Monthly Archives: May 2014

Detach(ing)

Weird.

After I wrote the last post, a feeling of calm has come over me. Usually, when I get suicidal, the calm can only be found once I have actually let some blood or a night has passed, whichever comes first.

But here I sit. Calm, relaxed, and while not happy, I am OK.

Maybe all of this stress and anxiety around therapy/DBT is not worth the feelings of self-loathing it brings .. or maybe I have finally hit my rock bottom. I’m not sure and I don’t really care one way or the other right at this moment – I made it through the day and I don’t currently hate me.

 

 

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Triggered

I had an appointment with the psychiatrist today.

gun-phone

I was hoping we could have some sort of discussion about meds – even antidepressants. I am barely functioning out there in the real world, yesterday I had to leave work early (after arriving late) … I am a ticking bomb waiting to go off and I was scared yesterday.

I have met with this psych a couple of times before and I had a good vibe from him. He did my initial pre-diagnosis and was supportive during that time.

So, I went to the appointment with some enthusiasm and hope that he might offer some words of wisdom regarding my DBT debacle and that meds could be discussed.

What a silly, silly girl I am.

Firstly, here in NSW, there is a protocol for having your case worker sit in on any psychiatric sessions. I have seen 3 shrinks over 5-6 sessions and every time my case worker has been there nodding away and taking notes. It’s intrusive and demeaning not to be considered worthy of the privacy offered regular people.

gun

Secondly … all the psych really wanted to do was to insist that DBT was going to be my cure-all irrespective of how I felt about or why I felt that way.

I have been upfront and honest about my alcohol consumption from the get-go and this morning it became incredibly obvious, yet again, that honesty is not the best policy where mental health is concerned. The whole session was about him lecturing me on drinking and telling me that if I didn’t do DBT, then really, there was nothing else t/he/y could do for me.

They both sat across from me in silence for much of the session and I felt judged. I felt worthless, I felt stupid and childish. I tried to explain that I am drinking because I am not able to deal with my emotions and he kept responding that drinking was going to become a very serious problem very soon and that DBT would ‘teach’ me to deal with the emotions. Although, he admitted that DBT takes time, a lot of time – and when I ask what I am meant to do in the meantime to be able to function/get to work … he looked at me like I was a petulant child. I could feel his distaste and impatience … I spent the whole session crying and feeling like I had been ambushed …

I walked out of there more triggered than I have been in months. Basically, he offered no medication, not even SSRI’s and he even mis-heard me when I used the word ‘intentions’ and thought I said ‘medications’ and jumped all over me.

I have never once asked for or discussed medication since I started going there in January and today was no exception. And yet, I was made to feel awful.

He had become yet another man looking at me with distaste, contempt, indifference … and so, I sat there, quietly pretending to listen to the ‘advice’ being shoved down my throat given and I completely split my psychiatrist. He stopped being a warm, friendly man (I can’t believe I ever fell for it) and became a self-involved, judgemental person who has no interest in my well-being at all.

Coming home is a bit fuzzy .. I remember crying the whole way on the train and I remember that creeping sense of inevitability that I was going to come home and try, for the 5th time, to finish this.

triggered

I climbed into bed and slept .. and drank and slept.

Now I am writing and drinking … writing and drinking … during my planning stage today, I yet again came up against the question of what to do with my darling dog. If I am not here to look after her .. what becomes of her? She is the only anchor I have and today it felt like a chain around my neck.

I am ashamed to admit it but I thought about killing her first so she wouldn’t be left at the mercy of strangers … but there is no way I could do that, not ever but death has become mixed up with release in my head.

It’s not Friday anymore … the day has become sentient; a dragon, and it hates me.


Why don’t you just ….

What is it with therapists

finger

that, after explaining self-sabotage and/or problems, they answer with something along the lines of “Why don’t you just pay the bill/apply for the house/stick at it and see how things pan out?” … etc ….

What don’t they get about the fact that I (we) KNOW what we should be doing, we understand what is necessary but, we are failing to do it – hence the therapy.

Out of the last 4/5 therapists I have spoken to over the previous 4 months or so, at least 3 of them have social work backgrounds – what is that about? Forgive me for saying so but wtf does social work have to do with therapy?

It is disheartening to have somebody offer ‘solutions’ to problems as though said solutions were otherwise unapparent … and/or to suggest that drinking too much is ‘bad’ for me – really? Because … uhm … thing is, there are meds that are better for me and which offer the same emotional relief but as nobody is going to prescribe these, that leaves me with alcohol and bad decisions.


Paging Dr Freud

Given that DBT is not working out for me at this time,

zizek

I touched base with the Sydney Institute of Psychoanalysis a few weeks back and got a call this morning for 2 initial sessions with a psychoanalyst.

I have no experience with psychoanalysis and I have limited experience with therapy in general.

I think I exhibit what the pros call “therapy resistant behaviour”, but in all honesty, therapists just usually manage to piss me off pretty damn quickly for a variety of reasons:

1: They can be so damn patronising – any therapist who listens and nods and then asks me “how I feel about that” is just asking to be repeatedly stabbed with a blunt spoon …

2: They can also be seriously invalidating. The few times I HAVE tried therapy, I have been told very early on that given ‘my circumstances’ I am coping/managing extremely well and I am obviously intelligent, resourceful .. blah .. blah .. blah .. as soon as they start with this schtick, I know it aint gonna work.

3: I yearn for a therapist like Tony Soprano’s Dr Melphi or, The Gabriel Byrne character from In Treatment … a T that will see into my soul and make insightful analyses (yes, I realise that this is unrealistic but .. just once, I would like a T to acknowledge that the fact that I can hold down a career – for a while – and am reasonably well-read – does not preclude the fact that the rest of my life is a series of spectacular messes).

I ALREADY have some doubts about the new therapist – I googled her and she has a degree in social work, not psychology … this raises a red flag immediately because my current hospital T is a social worker and she is lovely and all but she wants to spend time on practical, applicable stuff. So, it is be really important that I find new accommodation right now, and I know that. I know what I have to do, I am not an idiot, the problem is that I am completely shut down and just can’t push myself to do it … so, her giving me practical advice on the steps to take is just plain patronising … (see #1). I don’t need help with figuring out HOW to find a place to live, I need help with figuring out WHY I am unable to push myself to do it, or anything that is pressing, without my head imploding.

So, the fact that the new T is a social worker is a bit of a worry.

I have done some rudimentary (read googling) research on BPD and psychoanalysis and the results seem to be inconclusive … but, given the fact that my PD makes the most sense to me when considered through the lens of PSA, I am hopeful.

I am going in there with as much of an open mind as I can. I would really like to find a therapy that has impact.

To be continued …..


I got bitch slapped by the hospital and didn’t even get a fucking t-shirt

As I mentioned in an earlier post, DBT was not looking like a good fit for me right now. 

bitch-slap3

 

I haven’t been back to my group in a few weeks but my individual therapist has been calling and when I didn’t respond, things got amped up and I was getting a few calls a day from a variety of hospital staff so, I called back the other day and agreed to go in and see somebody today to check in.

One of the things I have made an effort to do this time with the psychiatrists and therapists I am involved with is to be honest – and this is easier said than done. If anyone reading this has had the experience of being sectioned then you will know what I mean – you learn, very quickly to avoid being honest AT ALL COSTS and to tell the resident psych whatever it is they s/he needs to hear in order to get your ass released … he holds the keys to freedom and your lies are the only way out the gate.

I also got frustrated and ultimately bored of being told I was ‘depressed’ .. uhm .. no shit Sherlock, I just tried to kill myself… but depression is not the whole story … depression is a culmination of everything coming to a head, yet again, that I am to blame for it all. It seems a fairly understandable response to me (albeit not a popular one).

The point being; I have never given therapy or therapists a proper chance because the couple of therapists I have seen – outside of emergency psych units – cannot seem to get past telling me how “normal’ I am, how “productive” or even “successful” … as soon as they go down this pathway, I shut down because they are obviously not listening to me and I just can’t be bothered … it is also incredibly invalidating to tell somebody that you have developed a drug addiction, destroyed your relationship, lost your job and are trying to resist the urge to simply pack up and move to Brazil and have them allude to what degrees you have or what jobs you have had. It becomes obvious that they don’t get it.

So, I went to the appointment today as I promised I would and while I was there, the case worker/person/thingie got all in my face about my drinking (I have been honest, as stated) and my mood/circumstances etc .. she wasn’t aggressive but she pushed .. and I broke down.

She then went to get the psych resident and asked him to section me .. god .. I hit panic stations .. I tried to remain calm as best I could and pleaded with them that my job depends upon me getting there, my dog needs me and if I lose her .. I lose everything.

So now I am on a short leash – they are going to call every day for the next 3 days, I have an appointment with the psych for a 2-hour session and they made an appointment for me to attend an induction with the drug and alcohol unit … I am feeling completely smothered and engulfed. I can’t simply not do any of these things as they know where I live and I have no doubts whatsoever that they will turn up here if I try to vanish.

I understand that they are only trying to do their jobs and I am not angry or upset with them, just at the situation and the feeling that I am being watched and judged.

btvs


I tried to socialise. It didn’t go so well.

liz-lemon

I went out with a group of people from work last night. 

I had been looking forward to this for a week or so, had my ticket and everything but when the time came to actually go, I really, REALLY didn’t want to – I just wanted to curl up with a good bottle of vodka and watch GoT.

But, I made myself go.

This particular group have become quite special to me; we have all started with our company in the last 6 months or less and most of us work the same late-night shifts and there is a nice sense of camaraderie between us … I am the oldest by quite a bit but, this doesn’t usually make a huge difference – (except for music talk, when they drift to music, I end up nodding and trying to look like I have a vague notion of a penguin fuck what they are on about when, not only have I no idea, I have no inclination to develop one).

The first part of the night was great, we were all excited to be out in a group together and to have time to drink and talk.

But as the night wore on, a couple of them began to really piss me off. They got loud and boring and talked over the top of everyone else (OK, me).

I actually experienced myself splitting people while they were sitting directly opposite me.

Up until a few months ago, I never even realised I did this – with every person I have walked away from, cut out of my life, stopped contacting or become bored with (and that is pretty much everybody EVER), it seemed … normal to be feeling that way – justified (last night seems justified as well).

I feel angry at myself for being so judge-y … annoyed at the behaviour of the people I have split … sad that I have lost them … and abandoned by their inability to be who I thought they were. Completely self-centred of me of course … seeing their behaviour in terms of how it made ME feel.

I kept trying all night to overlook how they were behaving or to change the dynamic that seemed to be causing it but the 2 people in question just would not, could not, tone it down.

And now, they are ridiculous to me. And there is no coming back from that.

 


(failing) Therapy

I was not, as it turns out, a good candidate for DBT. 

gollum

I think it was not so much the ideas or intent of DBT as much as the fact that my group was run by extremely young women, and attended by extremely young women – and this made me feel like an idiot for even being there (I would feel the same about it being run/attended by extremely young men, it was mostly the age, not the gender that was the issue) and as my individual therapist was also a women, I was freaking out about having so many paid nurturing females in my life all of a sudden (yeah, that part is gender specific).

They all kinda reminded me of other ‘nurturing’ females in my life who empathise (as much as they can) but who ultimately are trying to push me to act, decide, take control etc … like it’s somehow a choice I have, and all I have been missing is a cheer squad.

I am not in this place/space/position because I don’t understand what I need to do .. I know only too well what I SHOULD be doing – I just cannot .. and I mean this literally .. CANNOT physically face the things I should be doing. No amount of spelling my name out with enthusiasm is going to change that …. and the nodding and empathising becomes abhorrent to me in those times … they don’t get it and really, why would they? Why should they? Ever tried to explain to somebody that you feel like you are living in a cartoon or a film? Of  COURSE they don’t get it, no matter how well-intentioned their empathy … if they did, they to would be in lockdown in a batcave hoping that the world ends tonight so that they don’t have to face that failure of not making that important phone call tomorrow.

I ‘failed’ to attend my DBT last week and the psych team has been chasing me since … they are obviously good, caring (dare I say it … women) people and I am grateful (and guilty) that they took the time to check on me …

I just know that I am a waste of their time, money and resources.