End of a decade

Due to multiple reasons, I finally ended with my therapist of eleven years.  The past year has been nothing but arguments and miscommunication. Basically she has not been getting me at all and after all this time you would think that a psychologist would know my behaviors and thinking process. Hell, my psychiatrist picks up on things more than she does, even via email!

I recently has been asked to write a message to therapists. But how can I when my own therapy has failed. What really got me this time is that I asked her to attend a workshop to basically educate her on the task of assessment of suicide. It would be one thing to respectfully decline, but totally another to say that I am changing her “mode of practice” just by taking one workshop. She calls me a suicidologists and I understand that it not her interest. I am not asking her to become one, but I thought by attending this workshop she might gain some insight and with this insight, better help me when I get into a suicidal crisis. Man did this blow up in my face big time.  I’m still wondering how informing my therapist about what is out there changes her training and how she does her therapy. What I can see is, she hasn’t done much analyzing. She has been more of a supportive friend than a therapist. Maybe we have grown too close and that is the problem. I don’t know. All I do know is that I have lost faith in therapy, a treatment that is supposedly supposed to help you and yet all it seems to do is hurt more than it helps. I was supposed to go inpatient, but I cannot face another mental health professional. I only saw my psychiatrist yesterday because for the 1^st time in 19 yrs she called me more than 3 times and had been emailing back and forth more than once. I guess me telling her I don’t want help freaked her out a bit. I told her I stopped my meds. Fuck everything at this point, I am beyond caring. Even as I am writing this I am just crying my eyes out. Why, I don’t know. Maybe it is because I am just so damn pissed at being let down again.  I usually shed these kind of tears for that reason more than sadness.

In therapy, there is always a give and a take. You bare your soul to a stranger and take away something from it. I’d like to think that over the years with this Bozo, we both have done that. Just lately, it seems like maybe she felt I was trying to change her too much and if she can’t change, even a little, how the hell am I, the client, to??

So done

Was supposed to have a phone session with my therapist this morning. Last night, after I came came from work and got all comfy in my bed, I leaked some urine, after going. This week has been tough as suicidal thoughts have been rampant and a neighbor's suicide gave me the idea that all I need to do it put a plastic bag over my head rather than hang myself.  I sent off an angry text to my so-called therapist basically saying don't call me, I'm done. When she called me anyway after only 5 hrs of sleep, I was pissed. Then I tell her my neuro won't refill my script for fioricet and she goes on and on about that being the reason why I'm suicidal. I then ask her to ASK ME why I am suicidal and she bring up my gf who I have been trying to get rid of as I am sick of her whining and things being all about her. I told my therapist to stop...she continues and I hang up. To my surprise, she doesn't call me back. I text her 10 mins later to see if she even knew I hung up. No response. So I call her another 10 mins later and get her voicemail.
I somewhat go back to sleep but need to get up because a friend is having surgery and wanted to take her daughter and son-in-law for coffee. By the time I get my java, it's time for my shift to begin and I can't see my pdoc. I email her to see if it's nuts and sure enough it is. She finally gives me an office appt for next week. I swear if she doesn't keep it, I really need to find not only another therapist, but also a psychopharm. I'm done with her cancelling on me and I'm definitely done with a therapist who is deaf!
Why is it so damn hard to ask basic assessment questions. It's not that complicated and I'm so damn tired of directing my therapy when obviously she just doesn't have a damn clue any more. I know it's been tough as we don't have regular sessions. I can't see her in person as she is too far. And my 4 attempts at seeing someone closer or in the same area code have yielded squat.
I can't take being incontinent. It drives the suicidal impulse through the roof. The shame kills me every single time. And why do I have to live with chronic pain, mental and physical and losing function of my bladder? No don't fucking think so! But the exhaustion of depression has paralyzed me into action. I frankly do not have the energy to put a plan in motion. Yes I can get aggravated, agitated, perturbed but without energy to fuel the impulse, I'm just an empty tank trying to go 100 mph on the freeway...

The power of Music

Yesterday I found out about the death of Whitney Houston. She was a woman who had a powerful voice and I loved her, until drugs ruined and probably ended up taking her life. She died in a hotel room and I can only guess that it was either an overdose or suicide, though aren’t both the same thing?

The Grammys tonight was talking about how powerful music can be.  Made me think about my essay that I wrote for a possible journal submission.  I think it’s going to end up on a website, though I am not really sure where just yet or if I want to publish electronically first. I know the net isn’t too secure and it most likely will get plagiarized at some point. But as long as the word gets out and get people thinking about how to save a life than what do I can what media helps to do that?

Today I was asked to write a message to a therapist. What would I say?  Over the last 10 years I have advised people on what to do with therapy. Some have taken the advise and really got the help they needed. Others found that it was a revolving door and after several attempts, decided it was not for them. A couple found that it opened more cans of worms than they wanted so closed the door on it and never went back.  Granted therapy of any sort is a long process.  You need the right fit, the therapist needs to be right for you and you need to be right for them. Just like any relationship, it’s a process of trial and error. Personality has a lot to do with it and also both parties need to be able to share and open up to some things to let things be on equal ground.  That has always been my preference and if I don’t have it, then so long, good bye.  I have had twelve therapists over the course of twenty years or so. All from different degrees, backgrounds, male, female, from private practice to clinics. Number thirteen has not been found yet, unless you count him as a consultant that I see from time to time. If you do, then number fourteen has yet to be found.  I have particular needs, we all do. I also need someone who is willing to be open and not so hard-ass on certain topics all the time.

Well I guess that is the start of my paper…now to see where the words take me.

It’s 4 am and I’m hardly breathing

Just got finished with a couple of episodes of watching season 2 of criminal minds. I have fallen in love with this show though it is kind of creepy. I’m not sure which is freakier…that this fiction is whacked and someone thinks of this stuff or that it might actually be true and there are more serial killers/rapists/or more than I would like to think about.

The last few hours, my gastritis has been acting up. I wish I could say that it is keeping me awake but as tired as I feel, I am just not sleepy.  I have been in a psychotic state the past few days, having weird thoughts, paranoia and delusions.  I try not to give in to the voices but sometimes it is very difficult. It’s 4:30 and all I can think about is death. It is a constant struggle. With my nerve condition, CES (Cauda Equina Syndrome), I have had a bladder accident today that always sends me off the deep end. I know that sometimes sitting causes me to push on the bladder causing urine to come out. Because I have been on narcs and anti-psychotics, I have had some retention and don’t really know when I am full. I find it humiliating to find wet pants and not know it all the damn time. This week is also my 11^th anniversary of getting this blasphemous condition and with every bladder or bowel accident, all I can think of is that another disc is going.  The tension in my neck and shoulders from worry is causing my arms to feel weak at times. I can no longer hold the phone for more than 10 mins with out my arm going numb. And I feel that if I have cervical herniations, I will just kill myself. My only saving grace has been my nieces and nephew. I know they will not be okay even as much I try to think they will be, that they will be resilient enough to deal with my loss.

I have been trying to get a hold of my pdoc but no response. I guess she is too busy for me and it hurts. I have known her for 19 yrs now, since I was 17 and now I feel like I need to see another doc but then she knows me better than anyone. I know that the stressors of last week with the screw up of my benefits set the stage for this psychotic break. I just hope that I can get it controlled before I have to seriously consider going inpatient again.  My fear there is that they will mess up my meds and then get it straight the day I get discharged. And besides, the docs there will most likely want to try a new expensive drug I have never been on to deal with my psychosis. No one understands the pressure of this and knows what kind of hell my head goes through. Yes, my physical pain sucks, but this madness is worse than that. Least I know that a vicoden or dilaudid can calm it down.  Any type of stress and boom, I am crazy. Typical “normal” people become anxious or nervous, maybe even have anxiety attacks. Me I just become psychotic. The voices get louder, I talk to myself more to give in to their endless questions, criticisms, and observance of who is going to kill me or saying negative things about me. Weird thing is that every time I get psychotic, it’s different. This time in addition of them reading my thoughts, the conversations continue and no one knows what I am talking about. The conversation in my head gets externalized and the people around me whom I am carrying on the conversation have no clue what I am talking about. Sometimes it is of an intellectual nature, such as the Maya or some history that I have read and think that they know about but truly they have not read it but I know they have because the voices have. I know it is weird to think this but I know my thoughts are amplified and people can hear it and maybe the voices too. I don’t know maybe it is just part of the madness.

It’s now 5 am so I am going to try and get some sleep for at least 6 hours as I need to get up for good old therapy…