I feel like I’m constantly having to hide my well of emotions. Like nothing I feel is appropriate. I’m bad.
It was yesterday afternoon, and a group of us were down at the patio for some sunshine. The doctors usually don’t bug us while we’re here because our time outside is valuable. But I’m walking big circles, listening to my audiobook, and I see him up ahead. I freeze. Stop the audiobook, only to realize he’s talking to another patient. Maybe he didn’t come down here for me. I prefer that we talk in a private area. It’s our custom.
He’s done with that patient, and then he flags me down. We sit off to ourselves in a corner of the patio, away from the other patients.
(From now on, he will be referred to as Dr. IP, as in “inpatient psychiatrist”) He starts by talking about the business. Going up on the clozapine, trying to take some of it in the morning, even though it will make me drowsy, etc.
I’m only paying half-attention, but I’m acutely watching his face for any sign of emotion. None. He seems a little hyped up. I look at his eyebrows since I can’t see through his mask. I am acutely watching the inner workings of myself, checking myself so no one knows how I feel. I have a stray thought—I wonder how his hands would feel on my body. I jerk myself back to attention.
He apologizes that we can’t spend more time together, and then Dr. IP leaves.
It took a while, but the anxiety caught up to me, and I realize that I felt like I just missed the guillotine.
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