I met the psychologist. For the first time in forever, it felt so-so.
It was kind of good but did not make me feel okay either—that okay that I yearn for.
The meeting was supposed to be at 10 am but then she messaged me that she had some errands to handle, I got upset. It took effort for me to go out, my hands were trembling and the heart was erratic just before I went out. We made it at 1 pm. I wanted to cancel it, making some excuse but perhaps I should end the session nicely. And maybe I could ask a contact for psychiatrist.
I did not to see any psychiatrist because I’m not a nutcase. But I think that I need one since the symptoms were physical now, and they scared me. What if I would never find a way out? It has been months and I have been here all along, in short, I have got nothing to lose to seek for help. In truth, I am just a coward.
I filled a form, a simple bio, what kind of obstacles that I face, what kind of action that had been taken to handle them, and whether there was any progress so far. The woman seemed okay and very patient. I was anticipating that she would reach out to her smartphone instead of listening so I could shout some abuse to her. Alas, lucky me, it did not happen. She left the phone at the table as I put mine next to me without touching it during the session.
And no, I did not tell her the whole story. In the end I told her that the problems were layered like piece of onion, the mind palace, but I could not bear myself to tell the tale of woe twice. Should I cover it up to the psychiatrist then I would not tell her, I just could not. I would not let myself being killed twice, I mumbled inwardly.
She said that she would try to get me an appointment to a psychiatrist, perhaps next week. Since the new term would began shortly, I would be put as priority. Should the meeting was held during class hour then I would not mind to put it before anything.
Then, she asked me whether I would attend the class this time, it was recommended for me not spend the time by myself, it was encouraged for me to be among the crowd. I said, I don’t know. If the people inside did not ask much, did not pull the trigger, and if they were somebody I do not mind to get along with, I should be fine. So I would check the class on the first day first, and we will see.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I feel like if those people would come to look after me, I shall shout abuse to them so I could inflict my pain to them. I have been here, not moving anywhere, could not lift a finger, barely away, and they did nothing in the first place. And if birthday would even mean anything, only for one single day, they better be get a life. I shall appreciate the prayers, nonetheless, they are words in kindness and grace to God, I should not deny them. I do not think that I should explain of what I feel towards those people, I simply loathe them.
It was a mere negligent; one could barely put an alarm on when they absentmindedly had done so. But it was pain they caused unto me. And it was fair to share this pain, to inflict the pain. A false hope, a shallow promise. I want them to think hard and deep and until they find out about how they wrong me, I feel like to drag them down to hell.
Being neglectful is a sin. I knew that, I could feel that. Perhaps I had one that in the past so for now, I had to learn this. Yet, I had not been so, I am careful because I simply could tell how they feel from their face, change of expression; I want to help, I do not wish anyone to be torn in anguish, it is critical to me, my conscience just would not let me to.
But, why are you?
She suggested me to end every note and journal with positive words, something hopeful, something good. Because that what I yearn thus far, just to be okay.
Is this would be enough?
Allah will help me because he shall never leave. Never doubt that.