I sat there nervous. The psychiatrist’s office was cold. They had ambient noise that only made me more anxious. You know that white noise people think is rain? Yeah. That one. It frustrated me to sit there and wait. Finally, they called my name.

“So. This meeting is just so that you can fill me in and so that I can match you with one of our psychiatrists.” Says the therapist.

“…Ok…” I’m shivering. I’m equally as cold as I am scared.

“Now, tell me what’s going on.”

I told her about my family, you know, all that stuff you already read about before. I tell her about my sister who physically, mentally, and verbally abused me. She doesn’t ask much about it, no details needed, only if it still affected me currently. I don’t think it currently affects me, so I say no. Honestly, that sister is almost dead to me. I don’t talk to her unless I have to. If anything, we interact simply because we live in the same house.

“Tell me more, what else is bothering you?”

I want to tell her how ever since I was little I’ve had these dreams where I’d kill my family over and over again. Maybe the anger and hatred for them manifested like that. Maybe I really just wanted to scream at them and tell them all off. But I could never express it. My anger was hidden. I skipped over this little fact and kept talking. “I’ve just always felt depressed. I don’t remember a day where I ever felt good or happy.”

“Ok, I think I’m getting the picture a little more. Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”

Many. “Yeah, I have.”

“Have you ever had any attempts?”

“No attempts, just the urge.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yeah.” I tell her about how I feel empty and numb. How I have a hard time expressing myself because I can’t feel much. I tell her how sometimes the world seems like a TV show, where I’m looking at my life through a screen. Sometimes, things seem so foggy I can’t remember something I said a few seconds ago. It’s very frustrating.

“So, you’re disassociating with the world?”

“Yeah. I just don’t know how I get in that mindset to begin with, it just happens.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

Oh boy. Here comes the biggest of my problems. “I see and hear things.”

“Oh? What kind of things do you see?”

“I see bugs. They look like small, black spiders just crawling everywhere. Sometimes they’re on the floor, or on things, or on me. And sometimes there are so many of them I start getting anxious. When I get anxious more of them appear making me more anxious until I get an anxiety attack.”

“Ok, I see, so spiders?”

“They’re not exactly spiders, they resemble spiders. They’re black specks.”

“Mhm. And what do you hear?”

“I hear voices. Many of them. I hear them all arguing like if there’s a large crowd of people talking all at once.”

“Do they talk to you or about you?”

“No, I don’t think they talk about me. But the voices talk to me about my decisions and about the things I do and don’t like. For example, if I like the color of something, there will be a voice that says, ‘Ew! I don’t like that color! You’re stupid for liking that color.’ Other voices will come in and state their opinions about the color or the item. Other times I may like someone, but the voices won’t like them. It’s like they’re their own people.”

“Ok. I see. Is there anything else you can think of that is bothering you?”

I was surprised. After all that, she sort of just blew past it? That’s it? Was it because they don’t talk about me or tell me bad things? I felt like she didn’t really care.

“No, I don’t have anything else.”

“Alright, well, thank you for coming in. Come back in a week, you can set up the appointment up front.”

And so I did. When I came back, they still had a cold office with the same ambient noise. What did I expect, they wouldn’t miraculously change either of those things. This time, I met with the psychiatrist.

“Ok, so what’s the issue?”

What? What do you mean what’s the issue? I just went through a whole hour talking about my issues a week ago and now you want me to repeat myself? Ugh! I hated talking about myself. I don’t often do it and would like it to remain as such. It’s crazy that I’m even writing this story to begin with and now this lady wants me to spend another hour talking about myself. Ok, here goes. I repeated everything I said to the therapist to the psychiatrist. She apparently had been reading my file adding things to it, so it wasn’t a complete waste of an hour. This time, she asked me about obsessive-compulsive behavior.

“Do you have any obsessive-compulsive behavior I should know about?”

“Well, I don’t know if this counts but I check doorknobs constantly…to the point of missing multiple busses. I go home hours later because of that. I also tend to close bottle caps and water taps repeatedly to make sure they’re closed properly even though I already know they’re closed. I also have to organize everything perfectly in straight, neat rows.”

“Ok. So, you have major depression and you have psychosis. But you also have symptoms of obsessive-compulsive disorder. You also have generalized anxiety disorder. So, we’ll start you on this medication for the depression and anxiety as well as this one for your psychosis. If you have any symptoms, just let me know.”

That day I go home with new prescriptions, ready to face whatever was eating me alive. But things didn’t go so well. The medication she gave me made me throw up countless times. I waited a week, thinking it would go away, but nothing. When I went back, she said it wasn’t normal and quickly prescribed another medication for me. That medication, however, didn’t seem to be working. I waited as long as I could, but nothing. So, she decided to do a genetic testing. This test let her see which medication would work best with me. However, most medications wouldn’t work for me and had negative side-effects. In fact, she was so stuck that she said she had to make our appointment twice as long as soon as she saw my results. And so, we tried one more pill. This pill also didn’t work, and I gave up. I gave up because I didn’t want to keep feeling like a guinea pig. But I was quickly declining again.

Almost a year passes, and I can’t take it. I NEED help. Every day was about suicide. Every day was about wanting to overdose or kill myself somehow. It got to the point where I couldn’t take being at work. So, I went to a new psychiatrist. This psychiatrist was said to be very good at his job, so I was very hopeful. After another hour of talking about my problems he goes, “I’m sorry, I can’t help you here.” What? Again?! How could it be that my therapist can’t help me, the psychiatrist before couldn’t help me, and now this psychiatrist couldn’t help me? How? What was so wrong with me that none of these professionals could help me?!

“I think you need to go to Princeton House. It’s a program where you go multiple days a week to therapy. They teach you the necessary skills needed to function in your everyday life. They also have a psychiatrist there. But you’re going to have to go on disability if you want to go to this program.”

“I can’t, I have work. I can’t keep missing work because of my depression.”

“Listen. Do you want to get better?” He took a harsh tone towards me.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then you’re going to have to do this. You’re going to have to take time off from work to go to this program and get the help you need. I can’t help you in this office.”

“Ok. I understand. How is this going to work?”

“I will give you script saying that you need to stay out of work for an undetermined amount of time. I will also refer you to Princeton House. Make sure you go. They can help you fill out paperwork for disability.”

“Ok.” I was scared once again. I didn’t know what was ahead of me. I was very nervous.

“Your diagnosis is major depressive disorder with psychotic features and generalized anxiety disorder. I’m going to prescribe you this new medication, it should work for you.” He gives me a two-week supply.

“Thank you.” I walk out of the office feeling unsure of what’s to come. I felt so lost. How was I to make money to support myself? How could I pay my bills off now? How was I going to get to and from these appointments? So many questions popped up in my head.

Then, I went to the pharmacy to pick up my medication.

“Uhhh…do you have insurance?” Asks the pharmacist.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, it’s not going through. Your insurance isn’t going to cover this new medication.”

“Ok, I can pay for it out of pocket, how much will it be?”

“Uh, no. Trust me, you won’t be able to afford it.”

“Why? How much is it?”

“Over a thousand dollars.” My heart sank. How was I supposed to get my medicine now? In my twenties, I’ve faced difficult problems but never something like this. First, I’m left without a job because of my condition and now I can’t even afford my own medicine? What kind of game was this and why was I being played with? The stress I was now facing was insurmountable. But I made it all work somehow.