http://yesguygaming.com/tag/yooka-laylee/ I went to the GP today. Nothing serious, just a referral for a blood test as I suspect my pesky thyroid is rearing it’s ugly head again.
Lamictal buy online Between the the blood pressure check and that weird little light thing she stuck in my ear… I cried. Not snotty, sobbing, hiccuping crying, but there was definitely tears.
And it always happens. To the point where I am sure my medical record is littered with red flags and my GP probably thinks I’m a bit odd.
I’m happy. I love my life. And I actually do, not in the way people try to mask their true feelings with over enthusiastic assertions. I’m not sad generally, or depressed (I think?). Sure, I’m tired and bit stressed (I have two children under five, one of whom is a very bad sleeper, and I’m moving and renovating. If I wasn’t tired and stressed then there’d be a problem), but who isn’t?
As soon as she asks me how I’m doing I can feel the tears start to form. I try and blink them away “All fine. Just a bit tired, but that’s normal”. But I’m sure she can tell. Which makes her dig further and me more anxious. I keep talking (why are you still talking? Why are you bloody crying?!). “Just selling, and moving and renovating. But husbands doing most of it, I get to do the fun stuff!” She slides the box of Kleenex across the table and I’m done for.
“I’m fine honestly, I don’t even know why I’m crying”.
My GP is awesome. She’s thorough and gentle and the boys love her. She diagnosed my thyroid problems and put up with all of my new-mother-neuroses when Toby was born. She is attentive and and genuine and quick with a speculum (know what I’m sayin’, ladies). It’s not her (nor is it GP specific, my sons overly affectionate preschool teacher got me once too). It’s definitely me.
I’ve analyzed my behavior over the years (generally in the car as I berate myself the entire drive home: “You’re 33 years old, dammit. Hold yourself together!”). I’m not ill, I’m not afraid of a horrific diagnosis. I’m a good Mum, I’m not fearing judgement or bad news. So what is my problem?
I have a couple of pseudo psychological theories. .
Firstly, I think it’s partly due to someone really asking me how I am. Genuinely asking, not just as a conversation filler. And asking without judgement or comparison (“Tired? You think your tired?! I worked 50 hours last week and I ran a marathon. You don’t know what tired is!”). Makes me anxious.
Pathetically, I also think it’s the eye contact. The genuine, friendly face, holding my eyes. Sadly, I think this speaks about my own confidence, but the eye contact gets me everytime. Dammit.
And then I start to think: maybe I am unhappy. And maybe it’s so deep-seeded that I don’t even realize it. Nup.
It makes me feel silly, and ridiculous (and if I’m honest, a bit pathetic). That such a situation drives me to nervous tears. I’m an adult . I’m a strong, independent woman. I’m Beyoncé! But I’m still a slave to my confidence, hormones and anxieties, I guess.
Pass the Kleenex.