Psych guy was good. I can feel his intelligence and training. I just don’t know if it JUSTIFIES me having to go to the capital (6 hour drive) for each appointment.
I’m too sick, both my parents took me. I couldn’t go alone. And STILL, the whole thing… being so far. I tried hard to stay calm, to breathe, to remember that it was my dream to travel to places and leave my sucky little city forever, but I couldn’t help it. I’ve gotten used to be able to RUN HOME whenever I had a panic attack, and there I was, 326 km away from home, surrounded by more than SEVEN MILLION people, with no place to stay and rest, with my brain torturing me and telling me to throw myself into the Transmilenio bus paths. I dissociated a big part of the whole thing until somehow I was here again and I still can’t get myself to think about what happened. Not fully. I faintly remember my mom yelling “Don’t you dare make a scene here!” somewhere, something about a taxi not arriving and I don’t know what else. I wasn’t really aware of my own body and got dragged around like a little child throwing a tantrum. A lot of what I do remember I don’t want to post it here.
Everytime I thought of myself being so impossible and unable to take care of myself, the whole thing began to build up again. The trip back home lasted about a month in my head. I almost counted the seconds, while I fought the tears when I thought I couldn’t believe it was my biggest wish to just return to the city I hated. Just because I’m so homebound.
I got a new medication: Clomipramine, a tricyclic antidepressant. I’m supposed to take 1/8 of a pill a night for three days and then go up slowly. ONE EIGHT of a little funny pill, what a joke. I was going to do what the nurses did in pediatrics when they got delivered only adult dose medications and they had to give 1/10 of a single pill to a baby. Take a syringe with solution and dissolve it, then you can control the dosing precisely.
But then I look at the pills I was given and they are a freaking slow release kind. Well, slow release kinda depends on the integrity of the pill so either way it wouldn’t work. In the end I gave up thinking at all and my dad ended up slicing them with a sharp knife and giving me the little funny bit that is supposed to make my life better and stop me from dying.