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?!!!!!!