On the Brink

Dealing with mental health issues is not for the easily intimidated.

You have to deal with the cultural expectations surrounding the issue – they are not real diseases (such as, you know, physical ailments), they are just trendy (yeah, I choose to be depressed so I can be hip), they are easily solved by attitude adjustments (just cheer up, put on a happy face). There is a stigma to even admitting to be struggling with these issues – that having a mental ailment makes you weak or inferior.

I struggle with these attitude, because sometimes I think that by my age I should be done with this and be mentally healthy. I would love to be able to cheer up as easily as people tell me to – I wish my response to being told that I think too much could be to just turn off my thinking. But I still haven’t found my off button.

I have been able to cope and function with depression thanks to medication and friends and God’s help. But lately I think I suffered a relapse that threw me for a loop. I fell deep into wanting to cry almost at the drop of a hat, to being easily irritated at the tiniest annoyances, to feeling angry or afraid for no good reason, to wondering why on earth I am on earth. It’s a dark spiral that I have not missed.

It scared me so much that I decided maybe I needed to get some additional professional help and recheck my medication levels. It is this part that led to my discovery that mental health is not for sissies.

I contacted one of the area’s main health providers, and was told that to get medication help I had to either make an appointment in a town that’s at least a half-hour away (in good traffic) or go to a walk-in clinic in a more convenient location. Of course, the walk-in clinic means that there is no set time to gauge how long things will take.

I chose the walk-in for the sake of convenience – how hard could this be? Well, I arrived before opening time and already there was someone else waiting but the doors were locked. Shortly before opening, a security guard sternly noted to us that the clinic didn’t open until 10 but he would take us up so that we could form the line there. It wasn’t the most welcoming gesture.

Upon the clinic officially opening, we had to secure our purses or large bags in lockers. The guard was explaining this and there was a backup at the door because the lockers were right near the door. Then he told us we could go in but how could we go in without putting stuff in lockers? And he did reprimand someone who had forgotten to put something in the locker. We also needed to remember to keep our ID and insurance card out of the locker so that we could use it to check in.

Upon checking in, I was handed about a half-ream of paperwork to complete. This seemed odd because this healthcare system has practically all of my health data already, and I believe I’ve told them the same thing several times. Also, it was difficult to enter my insurance information because they had my cards – so I left that blank. They couldn’t have designed a better test for patience if they had done it on purpose.

I was called in to the initial triage person by my middle name. I didn’t respond at first because I hadn’t put that name in any of the paperwork I had just completed, so they must have meant someone else. But she came back with my first name and explained that she picked the wrong name from the file – way to inspire confidence.

Then comes the regular screening – questions about how sad I am and whether I am suicidal and whether I have had any hallucinations. I always kind of wonder if living by myself makes me more susceptible to seeing things without realizing I’m seeing things. But I said no. I was then sent back to the waiting room.

Then I was called again by my middle name. I admit it is a lovely name, but seriously? This woman corrected herself right there so I went in and got to tell her my current story. She spent a lot of time typing in the notes, which made it hard to maintain eye contact. This makes it hard to spill your guts to a complete stranger.

This person also said I should seek some counseling or therapy to help with the medication. She printed out a list of people in my town that take my insurance. Unfortunately, she printed out a list of people in a town of the same name in Maryland rather than Virginia. I checked on Google and it is around 75 miles away from me, so that list isn’t helpful. She told me I could generate a similar list for my real town and sent me on my way.

This whole episode was just to get into the system. Now I that I am in the system (again) I can make an actual appointment with someone who could decide if medication needs to change. But it seemed unnecessarily complicated and fraught with some frustrating elements. I can only wonder what it might be like for others.