I called my psych doc last week, asking when the hell will I go to the hospital. He said that he doesn't know, that he just sent the paperwork and now it depends when they have a free spot
I feel like calling the psych ward directly. Not that I'd scream Take me NAO but... I have this week to sort out my papers and stuff and then... I don't care. I know that it will cause problems and I would be worried but I don't care. I've said that the job is killing me. Powers that be said that, well, underlings are bullying me and it's wrong. I can't do anything about it, my people skills are zero - which is why this happened, first of all, because I wrongly assumed that people are generally playing fair.
And, no, if I talk about things that could/should be done to make the hotel work better, it doesn't necessarily mean that I want to see and organize it in person. I'm able to analyze shit this way without any implications and since I play fair, I'm still working here so I'm doing my feeble best.
Yet, I'm still worried that I won't be able to hold back and I'll throw objects or cry all the time. It's not practical for many reasons and, well, mom is here. She's unhappy that I'm apparently distressed but she refuses to believe how deep is the problem. In fact, both parental units think I'm fine, just a bit distressed, and that I should keep calm. Yesterday mom saw my bottle of clonazepam and asked what for and continued ranting in ominous tone that we both know what's this all about. I said To make me sleep, to which she replied Ah, so there's where your moodines comes from. I shrugged and concentrated on poking my kefir grains around, there is no point to explaining psych meds to someone who doesn't believe in them and in psychiatry in whole. The blog, for some reason, works in Pacific Daylight Time, but I live in GMT + 1, blog says it's 23:33 but it's 07:33 in here and I should go to bed. Add 8 hours to see that my last blog post was written around 3 am, and that was because I was so agitated that I couldn't sleep. That's where clonazepam and zolpidem come to help, and if I have 10 hours, then there's one nice old-school allergy med that actually makes me sleep. I'm not just a bit distressed and I can't overcome it by breathing deeply and concentrate on joys of life.
I should get up and do something, which, unfortunately, doesn't involve jumping on the first bus going anywhere.