In two weeks I’m moving to my first apartment. Technically, my first apartment was during my Disney College Program internship where they provided you with housing (you still had to pay rent though) and leave you with a $100 paycheck for groceries, gas, necessities. It was hard but rent was automatically taken out of your check, which really left me nothing to worry about except budgeting for groceries.
So this is my first real apartment. Where there are separate bills and no Mickey Mouse mercy. I don’t see any magic in the vicinity.
I’m excited but also incredibly terrified. This is the true test of adulthood; what I’ve been training for my whole life. I’m so ready for independence. For being out of a constantly tense environment and creating my own safe space. I 100% decided to move out for my mental health’s sake and I hope the good will outweigh the bad.
But what if it doesn’t? What if putting myself in this situation adds to my anxiety. And depression. And other conditions. Other new disorders I learned about recently.
Needless to say, seeing a psychiatrist implies that you are trying to work through something bad. Something abnormal. Something your primary care doctor or therapist recommended for you. So when I went to my psychiatrist to talk about my PAI results (Personality Assessment Inventory) and he says the validity is being questioned, that my answers look like a cry for help I felt..punished. For answering honestly. My feelings, my struggles…invalidated.
He then showed me the chart. Everything looked right to me. Self esteem being the lowest score, suicidal thoughts and negative thoughts being the highest…it sounded about right. Since going to therapy I’ve become so open to talking about my struggles. I’m working on not being so ashamed of them. But my psychiatrist made it seem like results he’s never seen before. Like, I should go see a psychiatrist.
The cherry on top, we discussed the possibility of me having schizophrenia. Once he showed me the results, that’s all I could really focus on. The anger and frustration dissolved. For days that’s all I could think about. I know it’s not fair to focus so much on the negative stigma of schizophrenia. My therapist (i bawled when I told her) made a good point when she said that a lot of people that have schizophrenia lead normal lives despite it. That calmed me down. Lately I’ve been working on accepting it.
A cherry on top of the cherry on top? I got three new prescriptions after that fiasco of an appointment. Once I debriefed my mom on everything she told me something that really made an impact on me: to keep taking my birth control, you don’t want to take all these pills and have a baby.
Normally, I’m pretty set on not having kids anytime soon. I have a lot of things I need to work on. There’s a lot I want to do before then. But after she said that, I wanted one. I don’t want my issues to negatively impact any chance of that.
So here I am, prescription in my bag. I haven’t filled it out yet. There’s so much going on in my life right now I feel like I need to get my bearings before committing to so many medications.