I saw the psychiatrist yesterday. She asked about an injury from a couple months ago- if it has healed and I said mostly and told her about the state of its healing. I was wanting soothing- hopefully in the form of it’s going to be ok or that’s not uncommon but even in the form of information would have been fine- like x is happening because y. I would like to know and I have no one else to ask. I don’t want to see my regular medical doctor if I don’t have to and I think he’s an idiot anyway. She pursed her lips and lightly shook her head at me then moved on to another topic. I feel judged by her when I was reaching out for help. I could have kept the whole thing from her and it was frightening to tell her the truth but I chose not to keep it to myself. I can’t figure out how to stop thinking about it. Every time I close my eyes I see her shaking her head at me, like she’s shaming me and telling me I’m hopeless. I’m very in control of my urges these days but just feel so hurt by her response. Before this appointment my therapist had asked me a couple times when I’m going to see her again and said that I need to tell her about a couple things and ask if there’s anything she can do. I didn’t ask directly about that stuff, just reported it. And didn’t get much of a response. I feel like she’s sick of me and I don’t understand because in most ways I’m getting much better. I liked her at first. I go to therapy 3 x’s a week but only see men and she’s a woman. I liked having a woman to talk to. She increased the dose of one med and said that if it doesn’t work we can try one another med but then she said if that doesn’t work then medicine can’t do anything for me. I felt like she was saying that she’s ready to give up on me. She’s made an exit plan. When I first saw her she said that I didn’t clearly fit in anywhere, diagnosis wise, but that’s ok because you’re you and we’ll figure out what we can do. It’s been less than 6 months but her attitude has changed. I guess because she’s gotten to know me a bit. It makes me feel like I hate myself. She was seeing me once every 4 weeks, now she’s only going to see me once every 6 weeks. Is that normal? I hate having people call me hopeless. I’m not hopeless. I’m improving a lot, getting a lot stronger. I don’t think I’m such a horrible person. I’m thankful for my therapist. He doesn’t judge me. I’ve only even seen him look disturbed once. And he says that even if I mess up it’s ok- it’s not a reflection of my overall health. When I told him about a past psychiatrist who said that unless I take a certain med I didn’t want to take, there was “nothing that can be done for people like me,” he said back sharply, “That person didn’t know what they were talking about. As long as a person is alive there’s hope.” I’m trying to hang on.