First of all, it takes everything we have, just to ask our general doctor for help. Normally while we're in the depths of depression, we don't feel that we're worth a doctor's time to worry about something so stupid as us crying over someone cutting us off in traffic, or not knowing what to cook for dinner. When we've come to the point to ask our doctor for help, there isn't anymore courage and strength to admit defeat, in the bank. We can't tell another doctor. We need the first one to have his nurse make the appropriate appointments and just tell us when to show up.
My doc didn't do this. They gave me a phone number. No names, nothing. Just a phone number.
I called, b/c I'm to the point where it's either lose my job, friendships and marriage; or have no pride at all and admit self-defeat. I'm crazy and I need help dammit. So I called the phone number, found out it's to a psychiatrist, who isn't accepting any new patients. Luckily the nice receptionist lady gave me phone numbers of other psychs in the area. How nice.
So I borrowed courage from somewhere, and called another number. This lady should be fired. When your job is scheduling patients for a psychiatrist whose speciality is depression, you should not handle phone calls this way:
"My doctor referred me to Dr. ____ to schedule an appointment."
"Well, they're gone on vacation until the 7th."
Silence
"Um, okay, can I schedule an appointment for after the 7th then?"
Silence
"Sure"
Click.
The Bitch hung up on me. YOU DON'T HANG UP ON CRAZY PEOPLE ASKING FOR HELP!
I fell into a heap of tears and frustration, called my mommy who wouldn't schedule an appointment for me, and I sat at my desk trying to compose myself for about half an hour.
It's day 2 and I've yet to try to schedule an appointment. First, I asked my doc for a referral to a psychologist. Someone I could talk to. He had his nurse call me with the number to a psychiatrist, someone who has no time to talk (from what I hear about psychias), and who isn't accepting new patients. Now I have a list of psychs from my insurance company and most of them are men from East India... is that someone who I think can relate to me and help me and make me feel comfortable? No. I want an overweight baseball loving woman who falls to the smell of a Krispy Kreme donut every now and then. That's who I want to help me.
I've given up. Screw it. I'm waiting until my doctor's appointment on Friday, and I'll cry and turn myself into a ball of useless teary hopelessness at his feet until they make me a DAMN APPOINTMENT WITH SOMEONE WHO CAN HELP CRAZY PEOPLE LIKE ME.
In the meantime, I have the most wonderful, supportive, and caring husband that anybody could ask for. He doesn't understand it, he doesn't know how to handle it, but he's there with kisses, hugs and I try to help him by telling him in the moments that I feel happy, "This makes me happy," so that he'll know he's helping me. I don't know how I'll make it through the next five days when he's working until 11pm.