Late in coming

I know this is kind of late in coming, but... I feel duped.

I never felt duped before. This is new.

I feel so tricked.  I've been looking at these pictures and realizing that EVERY TIME he came over here, EVERY TIME I drove out to meet him; EVERY TIME we went out, he was purposefully lying and manipulating me to get me to do what he wanted, to mislead me and trick me.

I feel so duped.

My New Therapist

is most definetly not working for me right now.

 I am so frustrated I am bawling in the car on the way home each time.

I went to a yoga class the other day (YES! Whole other post on that!), and as they made me relax in the class with all of that deep breathing crap, I was SO incredibly tense (which I didn't even really realize I was), I started CRYING in the CLASS. Not because I was overwhelmed with anxiety (which is the usual cause), but because I absolutely could NOT hold it in for one more second when she kept telling me to drop my shoulders, release my muscles and just LAY THERE.

Seriously could not handle it and lost my beans.

And what I kept thinking in the class was... this damn therapist is driving me crazy. She doesn't get me at all. In our first meeting she said to me, "I don't think you're depressed anymore! Look at you, you're laughing!"

WTFreak!?

Since when was that a qualifer for depression? And you're known me for an HOUR?!

Guess what she did in the second hour of knowing me?! She asked me.... cover your eyes conservative ladies...

She ASKED me, straight out and totally randomly, "So, do you masturbate?"

WHAT THE HELL?

I told her I went to the gym for the first time (and started crying) and she said, "Oh Emily, you're going to make me cry too!"

Hello, BOUNDARIES? I am your patient, not your friend! I'm sorry, but I think that is TOTALLY inappropriate for a mental health professional!

She also said to me on our last meeting, when we were discussing the length of my care for the future, and she said, "Well, you know this door is always open if you feel like you need it." And, "With my really depressed patients, we have an emergency plan and sign an agreement, and meet three times a week." Which to me says, you don't really need therapy, and I'm just entertaining you with this whole thing because you're needy or something.

Ok, not even in the beginning, when all I thought about was drinking nail polisher remover (don't ask me why, because even I don't know) and stabbing my legs with a screwdriver (or was it a pencil? Paige? Do you remember?), and driving into freeway overpasses, and looking up which of the pills they had perscribed me I could overdose on without vomitting and being in pain and agony while I waited to die for hours and hours... (the answer to that would be NONE that I could find, if you were wondering), OH, and driving into trees on the way up to the Reno airport, even in the midst of all THAT I was not even seeing someone ONCE a week at times! Until I found my last therapist, when I got a regular, once a week visit, until it occured to me that it would be okay to ask her to meet twice, and that's been my routine ever since.

I would have LOVED and probably really would have benefited from that level of care, but uh, no one told me that was an option! The best I got was a call from Kaiser making sure I hadn't killed myself if I didn't show up for a psychiatric appointment. (Which really impressed me at the time.)

I'm sorry if I am not open and forthcoming right off the bat. I don't know you, or trust you and obviously, I have MAJOR trust issues. MAJOR. Yeah, MAJOR.  Did you not hear my story?!

I sat in every one of my sessions with Jamie (last therapist) and bawled my eyes out. I'd cry on the way to therapy just thinking about what we would have to talk about! With this woman, I cry on the way out, totally wound up, super tense, and wanting to scream because we did not talk about what I wanted to talk about!

She twists everything back around to my childhood, she asks questions about things that are not in the direction I want to go.

For instance: I was telling her something about being affectionate with Matt, or how touch freaks me out now- something along those lines, and she asked, "Well were your parents really affectionate with you, or were you affectionate as a child?" And that started me off on this whole other tangent about my growing up, and how when I was 6 I was in love with my mother (as many 6 years old can be), and had to kiss her cheeks so many times on each side before I could fall asleep and the last words before I went to bed had to be "I love you" and how it drove my siblings crazy because it was so obnoxious and obsessive. (This may have only gone on a week or a month, I don't remember, i just remember them giving me crap for it and teasing me).

First of all, what does that have to do with anything? Why does that matter? If it does matter, why didn't you somehow lead the conversation into showing me how it related, because I was not seeing that. Second of all, she ended the session by referencing the whole "in love with my mother thing" (again, when I was IN KINDERGARTEN) by saying, "Well [chuckle] we are going to be working on THAT!"  Like there was something wrong with it! She was joking, but the joke she was expressing was that there was something really wrong with my behavior as a kindergartner and I was just so incredibly ridiculous to not recognize it.

Again, WTH?

She has also repeatedly asked me to bring in the magazines I've been published in. At first I was like, yeah, sure, will-do. But then I thought about it.... Why would I be bringing them in? Is this for me? Or for YOU? I don't want to waste my therapy time on looking over magazines with you! I can't afford to pay my bills right now and my time with you is practically a luxury- why would I be wasting this time which is supposed to be for bettering myself and helping me move on, with LOOKING AT BRIDAL MAGAZINES?

It makes me think of the first therapist I saw privately (outside of my insurance) after this happened, and she walked me to my car so she could see a picture of Matt I had in my backseat. She wanted to see what he looked like. My mom (who is an MFT) said, "Why does what he look like matter?"

And you know what, it DOESN'T. Just like the magazines. It DOESN'T matter. So why am I doing it?

She also yawns constantly throughout the whole session or is trying to cover it, which I try desperatly to ignore, but I think it's rude. Drink a cup of coffee if you're having that much of an issue staying awake at NOON.

She comments constantly on my tardiness (I am chronically 5 minutes late), which really makes me feel self-concious and frankly, upset, but I am DOING THE BEST I CAN. Making it here at all is a huge effort because I am, NEWSFLASH, depressed! I don't sleep, my eating patterns are erradic, I am afraid to out out places, the agoraphobia is still totally an issue, I have panic attacks on a regular basis, and if I'm not having them, it's because I'm not going anywhere!

So why haven't I dumped her and gone elsewhere?

Because finding a therapist is exhausting.
Because it took me 2 months after that horrible day in August to even find someone to begin with. Because I strongly feel I need to be "supervised" so that I am safe.
If I have a crisis, I honestly cannot guarantee what kind of thoughts I will have or the "plans" I will make.
Because calling people is exhausting and anxiety-provoking to me.

It is too much.

She has also offered to help me with some things no one else has, and I'm afraid if I seek help elsewhere, I won't get that assistance.  (SMH)

I read some portion of my blog for her the other day, and she asked me to show her "what a blog looked like" because she didn't know. I hesitated, but turned the computer around. She asked. I obeyed. It's just what I do at this point a lot of the time. I submit to authority because I'm freaked out. But now I'm freaked out she was just reading the address bar to find out the website for this blog! I don't want her reading this! That is WAY over the line!

I did email a therapist about EMDR, and she does it on a sliding scale, but she wanted my number so she could call me and that was just way too much.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

I am just frustrated, and obviously, really needed to vent. Maybe it will get better, or maybe I will get braver and move on from her to someone else. Or brave to speak up.

It also really bugs me everytime I cry in session she goes, "The tissues are right behind you."

Does my crying make you uncomfortable? Because that's what my mom told me to say to her, and I'm about to ask it.

Offering a tissue may seem a lame thing to get huffy about, but think about this: Therapy is supposed to be your "safe place" where you can say anything and express your emotions fully. Cry, scream, shout, laugh, whatever- without judgment. If I am in the middle of pouring my heart out, and sobbing, and you say, "The tissues are behind you," this communicates to me, Oh crap. I gotta clean myself up. I went too far. I wipe my tears and try to stop myself from letting it out.

But isn't that THE ENTIRE POINT OF THERAPY?!!!!!!

Word to the Wise...

Don't leave a plastic cookie sheet lid in your oven after turning it on.

It will permanently saran wrap all of your pans together, and melt EVERYWHERE.

I totally did this on purpose for your education. You're welcome.

I have to go back to scrubbing my oven now. Bye bye.

Mental Shift

I have noticed this shift lately where I am more and more comfortable with getting angry; with being angry.

I am realizing that this shift has to do with a transfer of fixation from him, to what he did. (Not sure this is totally coming out exactly how I feel about it, but I'm trying, so bear with me as I sort through it.)

Instead of focusing on him and who he was with me; a person who I could never, truly be angry with because I loved him so much, and he made me feel so good about myself. Instead I have found myself able to think more about his actions, what he did. What HE DID.  And I can get angry with that.

I can get angry at what he did to me. I've struggled with this separation of his identity, trying to fuse the man I knew with the man he was. I've been largely unsuccessful. But, if I go a different route and separate what he did with who he was, and think of them as separate things, separate entities...

The anger comes.

The saying, love the sinner, not the sin, comes to mind. I can love him and hate what he did. I can be angry at what he did, and still love the time we had together and how he made me feel, both in the relationship and about myself.

Even that paragraph is not entirely accurate because it sounds much more loving and forgiving than I actually am at this point.

I've spent something like $5,000 + on therapy since this happened. If he had plowed me down with his car, rather than inflict emotional damage, OF COURSE he would have been made to pay for that.

But because I carry my scars and wounds on the inside, it doesn't count. His liability doesn't matter in the same way to some people.

I disagree.

I am getting mad.

Panic Attacks

Despite the title of this post, and what I am about to tell you, I feel like I have been doing better. I feel more active, that I have the ability to be active. I just feel a little better. I feel a little more friendly. I even went and sat by the pool with a girl from the dog park today. How about that?! (Not in  swimsuit. I assure you, I wore way more clothes than necessary or appropriate for the circumstances.)

 That's good right?
Now to get into the nitty-gritty depressing stuff.

Last weekend I flew to DC for a wedding and a couple of engagement shoots. I was a little more organized than I have been in the past and wasn't hours late to the airport for once. As my friend said, I planned in time for me to freak out going through security. A lot of extra time.

(And drugs.)

Of course you hope you don't need it (the time, I know I need the anxiety medication), and I practiced breathing the whole time on the bus and on the walk in, and while I got my boarding pass.

In and out.

I wasn't calm by any means but was working really hard to control my anxiety and not think about Matt and his wife screaming obscenities inside my head and being afraid of someone hitting me or shooting me.

I was fairly calm (relatively speaking- not heaving with sobs) when I stepped into the body scanner, having taken my sweet time putting my stuff on the conveyor belt and stalling as long as possible. I did everything therapy has taught me to do- I focused on the tiny details, told myself I was safe, and tried to tune out the crazed screaming I always hear in my head in these moments of stress.

The thing scanned, I stepped out, breathed a sigh of slight relief and tried to run away. TSA stopped me. "I need to check your side."

I start to pant. I begin to heave out hysterical sobs. I can't talk.

She asks me if I am ok and I shake my head no and turn my head away. I can't look at her uniform. All I see is Him.

The full panic attack is setting in and I can't really control myself anymore. She is going to touch me and I can't stop her. Very calmly she says it's just probably the buttons on my sweater and tells me I am OK. She's just going to check my sweater. She asks me if I am ok again and I, hysterical, wildly shake my head no. I hold my sweater away from my body so she can touch my clothes instead of my body and she does it. She touches my sweater and doesn't touch my body and then says I can go.

I was so relieved she didn't touch me. I was so scared. Touch is painful. It is violating. Everything he did to me was wrong, and against my will, had I known. He tricked me into doing things based on false information. He wrapped his arms around me, hugged me, looked into my eyes and told me he loved me. And they were all lies. He told me I saw safe with him and I wasn't. He handcuffed me, he took me away against my will. He lied to my face, over and over. Be brought a gun into my home. He was a liar and he was evil. He made touch evil and violating and wrong. Because every time he touched me, hugged me, held my hand, he was being evil. He was. So how do I differentiate between safe touches and love and what he did, when I thought he was being so loving and caring with me, and he was really just hurting me, over and over?

I sobbed in the bathroom, per usual, cleaned myself up, and began the next anxiety- loading onto the plane and making sure I would not be forced into sitting next to a man. The flight there it was okay. The flights were mostly half empty and that means safety for me. Women are safe, empty seats are safe.

The trip was okay until the night before I came home. I drove around an hour looking for parking in downtown DC at 11:00pm at night after driving 5 hours and shooting a 6 hour wedding and was just exhausted. When I finally found a place to park- where I could only park 4 hours and was blocks from where I was staying (with thousands of dollars of equipment on me), I just lost it, and had a full out panic attack in the parking lot. I cried and cried for an hour. It was awful and I felt like I was never going to calm down.

But I did. I reached out to a couple friends for soothing and they helped me get checked back in.

I was up at 2:30am and out of the lot by 3am so I wouldn't get charged extra.

Getting to the airport was stressful, returning my rental car frustrating and I was really tired by the time I got through security ( best trip so far- they didn't touch me and I cried less than 10 minutes in the bathroom afterwards! Success!) and on the plane. I was SO blessed that the plane was really empty and I got the entire aisle all to myself on the first two legs of the trip home.

The last leg was not so good. I kept hearing mutterings that the plane was full, and although I breathed a sigh of relief when a woman sat in the aisle seat, I was so anxious about who would take that middle seat. The first flight I took after I found out the truth, I had a full on panic attack on the plane and spent an hour in the back of the plane, hysterical, being fed Dramamine and wine by the stewardess. I was passed out before I even realized I had drunk alcohol, I was so out of it and hysterical. The stewardess was just doing whatever she could to calm me down and relax me.

Just as the cabin door was about to close, a man stepped on to the plane, and before I could stop her, the woman on the aisle seat offered him our middle seat. I practically jumped out of my seat and sat so tense I was shaking. But we were pulling out and heading down the runway before I could even think of what I should do or say.. What do you say? It's a freaking full flight, I'm crying, shaking, scared to buckle my seatbelt be trapped next to this man, who is obviously a monster just based on his sex alone. He's going to press his body up against me this whole flight and who knows what else. WHAT DO I DO???

As we are speeding down the runway I debate with myself as to what I should do. Ultimately I buckle my seat belt, carefully tuck my sweatshirt in between our seats so he can't touch me, accidentally or otherwise. I took my Dramamine and my Xanax and was passed out cold before we hit cruising altitude. I woke up in a panic, again when we landed hours later.

When it was time to disembark, the guy stays in his seat while I squish myself against the window with all my bags willing for him to get up. Finally I ask him if he's getting up and he said he was just letting the other people off first, but HELLO, they are milling around, packing their bags, they are not in a hurry, and if you don't get OUT OF MY WAY, I am going to climb over the top of this seat and run screaming off the plane!

(Didn't actually say that, but I almost did, and if he had not gotten his butt in gear in the next 15 seconds, I seriously, would have climbed over the top of  the seat to get the freak away from him.

I was so glad to get home and away from all of these situations that are so scary for me now. Normal situations.. and yet, so scary. I really am not normal, and my reactions are not normal, and this is not me. I am controlled by my trauma.

So anyway, I feel like I'm doing so much better. LOL

But some days, I still just...

miss him.

http://youtu.be/bw7lRkLgRA0

Skip to the 1:00 minute mark. (Embedding was disabled on every copy I could find.)

Meet me on Monday May 1st

Questions:

1. Tomorrow I am _________
Going to finish this submissions disc for a wedding magazine in England that is going to publish my work and mail the darn thing. I also have therapy.



2. When is your birthday?
March 24th. I celebrated by 25th birthday for the... 5th time...? this year.

3. What are you currently excited about?
Going to sleep and maybe doing some crying. I feel tense. No, really, that seriously sounds great. I'm not kidding.

4. Do you have any secrets?
Are you KIDDING me? Do you read this blog?

...Okay, actually, yes I do...

I watched the documentry called "Vegucated" on Amazon a few weeks back and was totally and utterly horrified and traumatized. It was supposed to be a fun introduction to veganism, and I'm always up for learning even though I had no interest in going vegan. Well, I was so freaked out and impacted by the film that I stopped eating meat and dairy right then. I went to Whole Foods and got vegan junk and looked up blogs and receipes and tried it out. It was the cheese that was getting to me though... No meat is no big deal, but cheese is hard. But the image of the baby cow being dragged away from his sad, mooing mommy was pretty flippin' hard too. I went about a week and then had cheese on a salad with my mom. When I realized that she had given me chicken when she shared her salad with me, I cried I was so upset. I think it's been 4 weeks since initial exposure, and 3 weeks with no meat. I even got a brochure in the mail from PETA. I'm scaring myself.

I also decided I am totally getting a little milk goat and keeping it in my apartment. If I can hand feed the baby and know he is emotionally ok (OMG... what is WRONG with me?) by having a bottle (I wrote "bubba" three times instead of bottle...) then I can take his mommy's milk and make chevre and I could live with just chevre.

I've officially lost my mind.

Watch the documentry HERE online.

Or purchase it HERE on DVD.

It's really not as bad as it sounds. There were only 2 scenes that were not so good for Emily. The rest was educational, and I had no idea the amout of green house gases livestock put out. Weird.

5. What do you normally eat for lunch?
If we are going to be honest, I'm usually asleep.

Now I am apaprently going to be eating a lot of vegetables for lunch given big reveal in #4.




I am obsessed with hummus and sun chips. It's a problem.