Expo

Saw a psychiatrist today hoping to get tested for ASD. Basically got an "Aren't you too old for this?" I have my reasons. No matter. Focus shifted to depression and alcoholism instead.

What was I thinking? Shouldn't be surprised. Did get a few laughs out of it, though. Once again, just like JD all those years ago, upon hearing that I lived at Grandma's for most of my childhood, the doctor couldn't let it go. Back then JD was plain appalled. It'd never even occurred to me this particular piece of trivia would inspire such a reaction. It wasn't like my brother and I didn't see my parents everyday. But apparently not sleeping under the same roof is a big deal.

"Why wouldn't someone raise their own children?" Asked Dr. Kefir* today.

I shrugged, "It was the practical thing to do."

He laughed unabashedly before he remarked, "Children are not goats."

I laughed too. Of course there was that classic "How does that make you feel" spiel to follow.

"I feel gypped," I said. "I feel like I didn't get to spend enough time with my parents."

"So you feel deprived," said Dr. Kefir. He asked if anyone had told me that I had abandonment issues.

Have I?! If every time I would've had a dollar! I'm textbook, yo.

Sometimes I do wonder, had I never migrated away - not that I wish for a second that I hadn't, if my parents and I may have an easier time communicating today. The gap between us, cultural, political and otherwise is too vast to be bridged. It's one thing not to be on the same page, but another not to be on the same wavelength altogether. It's exhausting and quite frankly, sad as hell.

RJ has time and again advised me not to hope for things to improve, given my parents' age. "Things will only get worse," he warns. I know he is right. Still the sadness is like fleas I can't just shake loose.

Was really not looking forward to rehashing my entire unremarkable life. Just because my philosophy on life is dark: life is pointless, I shouldn't have been born, blah blah blah.

Somehow the subject of producing offsprings was reached. I said how I felt, "I wouldn't want to pass down these bad genes to anyone."

I almost lost patience when Dr. Kefir asked, "How are they bad?"

To me it's plain as day.

At the end I was given two vials of Cymbalta. "Have you taken Cymbalta before?" Asked Dr. K.

"I've heard of it," I replied. I've probably made fun of it, too. But I held my tongue. I just wanted out of there.

On the way home, I felt emotionally drained. Before I knew it, road rage surfaced.

Anger! That was the one thing that I'd missed, when asked what emotions I was experiencing to cause psychological concerns. In fact I had to rack my brain to even come up with "sadness".

I guess when you've been living with something for a long time it no longer seems out of the ordinary.

I had also failed to recall the more recent diagnosis, Borderline. And the doctor didn't pursue it. He didn't seem to think that any additional diagnosis would make a difference. Completely dismissed Bipolar. (RJ wouldn't be astounded.) Dr. K. thought whether it was a chemical imbalance, autoimmune or fibromyalgia, or a combination thereof, Cymbalta would treat it. We didn't need to know what we were treating.

Again I felt that someone was in a hurry to slap a label on me. Only this time, a pharmaceutical label.


*Not his real name