Monday, 22 June 2015
12:42:44 AM (GMT)
So, I'm going to a psychiatrist on Thursday, as recommended by my counselor,
Sharon. She thinks I have several mental disorders: bipolar (unsure if it's bipolar 1
or 2), generalized anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder. The first two were
obvious, the last one surprised me. I've personally noticed, over the course of my
life, signs of OCD as well, but since those symptoms have gotten less severe while
the others have gotten increasingly severe, I'm probably not going to worry about
that one. Anyway, that's the little background story behind this.
I have to fill out a mountain of paperwork before Thursday, which I got done tonight.
It was very stressful. One of the forms was like, "Who do you want to authorize to
have access to all your private information?" And I was like, pfft, no one, asshole.
Bitches can mind their own damn business. And my dad was all like, "WTF YOU HAVE TO
AUTHORIZE ME," and I was like, "nah." So now he's all pissed off. But you see, the
thing is, I'm doing this for his own good. Because...
I'm not at all convinced that I have PTSD, but Sharon is. And if Sharon is right, and
I get diagnosed with it, I don't want my dad to know that. Because he'll start drama
about it, blame himself, and get really fucking mad and stupid and have the attitude
of a 16-year-old girl. Because if I do have it then it's his fault. Not
even blaming, just stating a fact. It's caused by trauma, and he was the trauma.
Like when he bought a puppy for my sisters and I. Her name was Daisy, and she was an
Australian shepherd. Every time she peed on the floor he would hold her by the neck
and smear her face in her pee while screaming at her. I know some people say that
rubbing their nose in their pee helps to potty train them, but no expert dog trainer
would ever say that, and in any case, he practically ground her face into the floor.
Sometimes she'd get so scared during this that she'd pee even more. And one time she
ran behind the computer (this was still when she was small) and got tangled in the
electrical cords, and he was so mad he grabbed her and through her out the door over
the balcony. And she grew up to be a mean dog that growled and barked and chased
cars, she was rarely nice to anyone, she rarely trusted anyone. It's fucking
devastating to be a little kid and have to watch someone beat up your puppy all the
It's also devastating to be a little kid and have to watch your sister get beat up
all the time. I don't know why, but my dad always hit Kate. Hallie, the youngest, he
never hit. Me, sometimes. Kate, a lot. Anyway, I don't feel like telling these
stories, but it was some fucked up shit, okay? So yeah.
I'm really stressed because he's mad I won't let him have access to my mental health
records, but, if I have PTSD, he won't be able to handle it. He'll probably deny it
at first, say it's bullshit. I'm not going through that.
I'm protecting him from himself, and the gravity and consequences of his actions in
the past. And that's sad.