To someone with BPD, their psychiatrist, if they have the right one, is beyond white. They are next to god. (Incidentally, if you do not feel this way about your meds doctor, it’s time to go shopping for a new one.) I’m not sure why this is. I suspect it’s because they are the ones that dispense the magic little colorful pills that make someone with BPD feel better. (If they are on the right meds.)
Running into your psychiatrist in the real world, out side that office, can be earth shattering. Suddenly this god like being is a real person with a real life. They eat, drink, and sleep. They might even poop. Realizing all this can be devastating. It has been known to shatter the relationship.
I ran into my psychiatrist at work today. She was shopping at my grocery store with her husband. Instead of her usual business casual, she was in track pants, a steelers t-shirt, and a light jacket. She was buying her weekly groceries like a real person.
And it’s funny, if she hadn’t greeted me by name like she knew me, I never would have recognized her. Even then it took a solid minute of staring at her for it to click. Never mind I’ve been seeing her regularly for the past few years.
She told me she hesitated in saying hi. For all the reasons stated above.
But I gotta tell you, even hours later, I’m glad she did.
And I find comfort in knowing that I can handle my meds doctor being a regular person.