So Monday was AWESOME! AMAZING! I went rock climbing, water skiing, went to Disneyland, and rode rollercoaster riders until I threw up! Really!
Okay, not so much.
Saturday, Matt received the Demand Letter.
Maybe I will consider showing it to you, but I don't know about that. I'm not even comfortable looking at that thing myself let alone waving it around willy-nilly on the internet. (Even if everything is blacked out.)
Saturday night, some guy presses his face against my bedroom window while I stand naked and screaming staring back at him.
Sunday I had a photo shoot. I didn't take the dog out to pee until after 4pm because I was afraid to leave the house. When I finally got on the freeway for the shoot, I drive not, 3 miles and lights and sirens in my rearview. I am composed for exactly 10 seconds before I flip out.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY! LET ME OVER! LET ME OVER! LET ME OVER YOU MOTHER BLEEPING BLEEPING BLEEPING BLEEPER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
(Obviously the vehicle in the next lane wouldn't let me over so I couldn't get away from the stupid CHP and I had a little meltdown.)
Ahem.
Then I sobbed. And sobbed. And so on and so forth. For about... 60 seconds. While I changed from Interstate 80 to 5 South. Then guess what?
LIGHTS AND SIRENS AGAIN.
"LEAVE ME ALONE! WHY WHY YOU LEAVE ME ALONE! IT'S NEVER GOING TO END! OMG IT'S NEVER GOING TO END! DIE! DIE! DIE!"
Second tiny little meltdown of the first 5 minutes of my drive.
It was great.
Then I went through all the things in my head that involve leaving my house and what am I going to do. Because clearly I am never leaving my house again. I am going back to being an agoraphobic and staying put. Yes. Genius.
I do the shoot, it's fine. I get foxtails and stickers all over my butt and legs and shoes and they hurt, so I break my diet for the first time in weeks and get an ice cream cone and a small fry and try to feel better.
I stay up until 5am making sure no one is coming back to my house to break in and begrudgingly allow the dog to poop 6 feet from the front door, an allowance he does not seem to appreciate, and he makes a second donation sometime after I fall asleep in the entry way. At least it was easy to clean up?
So, that's your back story. Now we are to Monday. The Day of Awesomeness. The Day of Fun. The Day I wanted to stab myself with teeny tiny little golf pencils for entertainment because THAT would have been MORE fun than what I did!
Like I said, I was up all night because I was afraid to sleep. Then I was too tired to go to kickboxing. (And too afraid to go anyway. Someone will probably either follow me from the house, OR break in while I'm gone and chop my cats into tiny little pieces.)
11:30am it's time to go to therapy. I hate this woman. She sucks.
I stall. I don't want to go. I am afraid to leave the house, and I am anxious. I don't want to listen to her cheerlead me about how I sent the Demand Letter. I need to talk about how deranged I am and how scared I am, but she sucks at that.
I finally leave at 11:50 or something and arrive about ten minutes late at 12:10pm and I did text her to let her know I was late. I dash out of the car and start to walk in when I see... to my horror....
There's a freaking MAN in the waiting room. What the heck? It's 10 after! All of the appointments should be in already!
As you know, I am afraid of men, I don't want to be touched, I don't want to be talked to, and I do NOT want you anywhere close to me. And this waiting room is tiny. Per usual, I stand outside. A minute passes, then 5. He's still there. I start to cry. I'm paying $35 an hour for therapy with this woman and I can't even go in because I'm being held hostage in the parking lot! This probably happens at least once out of our two sessions each week but usually whatever guy is in there is gone by 5 after. I've now been waiting 15 minutes in the hot parking lot, meaning we are 25 minutes PAST my appointment time. My hysteria over being late, wasting money, the big white trucks that are the same make and model as Matt's that have now passed by twice are getting to me, plus the proximity to this man- I am overwhelmed. I start crying. I am crying, and pacing and panting about one door down from the office and totally lost as to what to do.
I have turned my back on the door and I am standing there, trying to take deep breaths and calm down. Think rationally. Call the therapist? Text her? Ask for help? What do I do? Can I go in the waiting room? Can I ask her to ask him to leave? Breathe.
Then I feel someone TAP ME ON THE FREAKING SHOULDER.
"Oh, hi! (HUGE SMILE) Did you get here for your appointment early too? I like to be early, How are----"
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Seriously. I ran away screaming. The man from the waiting room came out to where I was trying to fight off a panic attack ONE BUILDING DOWN, SNUCK UP BEHIND ME (what is he? the quiet walker on Seinfeld?) TOUCHED ME, and then talks to me like he's FLIRTING with me?
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
I ran like a bat out of hell!
I screamed and ran and hid behind the building across the way and had a full out panic attack and
HAVE NEVER FELT MORE INSANE IN ALL MY LIFE.
Thank you very much.
Then I slid down the 1970's textured wall that had little rocks and pebbles set into it, scratching my back all up so it bled and sat on the sidewalk and cried like a homeless mental patient.
I am so awesome.
Don't you just want to set me up with your brother, friend, or cute neighbor? I am so cool and hip!
After I spent an additional 10-12 minutes crying/hyperventilating/coming off the panic attack, I sent a hysterical message to my therapist stating what happened and saying that IF I could get back to my car, I was leaving and going home.
I then peeped around the corner, saw no guy, made a run for it, unlocked the car while I ran, jumped in the car, and pealed out so bad that the tires SQUEALED. You know, like in the movies?
I think I drove over the curb trying to flee the Parking Lot of Horrors as well.
Stupid Incompetent Therapist (SIT) texted me to let her know when I got home. I sent her a MORE hysterical message saying I was NEVER going back to that place again and to cancel my appointment for tomorrow and that I was NO WAY IN HE** going back there because it was not safe, and what person in their right mind randomly approaches some woman outside of a psychiatric office in a parking lot? In 100 degree heat? Does this look like the time for The Bachelorette?
After that whacked out message, Miss SIT called me three times, which I did not answer. (Truthfully I could not hear the phone because 1.) It was on vibrate and 2.) I was heaving and sobbing too loudly and 3.) My car is kind of noisy.
When I got home I took a Xanax and a half and laid down and tried to go through my relaxation exercises that Jamie (previous therapist) taught me. I'm not very good at them, but I tried.
Then I got pissed off.
This thing with the guy in the waiting room (no idea if it's the same guy) happens EVERY week. I will arrive, and a man will be sitting in the waiting room. And I won't go in until he leaves. So I stand in the parking lot and wait until he gets called in for his appointment, and then I go in. So I am at least 5 to 10 minutes late EVERY SINGLE TIME even if I arrive on time. Or early. Because I won't go in if there is a man in there.
It has happened every week since I started seeing Miss SIT in April. It never happened with Jamie. It happened so often with SIT that she TOLD me she would be sitting in the office watching and waiting for whatever guy was out there (in the waiting room) to leave because she knew as soon as he did, I would magically appear.
Clearly, she was aware of the issue. I also had a panic attack leaving the office one day because a man was standing in the hallway on the way to the exit and I couldn't get past him without touching him. I started to cry and pant and she didn't do anything. The man saw what was happening and stepped into the administrative offices (he was a patient, looked like maybe for marriage counseling because a lady was there too) to get out of my way and I RAN past him, and then couldn't get out because another therapist was blocking the door!
SIT never addressed the incident at the time, or in our next meeting. We also never discussed or came up with a plan as to how to get me in the office when this happened or for how I could cope with these situations. Why was there not a contingency plan in place? Since she does the text thing, why couldn't I text her I was there and she come OUTSIDE and walk me in, so I could practice walking past the man? Or, teach me coping skills to learn to tolerate being in the waiting room? Why didn't we go out in the waiting room and practice being out there, since it's so uncomfortable?
With Jamie, I had big issues leaving the house, and I'd have panic attacks every time I did. The grocery store was a big problem and I wouldn't walk down an aisle if there was a man there. We went through these visualizations (that I hated) where I would picture the man, and then have to picture things to protect myself (she'd suggest a shield or sword or magic bubble, and I'd say, how about a snow jacket, and four pairs of pants and a shopping cart? I needed things to be real, albeit, impractical) We mentally boxed in scary men in stores with shelving units and locked them away behind security glass from the pharmacy department. We worked on breathing and distraction techniques and "You are safe." and all kinds of things.
Where was SIT in all of that? HUGE ISSUE, in the LOBBY of the THERAPY OFFICE, preventing me from GETTING IN TO MY APPOINTMENT? And we aren't TALKING ABOUT THAT?
Are you KIDDING ME?
I am pissed. I think this was inevitable. Of course this would happen! It was bound to! Not the exact scenario, but that something would happen and that I would freak out. And now what good did it do me? I'm NOT going back there, and I have no way to cope or deal with the situation should it come up again. Nice going, Stupid.
After the break at home and the Xanax I had my first physical therapy appointment for my knee, which I injured four+ years ago running, and basically have early osteoarthritis symptoms coupled with some runner's knee issues. I was late, went to the wrong building and got all wound up again, but I made it and I really like my PT and I let her touch me and do the session and it was OK. It helped that it was my lower body and not my chest or anything. That felt safer I guess.
Then I felt like I still needed to binge on something (I've been so good for so long, but yesterday was just... ARGH!) so I tried to get Cheetos at the Rite Aid across from the PT. NO CHEETOS IN THE ENTIRE STORE!!!! I couldn't believe it!
So I got Charlie a special squeaky toy he likes to play with at the park and had never been able to find anywhere to buy one of his own, and extra strength deodorant, because while at PT, I noticed I smelled rank. Perhaps from all the running and crying and squatting in alleys like a homeless person.
I stand in line for almost 10 minutes, it's my turn, I start to walk up, and a man darts in from the side and cuts in front of me and like 3 other people.
So I throw all my stuff on the floor (ok, in a basket) and stomp out.
ARGH!
And then I really fell off the sobriety wagon and bought hummus at Target on the way home. I just couldn't handle it anymore.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Why I went private and what I've been keeping from you.
Well.
I found an attorney back in March.
And she offered to help me.
And we're suing Matt.
Long pause.
The first step to that process is sending a demand letter to his home, asking him for the money first.
He had a certain number of days to respond, and if he doesn't respond, the attorney will file a lawsuit on my behalf and we go to court.
We are suing him for False Imprisonment, Battery, Violation of Civil Rights under Color of Authority, Fraud, Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress and Third Party Victim of Identity Theft.
I've had nightmares all week, and my anxiety is through the roof. I am terrified of what they will do to me when they found out what I have done. This is the right thing. If he plowed me down with a bus, no one would question me. In fact, he would have paid it long ago. The injury is no different. Because I carry my scars on the inside does not make them less important, or traumatic and the need to ensure he does not victimize another woman is just as important as any other crime. But no one is taking care of this. So I am. And Victim Witness is not paying for my thousands of dollars of therapy. So he's going to. Because it's the right thing. These are the choices HE made in HIS life. He chose them. You rob a bank, you go to jail. You live a double life, hold someone against their will (and a whole bunch of other stuff), and financially benefit from your fraud, you're going to have to pay them back. That's the law. Why his wife is with him, I have no idea. But I realized long ago that when she chose to stay with him she chose to suffer his consequences with him and that was her choice.
I didn't choose to have this happen to me. But I can choose to make it stop. And I can choose to hold him accountable.
Matt received the demand letter from the attorney yesterday at 2:22pm according to delivery confirmation. I don't know if that means he signed for it or if it was just left in his mailbox.
Between 12:30am and 1:00am or so, I was in the bathtub, trying to relax. Charlie started crying and running all over the house. Whimpering. From the front sliding class doors, digging and clawing at the glass, to running to the back of the house and crying and clawing at it back there.
I got out of the tub soaking wet and walked into my room where Charlie Brown was standing in my bed crying.
A face was pressed against the bottom corner of my bedroom window and I SCREAMED as hard and loud as I ever had. It disappeared from the glass and ran around the corner. I fell to the bottom of my bed shaking and crying and rocking myself into hysteria.
Then I couldn't decide if it really had just happened, because it's crazy, and he would have to be STUPID to come to my house, and if it wasn't him, how could so many insane things happen at my house in just a year? Then I sat there and thought I must be going insane, which seemed much more probable. Except I know what I saw. I was so afraid to leave the house I didn't take the dog outside to go potty the next day (today) until after 4:00pm.
He has to go again and I don't know what to do. It's dark out. I am afraid. I have a therapy appointment and a doctor's appointment and I don't know what to do. The agoraphobia feelings are just raging. I was thinking earlier maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I can't do this. Maybe I'm not up to it. But it's too late now.
And I would always regret it if I didn't do it.
I found an attorney back in March.
And she offered to help me.
And we're suing Matt.
Long pause.
The first step to that process is sending a demand letter to his home, asking him for the money first.
He had a certain number of days to respond, and if he doesn't respond, the attorney will file a lawsuit on my behalf and we go to court.
We are suing him for False Imprisonment, Battery, Violation of Civil Rights under Color of Authority, Fraud, Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress and Third Party Victim of Identity Theft.
I've had nightmares all week, and my anxiety is through the roof. I am terrified of what they will do to me when they found out what I have done. This is the right thing. If he plowed me down with a bus, no one would question me. In fact, he would have paid it long ago. The injury is no different. Because I carry my scars on the inside does not make them less important, or traumatic and the need to ensure he does not victimize another woman is just as important as any other crime. But no one is taking care of this. So I am. And Victim Witness is not paying for my thousands of dollars of therapy. So he's going to. Because it's the right thing. These are the choices HE made in HIS life. He chose them. You rob a bank, you go to jail. You live a double life, hold someone against their will (and a whole bunch of other stuff), and financially benefit from your fraud, you're going to have to pay them back. That's the law. Why his wife is with him, I have no idea. But I realized long ago that when she chose to stay with him she chose to suffer his consequences with him and that was her choice.
I didn't choose to have this happen to me. But I can choose to make it stop. And I can choose to hold him accountable.
Matt received the demand letter from the attorney yesterday at 2:22pm according to delivery confirmation. I don't know if that means he signed for it or if it was just left in his mailbox.
Between 12:30am and 1:00am or so, I was in the bathtub, trying to relax. Charlie started crying and running all over the house. Whimpering. From the front sliding class doors, digging and clawing at the glass, to running to the back of the house and crying and clawing at it back there.
I got out of the tub soaking wet and walked into my room where Charlie Brown was standing in my bed crying.
A face was pressed against the bottom corner of my bedroom window and I SCREAMED as hard and loud as I ever had. It disappeared from the glass and ran around the corner. I fell to the bottom of my bed shaking and crying and rocking myself into hysteria.
Then I couldn't decide if it really had just happened, because it's crazy, and he would have to be STUPID to come to my house, and if it wasn't him, how could so many insane things happen at my house in just a year? Then I sat there and thought I must be going insane, which seemed much more probable. Except I know what I saw. I was so afraid to leave the house I didn't take the dog outside to go potty the next day (today) until after 4:00pm.
He has to go again and I don't know what to do. It's dark out. I am afraid. I have a therapy appointment and a doctor's appointment and I don't know what to do. The agoraphobia feelings are just raging. I was thinking earlier maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I can't do this. Maybe I'm not up to it. But it's too late now.
And I would always regret it if I didn't do it.
Friday, June 08, 2012
It was supposed to be a joke...
I finally got my sister and my mother's birthday (and my mom's Mother's Day) gifts out in the mail earlier this week, and I heard from both of them today that they received them. I sent them both cheese from our favorite cheese factory where I grew up in the bay area. My mom also got a special button up jacket with ruffles on it that she had admired me wearing a year ago, and I had been scouring Nordstrom Rack for ever since to find her her own. (That was for Mother's Day).
My mom called me as soon as she opened it and because she loved it so much. She said it was probably her most favorite piece of clothing she had ever received as a gift (I almost believe her- she wanted my jacket, and then described exactly what she liked about mine, and I took that as a mental list when I went to find her her own, in a color she'd like better). It is light gray, jersey knit, empire waisted with two buttons at the top and tiny little ruffles around the seams, made by Tulle, which is one of my favorite brands for coats. Nordstrom Rack is the best place to buy those!
Anyway, I was apologizing for once again being late (she got her Christmas gift in April, and her birthday was June 4th, my sister's May 28th), and wondering why I was so bad at this, and she said never mind, she "knew me" by now that I was the disorganized child. Then we reminisced about some things that had happened to me in the past- me texting my parents from Eurpe saying I'd cut my foot open and my dad calmly giving advice and my mom flipping out, and me getting lost for hours in the Paris suburbs, and my car always being a mess, and my room always a mess, and always losing homework, and, and and... On and on, my mom said if her life was always that chaotic that she just couldn't handle it! I said, well, neither can I, I'm medicated! And we laughed! (Because obviously, I am medicated because of Matt and the PTSD, but it was funny).
But that led the conversation around to something else...
Read this:
The six symptoms must…
I just don't even know what to think. I know when I was about 3rd grade my teacher thought something was wrong with me and sent me off for testing, and then my mom sent me to a psychologist. My mom wondered if I was ADD, but no one diagnosed me with anything and I went on my merry way. I only ever excelled in subjects I liked and that was true through college. I had to work really hard at those subjects to just pass, and not at all at subjects I liked. I procrastinate at everything, and keep track of everything in my head, with mixed success. I forget to do things, and client deadlines sometimes slip away from me unless I finish them really early- or if I mostly finish them early then I'll forget there's anything left to do. Then this:
"People suffering from ADD often feel unfairly nagged by those around them and sometimes become defensive, even defiant, when confronted with their performance problems."
ALWAYS!
You bring up something ONCE that I know I need to do and I feel exasperated. You bring it up twice and I want to scream. Or is that just me, nagging myself? Maybe that's normal?
Affected individuals have serious problems in one or more of the following areas:
* screening out distractions and keeping focused while talking, working, or playing
* starting and completing tasks
* remembering tasks, events, and plans
* organizing information and belongings
* being on time
* keeping priorities in order
* focusing on important tasks rather than low priority but interesting ones
* fulfilling their obligations on time
And yet the thought of being ADD... as I stood in the shower tonight, I felt like my IQ lowered about 10 points. (All the kids in elementary school who had ADD couldn't spell, got bad grades and misbehaved constantly. It has a negative connotation for me. [No offense to anyone who is, or has a child who is, I'm just repeating my rush of upset thoughts here. I don't really think you or your child are less intelligent if they have ADD- that's stupid.] And adults who say they have it, I don't know if they are using it as an expression of speech, or if they are talking clinically diagnosed.)
Then I wanted to cry. How come my three siblings have perfect eyesight, pretty successful lives (ok, one sibling took a serious detour on the substance abuse train, but anyway), are not depressed, do not see therapists, are in successful relationships (at least *they* think they are), don't have anxiety disorders, and certainly don't have ADD??? What is wrong with me? Why am I the broken one?
Am I becoming a hypochondriac now? Because I'm starting to feel like one! Except... the symptoms fit!
Please don't tell anyone... I'm embarrassed... I don't want to be ADD! I liked it better when I was just a slob and hoarder and a procrastinator and disorganized!
(smack head on desk)
Maybe this is why I always liked the idea of having a boss instead of working for myself... At home, I have to set limits, guidelines and boundaries and it makes all of these things WORSE. If I'm in a controlled environment where I get watched, I do better.... Maybe. But the whole time I was talking to my mom I kept thinking about when I worked for that tax firm and had to re-do these 1099 forms about at least half a dozen times because I kept rushing through it and not paying attention and there were literally DOZENS of stupid little mistakes... had the same issue with math class... Whole problem would be wrong from carelessness... I can still remember the teacher or my dad using that exact word...
Seriously?
I'm also a tad sensitive at the moment. I ran out of my anxiety medication, re-started it, and restarted it at too high of a dose and basically gave myself a HUGE depression relapse for two days, including constant panic attacks. It was really bad. Please read your pill bottles... Good lord.... :(
My mom called me as soon as she opened it and because she loved it so much. She said it was probably her most favorite piece of clothing she had ever received as a gift (I almost believe her- she wanted my jacket, and then described exactly what she liked about mine, and I took that as a mental list when I went to find her her own, in a color she'd like better). It is light gray, jersey knit, empire waisted with two buttons at the top and tiny little ruffles around the seams, made by Tulle, which is one of my favorite brands for coats. Nordstrom Rack is the best place to buy those!
Anyway, I was apologizing for once again being late (she got her Christmas gift in April, and her birthday was June 4th, my sister's May 28th), and wondering why I was so bad at this, and she said never mind, she "knew me" by now that I was the disorganized child. Then we reminisced about some things that had happened to me in the past- me texting my parents from Eurpe saying I'd cut my foot open and my dad calmly giving advice and my mom flipping out, and me getting lost for hours in the Paris suburbs, and my car always being a mess, and my room always a mess, and always losing homework, and, and and... On and on, my mom said if her life was always that chaotic that she just couldn't handle it! I said, well, neither can I, I'm medicated! And we laughed! (Because obviously, I am medicated because of Matt and the PTSD, but it was funny).
But that led the conversation around to something else...
Read this:
- fails to give close attention to details or makes careless mistakes
- has difficulty keeping up attention on tasks
- does not seem to listen when spoken to directly
- doesn’t follow through or fails to finish tasks
- has difficulty organizing tasks
- doesn’t do well with tasks that require sustained mental effort
- loses things
- is easily distracted
- is forgetful
The six symptoms must…
- be present often
- have been present for at least six months
- cause significant problems in functioning
I just don't even know what to think. I know when I was about 3rd grade my teacher thought something was wrong with me and sent me off for testing, and then my mom sent me to a psychologist. My mom wondered if I was ADD, but no one diagnosed me with anything and I went on my merry way. I only ever excelled in subjects I liked and that was true through college. I had to work really hard at those subjects to just pass, and not at all at subjects I liked. I procrastinate at everything, and keep track of everything in my head, with mixed success. I forget to do things, and client deadlines sometimes slip away from me unless I finish them really early- or if I mostly finish them early then I'll forget there's anything left to do. Then this:
"People suffering from ADD often feel unfairly nagged by those around them and sometimes become defensive, even defiant, when confronted with their performance problems."
ALWAYS!
You bring up something ONCE that I know I need to do and I feel exasperated. You bring it up twice and I want to scream. Or is that just me, nagging myself? Maybe that's normal?
Affected individuals have serious problems in one or more of the following areas:
* screening out distractions and keeping focused while talking, working, or playing
* starting and completing tasks
* remembering tasks, events, and plans
* organizing information and belongings
* being on time
* keeping priorities in order
* focusing on important tasks rather than low priority but interesting ones
* fulfilling their obligations on time
And yet the thought of being ADD... as I stood in the shower tonight, I felt like my IQ lowered about 10 points. (All the kids in elementary school who had ADD couldn't spell, got bad grades and misbehaved constantly. It has a negative connotation for me. [No offense to anyone who is, or has a child who is, I'm just repeating my rush of upset thoughts here. I don't really think you or your child are less intelligent if they have ADD- that's stupid.] And adults who say they have it, I don't know if they are using it as an expression of speech, or if they are talking clinically diagnosed.)
Then I wanted to cry. How come my three siblings have perfect eyesight, pretty successful lives (ok, one sibling took a serious detour on the substance abuse train, but anyway), are not depressed, do not see therapists, are in successful relationships (at least *they* think they are), don't have anxiety disorders, and certainly don't have ADD??? What is wrong with me? Why am I the broken one?
Am I becoming a hypochondriac now? Because I'm starting to feel like one! Except... the symptoms fit!
Please don't tell anyone... I'm embarrassed... I don't want to be ADD! I liked it better when I was just a slob and hoarder and a procrastinator and disorganized!
(smack head on desk)
Maybe this is why I always liked the idea of having a boss instead of working for myself... At home, I have to set limits, guidelines and boundaries and it makes all of these things WORSE. If I'm in a controlled environment where I get watched, I do better.... Maybe. But the whole time I was talking to my mom I kept thinking about when I worked for that tax firm and had to re-do these 1099 forms about at least half a dozen times because I kept rushing through it and not paying attention and there were literally DOZENS of stupid little mistakes... had the same issue with math class... Whole problem would be wrong from carelessness... I can still remember the teacher or my dad using that exact word...
Seriously?
I'm also a tad sensitive at the moment. I ran out of my anxiety medication, re-started it, and restarted it at too high of a dose and basically gave myself a HUGE depression relapse for two days, including constant panic attacks. It was really bad. Please read your pill bottles... Good lord.... :(
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
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?!!!!!!
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?!!!!!!
Friday, May 18, 2012
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.
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.
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