Bad Dream & 4th of July

I had a dream the other night about my former therapist, the one who dumped me back in 2013. It wasn’t a nightmare in that I was running from something in the dark, or anything like that. But it was a bad dream because it had her in it and it reminded me of all those feelings of rejection and abandonment. I’ve been thinking about her a lot since and it’s bumming me out.

I had therapy on Wednesday and cried about former therapist and the dream. It hasn’t stung like this in a while. It’s still the discrepancy, the idea that we’re expected to reveal all, to become completely vulnerable, to depend, to defer, to therapists and psychiatrists, yet when we are dependent we’re chastised for giving away our power, for not taking responsibility, for not being grown-ups.

I thought I had done exactly what I was supposed to do. I wasn’t the perfect client in the sense that I never bothered my therapist with anything, I was the perfect client because I gave away my power, because I learned and was trained to defer to her, to attach myself to her, to depend on her. But that’s exhausting for her and painful for me, so she couldn’t carry me anymore. She shucked me off like I was no thing.

I don’t have any friends and haven’t made any friends in years and years. I don’t know how to let people in or do the everyday chit chat without being too heavy. I either overshare or don’t share at all. Even in my oversharing, I’m not vulnerable to you. It’s an act, a behavior that I’ve learned, nothing that actually connects me to another person in a real way.

My kids will be out of the house (if they actually move out at 18) in about five years. I know it’s a long ways away, but in some ways it’s right around the corner, and suddenly I started having all these thoughts about what I was going to do. I need a plan, because an empty nest could upend me. So I have five years to get my career together and make some friends.

I think if I have goals and I make plans, that I won’t feel so lost.

It’s the 4th tomorrow and I’m not sure I’m going to do anything because I can’t imagine being around crowds right now. I like these posts I’m seeing where veterans put up signs to be courteous about the use of fireworks. I wish I could carry around a sign that says “Don’t touch me, I’m a Rape Survivor,” “Don’t Startle Me, I have PTSD,” “Don’t Be An Asshole, because I’m Sensitive,” or “Be My Friend, because the majority of my social interaction is with my kids or with mental health professionals and one day soon my kids will move out of the house and I hope to not always have to see a therapist or be on meds and I’d like to hang out with someone other than my cats.”

Therapist No-Show

I had decided to see a therapist again a few weeks ago. I saw one, she was terrible. She did not have any respect for my boundaries and asked me the most bizarre questions. I saw her once and never again. I had already emailed this other therapist a few days prior, she called me the night of this horrible appointment and I was emotional. I cried and it was nice to have someone call me at 7pm who wanted to listen to me cry a bit. What can I say, I’m lonely.

I saw this “new” therapist, Marge, we’ll call her, for a first appt a week and a half ago. After the appt we decided to schedule another. I thought she was a little cooky but nice. I said Mondays and Tuesdays work best for me, got out my phone. She got on her laptop and said some times for Monday, today, March 2nd. We decided on 10:30, which I put directly into my phone.

I got to the office at 10:25. The hallway was dark, there was no chair left out in the hallway, her office door was closed and no lights on in the office. I waited until 10:42 and then left. I called and left a message and then when I got to a computer I sent her an email. I wanted to assure her that I had been there, so said some details. I didn’t want to be accused of no-showing myself. I’m a bit paranoid with these people! She called and left a message. I didn’t want to answer. She said she was sorry but she didn’t have me down for today. She responded to my email, again apologizing, and said she wasn’t sure why I wasn’t in the calendar. She clearly wants to talk with me and work this out.

But I don’t wanna.

Yes, it could have been my mistake. That is possible. Yes, therapists are people and people make mistakes. But you know what, I don’t give a shit. I don’t believe it was my error. I believe it was hers. I don’t know her well enough to give her the benefit of a doubt. And with what I’ve been through with these professionals this past year and a half, I have so little faith in these people that I’m not too surprised.

A part of me has been trying to find a way to look at this whole issue as if it’s a sign that I don’t need a therapist. I don’t need this system for help. A part of me absolutely believes that is a possibility. I need to look elsewhere and this is an opportunity for me to go elsewhere, expand, grow, and whatnot. But where?

I’m trying really hard to not be too down, to let this roll off my back. I’m still unemployed. I have four interviews this week, so hopefully one of those will result in an offer. My ex-husband got laid off last week too though. I rely on him for child support. If I’m not working, he can float all of us. If he’s not working, I cannot float all of us, even if I were unemployed. It’s the nature of me being a social worker, and on disability, and him being a Tech guy.

It was funny, driving to my appt this morning I was dreading it. I wished I had cancelled last week. I’ve been burned so many times that I had the attitude going into this appt of “prove me wrong, miss therapist lady.” Instead, I was proved right. Yay, I was right.

I didn’t want to be right.

Another funny thing that’s been going through my head is all this psychobabble bullshit. That I had sabotaged my appt by showing up on the wrong day. Or perhaps, miss therapist lady had reacted to what I was telling her non-verbally, so she didn’t show up but it was only because I had sent her messages of rejection. So I had asked for this rejection!

And yeah yeah yeah, I get it. This doesn’t have to mean anything. It was human error, but surprisingly, human error, miscommunication, thoughtlessness, confusion, all are very personal, and all have impacts on our relationships whether we wish they did or not, whether we can logically convince ourselves it shouldn’t matter or not. It does matter. And perhaps spiritually or emotionally or something else, it does mean something to me.

Therapist-loathing and Dread

In my moments of weakness and frustration of late, I called a counseling center to see if I can find a therapist to talk to. I’m a little angry with myself about it. I don’t have any trust, hope, or faith that a therapist can do much for me, which I guess technically I’m supposed to be focusing on doing for myself. I got lonely.

I’ve been feeling even more isolated than I have in the past. I have few people to speak to on the phone, text, or email, and even fewer to actually meet in person and have a conversation. Yes, I am feeling a bit sorry for myself. It’s the typical desire to have friends with the aversion of social contact that results in me spending most time by myself and talking to 1) my kids, 2) my cats, 3) my self.

I’m trying to look at it as a little social boost. Maybe speaking to this therapist for a session or two will fill up my social needs enough to get me through another year of isolation and friendlessness. I don’t need much social contact, or maybe I’ve gotten used to having so little.

The reverends in church this week talked about abundance, that we have so much in our lives, and that scarcity is a perspective, not necessarily reality. They didn’t quite say it like that, but that’s my interpretation. Despite everything I’ve gone through, I can’t complain. I don’t think that I am complaining, too much anyway. Just enough, perhaps.

Last week when I called this counseling center, I was looking forward to having someone to talk to, or talk at, as it usually goes. As it gets closer to when they’re supposed to call me back to schedule an appointment, I’m feeling this dread and loathing. I can remember the acute pain of my former therapist’s abandonment, rejection, and termination of me a year and a half ago. All the pain that caused me, the doubt, the grief, the confusion, the anger, the blame and the guilt- it’s all surfacing.

I trust Judith, my former therapist. I trusted her so much and gave so much of myself in that relationship. I am grateful for all that I learned this past year, as a consequence of her termination of me. If it hadn’t been for that I never would have researched the anti-psychiatry movement, Thomas Szasz, certification and license boards, the ethics of psychotherapy, and informed consent. I’m happy to know more than I did, but it is not without pain and disillusionment. I was tricked. There is no such thing as informed consent in psychotherapy, because the very person you’re relying on for information is the one who has the most incentive to trick you. Therapist’s certainly can’t say for sure what therapy will end up being. There are no guarantees. Regardless of how idealistic they might be or how well-intention-ed, therapists cannot foresee how messing about in your head will impact your life, for better or worse.

Does therapy actually hold a useful place in our society? Or should we be focusing on getting our needs met in other avenues of our life? For therapists to take up such a role for us in our society, what did they replace or displace? If I do not see a therapist, what might I do for myself instead? What might I be motivated to accomplish for myself if I don’t expend the time and energy to see a therapist? And how much better might that alternative be?

It’s probably not the nicest thing to say, but I really hate therapists. I hate their good intentions and their sincerity, I hate that they actually believe they’re doing some good, their delusion, and I hate their codes of ethics and licensing boards that do nothing but to protect the integrity of the profession, rather than any of the clients. I hate that if I told a therapist I hated her, she would pose a question and do a bunch of psychobabble nonsense to get me to talk about the hurt and the pain of my past experiences. I hate the over-focus on the past and on trauma. I hate EMDR and Freud and attachment and bonding. I also think therapy coaching is a bunch of crap. It’s basically paying someone to encourage and motivate and cheer you on, which I wonder when we’ll stop paying someone else to fill up the empty spaces within ourselves? When will we learn and be taught to fill our own spaces? I hate that someone profits off of my sorrow and my loneliness and isolation. I hate that one therapist hurt me and another will get paid to listen to that hurt. I fucking hate all of it.

“we can talk, but I’m not a therapist.”

I have been struggling this winter with low mood, anxiety, and unemployment. Unemployment triggers a host of things, that I’ve been trying my best to not let spiral out of control. It’s been tough and for many reasons I decided to go back on medication and even start seeing a therapist again. This is exactly the opposite of what I want to be doing, but this is the culture we live in at the moment, and perhaps I’ll try my best to take advantage of certain things yet be skeptical enough to get sucked in.

I’m prompted to do this because while on medication last year my anxiety and mood weren’t as debilitating. I would like to go through days without the exhaustive efforts to push and push and push myself to do basic things. You know, like get a job, which I really need right now. I was also prompted to start looking for a therapist again because of something my reverend said to me, and something other friends and family have said to me in the past as well.

“I’m not a therapist.”

I reached out to my reverend to talk and she knows from previous discussions that I’m dealing with “mental illness.” She was willing to talk to me but made it clear that no one at the church was a therapist or trained professionals, but simply there to listen.

I was offended by this. I know she didn’t mean anything by it. She’s a great person and I’m really happy to be involved in my church. But this is part of the problem of our mental health system as it is right now, and as it is continuing to grow and expand. People can’t simply talk to other people anymore. I, being diagnosed with a mental illness and having been in the hospital many times before, am now in a category of people who require professional help, rather than any sort of natural relationship or easy conversation with another person.

Friends and family have said this to me before too. It’s as if my feelings and thoughts are so enormous that they exist on another plane that cannot be discussed with a “lay” person. This attitude is perpetuated by the mental health system. Anytime you have any sort of problem or issue, it somehow requires professional help as a sort of preventative measure.

But what’s strange, is the long therapy relationship I had before, one of the biggest problems was that I was relying too heavily on that therapist and not establishing any natural supports. I don’t have family in the area, except for my ex-husband and children. I don’t have any friends in the area at all and have not been able to make any friends for years now. The few friends I do have I correspond with through email and text, mostly, which certainly isn’t really sufficient for me, to help me feel less lonely and isolated. I find it incredibly hard to make friends. I have social anxiety and I’m not consistent with my moods, so I think I confuse people. On some days I have a lot of energy and can talk to them fine, and on other days I avoid them because it’s all just too much. That comes off rude and weird. I get it.

So I’m in a place right now where mostly, I’m lonely. I’m isolated. I need more interactions that I have, but I don’t know how to do it and can’t seem to make it happen out of thin air, or through online dating sites or through church events and classes or through meetup.com. So I reach out to my friends through email or text and that doesn’t feel good, because responses are delayed, it’s not conversational, and it just lacks so much. So I reached out to my reverend and I’m reminded that none of them are professionals, as if that is all I need. As if anytime I open my mouth it requires someone with a license and a degree to hear me.

It’s funny to hear all this talk about breaking the stigma of mental illness, yet all this focus on how much medication and professional help people need, creates this idea that no one else can be there for someone. It creates an alienation, a barrier, in that person’s relationships.

I really need to talk to someone. I’d prefer to not talk to a therapist. I’d prefer to have friends and family, have barbecues and dinner parties, be invited places, chat over coffee and get hugs and hold hands. But I don’t have that. And apparently people in my life don’t feel capable of being there for me, of giving me just the right “advice” or support, or maybe because they can’t diagnose me or understand because everything I say and feel is just that complicated, they don’t feel adequate in “dealing” with me. Whatever. I don’t feel like it’s anyone’s fault, but this culture we have around mental health right now. But because I don’t think I can continue without some sort of human contact, some amount of intellectual stimulation, somewhere I can be free to be myself, I’ll pay for a professional to listen to me. For a little while, just to help me gain some confidence and decrease my feelings of loneliness and isolation a bit. Help me get stronger, I hope.