Diagnosis code F32.2 E-Book

Dörthe Premer

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 112

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

PSYCHOPATHOLOGICAL REPORT Patient is awake, clear of consciousness, and fully oriented. Well-groomed appearance. Attention deficits. No mnestic deficits. Formal thinking narrowed to depressive content. Tearing off of thoughts. Utterances take on almost disjointed proportions. Brooding. Pushing thoughts. Fears of the future. No delusions. No hallucinations. No ego disorders. Perplexed in affect. Feeling of insensibility. Insufficiency experience. Ambivalence. Drive reduced. Psychomotor activity reduced. No self-injurious behavior. Expressions of weariness of life. Concrete suicidal ideation not ruled out. Not confidently dissociated from acute suicidality. No indication of extraneous danger

Leseprobe

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to everyone who has received the crappy diagnosis code F32.2. You will get out of this!

Even if you don't believe it. Hang in there and don't screw up!

To all loved ones: be patient and especially there for your loved one! Only with you, they will survive!

CONTENTS

PROLOG

FREE FALL

EASY LIFE

SLEEPING

THE END OF THE WORLD

RETRACTION

ORPHANAGE, WILL, STARVED

ATTRACTION

DELIVERY

DAY X, 12.12.2021

EXPLOSION

PARTIALLY ENCLOSED INSTITUTION

PILLS, PILLS, PILLS

THERAPIES

CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR'S EVE IN THE SLAMMER

THE WAY OUT

NEGLIGENT

MORE DOCTORS

STOP!

HEALING

THANK YOU

PROLOG

So there I sat. In my parents' living room, trapped in the deepest hole of my brain. A blank stare, deep in a crouch. Only the thought of these crappy nail scissors that I could just somehow ram into my forearms.

This small, silver, pointed piece would be enough to put an end to it all. I would just have to stick it in deep enough and draw a slit along my wrist. Preferably in the shower and then when my parents would come back from the walk with my little daughter, I just wouldn't be there anymore.

I couldn't take it anymore, I didn't want to...

FREE FALL

EASY LIFE

There was no reason at all to slip into depression. I had survived gokart crashes, competitive gymnastics injuries, the most violent surfing wipeouts, earthquakes, dengue fever, a dog attack, and home birth. That I would slide into a mental illness of all things and almost died from it was something I never thought was possible.

I had everything I wanted, even a little more than that. I had achieved all the goals I had subconsciously set for myself. My childhood wish of working for BMW at some point, and then in the design field as well, had been achieved.

I had my apartment in Munich, a great car and an easy single life, a great family, and lots of friends. And plenty of money to boot.

But somehow I had nevertheless been waiting since Monday for it to finally be the weekend again.

Work had kept me in the same place and with the same employer for a maximum of two years. I hardly had any real fun. But lunch at BMW and "Ritter Sport" chocolate in the afternoon was pretty good. The colleagues were also top. The work itself was not really "work". I was really just to get the time around so that I could finish work as quickly as possible.

At some point, surf fever had taken hold of me and the moment I realized how absurd the work I was actually "doing" all day was, my life had radically changed.

It was the moment when I was sitting in a fucked up jeep on Fuerte-ventura with surfboards on the roof and staring at the "Kombi" (display behind the steering wheel). There were only three different analog displays there: The tank level, the speed indicator, and the engine temperature. All three needles were at "0", despite the car being in motion. No one had complained.

The next day I was sitting in a meeting at BMW in Munich, again smartly dressed, and they were discussing whether the customer in the "station wagon" would notice that the digital display had been shifted two pixels to the right and offset with a slightly more vibrant green. "What the fuck!" Now enough was enough, I was calling it quits. At that moment, I just realized how pointless the job was (at least to me). Yes, the money drip was strong... But if I ever maxed out, I could always start again. Nevertheless, it took four months before I drew a line under BMW and handed in my notice.

Tears had flowed. The farewell was very difficult but beautiful and with many colleagues. There were some from whom I would not have thought that a reaction to my farewell email would come. Many with respect and maybe a little envy that I dared to take this step. Sure, I didn't have much to lose. No partner or children. Nevertheless, I still had an apartment in Munich that needed to be paid for.

I started working in a small surf café in Munich. Just for fun. I knew the owners from my childhood and all the work had me more connected to surfing. Although it was just about making coffee. Anyway, somehow it had been fun. Many "BMWers" came to visit every now and then to enjoy the best coffee in Munich while watching some surfing videos. But at some point came the point where even that was no longer fun. I was still not at the seaside but in a big city, only now with half the salary. The fun factor was dwindling. Besides, I had hardly seen anything of the world so far. The thought of quitting everything I had in life and just moving out without a plan grew...

Until the time I quit everything I had.

My apartment, my disability insurance, my cell phone insurance, all contracts. Everything except my cell phone contract and my health insurance. It felt pretty damn good.

Liberating, minimalist.

I have never been the person who owned a lot of items. Even the amount of clothes was manageable. So with the last few moving boxes, I moved back home with my parents and booked a one-way ticket to Sri Lanka.

The goal: Once around the world with the surfboard, without a plan. Long story short: I got stuck in Portugal. I met my fiancé there and we had a little daughter. I never wanted to be a mother and didn't expect to be one. My husband felt the same way. We were very similar in that way. But we decided to have the little worm and never doubted for a moment that we would bring her into the world. We were both passionate surfers, had traveled a lot, had many different employers, and eventually got stuck in the surf and tourism business.

In theory, everything seemed perfect.

We had a small apartment right behind the dune on Portugal's Silver Coast in Peniche, the "capital of waves", a perfect place to surf. The place where for the first time in my life I experienced the moment of having found something I really enjoyed. The moment of pure satisfaction.

That was in 2017 during my second surf vacation ever. Three years later, after many adventures (I like to report) I lived there with my husband and child. The birth took place in Germany and after barely four weeks we flew back to Portugal. I thought, you just drag such a child with you.

I thought until everything went down the drain.

SLEEPING

I have never been the best sleeper, let alone a person who needed a lot of sleep to get through the day fit. Five to six hours a night was enough and the day could come. I remember being at a kid's camp once as a kid and lying awake for nights on end. Everyone could sleep, except me. I lay awake until six o'clock in the morning, only to nod off for an hour and then get fit to face the day again. As a breastfeeding mother, that worked to my advantage.

I hardly had a problem having strength for the day after breastfeeding or diapering three times at night for an hour each time. Even before becoming a mother, I had slept incredibly badly. At night it had annoyed me when everyone lay there snoring and woke up super refreshed, but during the day I had mostly forgotten about it again.

When I could sleep, it had to be pitch black and as quiet as a mouse. Even the smallest stand-by light disturbed me. Unfortunately, we had only a small "hole" to sleep in our tiny apartment in Peniche. The owner had simply raised a wall between the living room and the "bedroom" with isolated glass light blocks offset so that some light came into the windowless room.

We had to unhinge the door because otherwise, the baby travel cot wouldn't have fit. My husband loved to watch TV until late at night, while I tried to go to sleep myself as soon as the little one had fallen asleep. After all, I knew I had to get back up every two hours to nurse. My light and sound sensitivity, especially when it came to sleep, was extremely challenged. Until I almost completely freaked out.

It had simply driven me up the wall to fight for the little sleep I had gotten. The irritability was also during the day always greater. My husband, who had given mostly forever long sessions surfing lessons out on the beach, and I, who sat as a housewife at home with a small baby. It wasn't what I had dreamed of. Surfing also came up way short. Sure, I was not fit (logical after birth). But I somehow tried to go out as well. I had dedicated myself to miles of beach walks instead of postpartum. I had laughed at everyone who had taken a postpartum course or who had spent ages in bed recovering. I didn't need that (my brain thought).

I walked up to twelve kilometers a day with the little one in the carrier. In between, now and then a break for breastfeeding and diapering.

Now and then a surf session where every "wipeout" meant pain in the pelvis.

And then there was Corona. A topic where opinions diverged drastically. I think most people have realized by now that it gets you at some point. That you don't necessarily have to die from it, too. At some point, it had also struck us. One weekend I was visiting my mother-in-law with my husband and the little one (about 100 km from home). In the morning I had already noticed that my whole body was broken and everything hurt. We actually just wanted to pick up our campervan and do a little cleaning. For myself, however, it was an ordeal. My lungs had already hurt the day before during the beach walk. In the evening we wanted to drive home again. My husband the van and me our car. The little one had been extremely stressed during the whole trip and I was just exhausted. I also had a fever in the meantime.

I was just glad that when we got home she just fell asleep. I just couldn't take it anymore. I fell right into bed and slept, just like she did. Normally I'm hardly ever sick and if I am, then for one or two days I'm weak and have a fever. I had the same thing at that time. My husband was fine for a few days and then it completely destroyed him.

I was fit again in the meantime. I was broken for two days, then I was fine again. I had also not made a test, because I honestly was not a supporter of the Coronatests and thought it all exaggerated.

My husband was at the time still somewhat different in opinion. When it really broke him down, he went directly for testing and was of course "positive". That meant quarantine for the entire family for 10 days. I was freaked out. Who was going to lock me up in a small apartment, healthy to boot? But the main joke was yet to come.

The Portuguese health office had called us up to four times a day to know how we were doing and to check our quarantine. I had finally had enough. Then another call came, in which they wanted to make it clear to my husband that I should still go for testing. In return, I was allowed to leave the apartment. Only the mail I was not allowed to bring in, let alone take out the garbage (understand the logic).

And the icing on the cake: My quarantine was to last five more days than my husband's. I received neither any letter nor any meaningful answer to the following questions:

1. Why is my quarantine longer than his?

2. Then what is a test for?

3. What if I am positive?

4. What if I am negative?

And so on. That was the end of everything for me. I took the test after all because I simply wanted to have peace and also not endanger the relationship. Ten days at home in a very small space behind the dunes in high season.

With a small baby, who then also became ill. And so the crash began.

From day to day we had made less. My sleep became worse and worse. I could hardly sleep and then at some point not at all. The quarantine was over for my husband and I had given him a choice. Either he would let me leave the apartment, or I would be committed because I was visibly going crazy.

So he had made us go out again (against the "official" rule). At first only to continue cleaning the van (secretly in front of our house). My sleep and energy were running out. I had become a zombie in the meantime.

THE END OF THE WORLD