A checkup in which I come out to my psychiatrist 

So I went for my routine checkup at the hospital today.

I related to my doctor how I felt really sad last week for a period of 3 days leading up to my menses and how it’s been coming only once every two or three months.

After discussing if it’s the effect of the psychiatric medication that I’m taking and ordering a blood test to find out, we got down to serious business.

She was concerned if I’d hurt myself the next time an episode like that happens and asked if I felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel during the crying spell.

I replied saying that it’s hard for me to say because I’m fine now but when I was in it, I felt really sad and perhaps during that time I felt hopeless about the situation but maybe not life in general?

We went on a bit about how I might deal with that in the future and I told her that talking with my friends helped.

I casually mentioned that I didn’t know how I might deal with it in the future, it depends on the precipitating event, i.e. the trigger, but I had encountered this in the past and thought I ought to discuss this with her.

It felt a bit unwieldy to keep mentioning “the precipitating event” so I said I might as well tell her what it was this time round.

“I felt a profound sense of rejection by the church for being gay,” was the sentence I managed to coherently form.

“And you are still sad, aren’t you?” the good doctor observed, giving me a concerned look.

“Well yeah. I guess. A little,” I volunteered.

We went on to discuss about the conservative church, how an orientation isn’t sinful, and a couple more things.

I also shared how it was a series of micro-aggressions during sermons preached, that when accumulated over time led to this.

She was really understanding and offered some helpful advice.

She mentioned that it is during periods of depression that people most need to reach out to others. Connectivity is what keep folks alive. Because often people who eventually kill themselves are disconnected from people and feel like their loss does not matter to anyone.

That’s a piece of advice I took to heart.

Indeed, during my third day of crying at random, a friend tried to comfort me after I told her the reason for my melancholy. And I did feel slightly better.

I wouldn’t recommend coming out to any old psychiatrist, there may be some homophobic ones out there, but as for me, after getting to know mine for some time, I felt like she would understand and thus took the chance.

I left her office and she said she hoped she didn’t make me feel worse, I reassured her saying that I felt mostly the same. Then went on to pay and do a blood test for my prolactin levels (to see if Deanxit (one of my meds) is the cause).

All in all I’d say that it’s been a satisfying visit to the doctor and I thank God for being assigned such a compassionate one.

Till next time, goodbye!


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