I saw the psychiatrist again today for our follow up session. Today was my last appointment with behavioral health, at least for a while. Things have been a little busy for a while, what with seeing a psychologist and then a psychiatrist while still seeing the first psychologist.

Anyways, we met. The first thing I did, which I wasn’t sure of until it happened, was show her what I wrote after our last session. I’m glad I did it.

We talked some more. About how I felt, my experiences, everything. I can tell she had already made up her mind before I got there, but at least she’s better at therapy than the psychologist was.

She tells me that my symptoms share a lot of similarities with Attention Deficit (Hyperactive) Disorder, Anxiety Disorder and possibly Depression. A lot of similarities, but she’s not comfortable that my case is severe enough to warrant the “disorder” clause.

She mentions that medication would definitely help me, but she can’t prescribe it unless I fit a specific disorder.

I want to say I’m ok with that, but I’m not. Being told (multiple times, multiple sessons!) that there is a specific medication that would fix my symptoms, has negligible side effects and “would be beneficial to almost anyone”, and then being told you can’t have it, is frustrating.

My thoughts are a little scattered right now, but I’ll try and summarize what my impressions were during the session.

She tells me that because I enjoyed reading as a child – to the point where I ignored teachers and lectures because I had a book under my desk – I definitely do not have ADD.

She tells me that someone with ADD could never be hyper-attentive to anything, regardless of the subject matter.

She tells me that because I’ve never lost a job, or flunked out of High School, that any attention problem I have obviously isn’t affecting me that badly.

That last one basically sums up the message. If my life has not been ruined, I cannot have a disorder.

I say, “Fine. I’m glad I don’t have Disorder XYZ. I still have these symptoms, what can I do to fix it?”

The response? Try more therapy.

But medication would totally help. You just can’t have any.

—–

We talked more throughout the session. She’s actually a good therapist, but unfortunately isn’t allowed to book therapy-only sessions.

We talked about anxiety, and the depression I feel when there’s nothing on my calendar. When work isn’t available and I feel like a lazy bum, but can’t bring myself to get out of it.

Maybe reading as a child (and surfing the internet as an adult) is my way of escape. My “safe place.” I’m not sure what I’d be escaping from, though.

It was frustrating (again) being helped with all these problems on one hand, while being told it wasn’t severe enough to warrant more than “Talk to someone about it.” I know, I know. Not needing medication is good. I don’t want to be on meds. Especially anxiety or depression meds, which I would have to take every day.

But it still feels demeaning.

To top the entire thing off, at the end of the session she tells me she’s “required to issue a diagnosis.” It’s definitely not ADD, she says. Or anxiety. Or depression. But what will she write? She says she’s never been in this situation before, of not being able to diagnose someone with a problem.

How strange.

She says she was reading through the DSM-IV and has decided to pick “Adjustment Disorder.”

It’s definitely not something that applies to me, she says. But it’s a “minor disorder” that no one will think twice about.

Glad I’m good enough to qualify for that one.