Self-Sabotge?

Oh, lord. Remember how I said I had my first psychiatric appointment on the 28th? Apparently, it was not meant to be. On Tuesday night, I was going over my paperwork, making sure I had everything in order, when I found a piece of paper that said my appointment was 6/19/12. It was 6/26/12 by this point. I was shocked. I took out my calendar and my iPhone, both of which I had marked the 28th for the appointment. I called the office first thing on Wednesday morning to reschedule. A very rude receptionist told me very snidely that since I had missed my first appointed, I was basically banned from ever seeing their doctors. I explained what had happened, and the receptionist told me there was nothing she could do, and hung up the phone.

I cried, and cried, and cried. I had waited 2 months for this appointment with an excellent doctor. One who had graduated from a top-tier psychology school, and had many years in the business. The receptionist was just so... so cold. How could they talk to someone like that, especially in the business they are in? The people calling them are people that need help the most.

I was miserable the rest of the day. You are probably thinking "Big deal. Call someone else". Yes, this is the conclusion I came to, but I had a very hard time with the way I was spoken to. I've been putting off asking my parents about my "situation" until I talked to a professional. Now, something that had seemed to me was going to be a possibility in the near future, was being put on the back burner for potentially another 2 months. I couldn't handle the thought. I know I can't stay where I'm at, I have to take a step forward.

So, with some liquid courage, I called my dad on Wednesday night. With the time difference between the 2 of us, my mom was just getting home from work and I panicked. I really didn't want to talk to my mom about this just yet. I finally just told my dad (who knows I'm taking a psychiatric appointment) that I needed to talk to him about my childhood, privately, possibly tomorrow after my mom left for work.

He paused. Then he said, "So, you have questions?".

"Yes." I replied.

He exhaled. "Ok. I understand. We'll talk tomorrow".

I think I was in even more shock when I got off the phone. The fact that my dad seemed to know what I was talking about, just seemed to confirm that I was right in thinking something was up.

I cried, and cried, and cried some more. I was emotionally strung out. The "help" I thought I was getting had been yanked out from under my feet, and my dad was seemingly confirming that something happened to me as a kid. I didn't sleep much that night. Instead I had very vivid dreams, covering a vast quantity of weird shit.

It's getting late, and I'm still emotionally tired from this week's events. I'll cover the phone call between my dad and I tomorrow. One thing I've learned is that not resting causes the crazy to come out even more. It's off to bed for this girl.