Love to Hate the Shrink

The first time I went to the shrinks’s office and informed her of my issued and why I had chosen to seek help, she responded by saying it appeared as though I had managed very well thus far, and while she would prescribe medication, it would not concern her if I chose not to take it. As far as she was concerned I would not be in her office if I had a more supportive partner.

I’ll be honest and say that this really pissed me off. She went on to say that some bipolars have greater difficulties which result in being hospitalized and finding themselves in trouble with the law. Because I had neither been hospitalized or in jail my situation was mild in comparison.

My grandfather was “manic depressive”. He spent himself into bankruptcy, was addicted to pain medication, drank heavily and eventually shot himself and his second wife.
My great grandfather spent half of his life in an institution where he eventually died.

Though I am not a medical professional I feel as the bipolar person sees a progression in their disease. As time goes on I see the patterns in my own father increase. He is now a heavy closet drinker, though I have no recollection of him drinking so much bas a beer when I was growing up. He has wild mood swings where he is either going to take over the world or dooms days is coming.

I struggle on a daily basis with various “desires”. On a daily basis I struggle with a desire to drink. If I had access to pain pills I would eat them like candy. When I am depressed I spend a significant time planning my own suicide- the where, the how, the timing in an effort to make sure that I can do so without being stopped and that it is discovered by my husband rather than my children.

There is a fine line in madness I do not wish to cross. On one side of the line is life and on the other side is death. Why must I go to the therapist having a failed suicide before the situation is considered more serious?

I went to the therapist because my desires grow stronger and my ability to manage life and raise my children have become increasingly difficult. I don’t want to shoot up a McDonald’s and receive my treatment in prison. Is that too much to ask?