would give me some respite from the increasing anxiety and help me engage more in therapy. I asked how medication would help me, how I would know it was working, and how long I could expect to be on it. 

Now for the moment of protest. I gathered my defenses and met her eyes. "I don't think medication is the answer." It's not a long term solution. I faltered, filling with tears. "I need to improve my social skills or I will always be at risk." 

We both stared at my formulation. 

She agreed.