Last night I had a counseling appointment. What could very well be my last one. Ever.
I was already going to take a month or so break, just to settle in to my new job, my new routine. But I had every intention of actually setting up another appointment. I didn’t. The counselor told me he’d keep my spot open for me, but I’m tempted to email him and tell him not to bother.
I had written him a letter last time telling him how much I was hurting. His comment was that my writing is very consistent. (so, I’m consistently hurting, yes?) He wondered why I’ve been on so many SSRI’s with no luck. Or hell any kind of antidepressant or mood stabilizer. Even better, why I’ve been on so many with no side effects of any kind. Apparently quitting Effexor at 300 mg with no side effects is unheard of. "What happens if you’re happy and don’t even know it"
So me, reading between the lines… "I think you’re faking this" No he didn’t say it, but that’s where the conversation seemed to go. That’s what I got out of the hour there. I don’t think it dawned on me until the drive home, but that’s definitely where I think he was going.
The last time I saw the psychiatrist she spent less than five minutes with me. It helped me none. So I’m not going back there either.
I feel like a sham. Like no matter what, no one is going to believe me about how much I’m hurting. But that’s okay, because since my feelings aren’t real, the next time I feel like killing myself or cutting, I don’t have to fight those feelings either, right?
So, if you haven’t figure it out already, I’m changing jobs… again. It feels like I just went through this, as it hasn’t been so long since I just started working here, a little over a year and a half ago. But things here are rigid. The number of days off sucks, the pay sucks, and the non-flexible work hours suck. Plus I don’t get those expected things like direct deposit. AND they charge overhead on my using my own car for travel. So, they charge the client one rate, and pay me less. Now I don’t mind the low mileage rate, I do mind that they take a cut out of what they are charging. So if someone travels 5000 miles in a year, it’s not going to amount to much for the company to give them all that money. But imagine what it would do for morale. Plus communication sucks here. My boss is gone on vacation today and Monday and I found this out from her at 4:55 pm yesterday. And this happens often enough to be annoying. Not always on vacation, but sometimes field visits or what not, but I never know until about 9 or 10 when I go looking for her (she’s rarely here at 8). I work overtime, but I don’t get paid for it, no bonuses, no thank you for staying up until 10 pm to get this done. Sometimes she’ll let me know that day that I have to work late. Once she told me at 4:30 on Friday I had to stay and finish one of her projects cause it had to go out that day. She on the other hand had to leave early. This happens enough to be annoying too. How come people can’t just tell me the deadline before an hour before it’s due, especially when they’ve known this for a week or more? I get here at 7 and have to stay until 5 pm because the management won’t let us work a flexible schedule. I mean really, why can’t I work 7-4, my boss works 9-5. I bring my laptop to work because the computer I’m given is too slow to do the work I need it to do.
I’m taking a paycut to leave this place. That in itself irks me. I know the benefits will be better at the new job, but most of them are benefits I had at my last job, previous to this, working at a consultant. I knew all this coming in to this job. Or at least most of it. I was warned by friends of previous workers not to come here. I didn’t listen; all I have to blame is myself. However, the big reason I’m leaving goes beyond any of what I mentioned above, most of which I could live with. So I wanted to get out, and get out relatively fast. And took the first thing that came along.
I had my last psychiatrist appointment on Tuesday. I kid you not it lasted all of about five minutes. AND I was told I smiled too much. I guess I smiled once, to something funny she said. Why do people assume that just because someone smiles they feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Rarely when I smile do I actually feel like smiling. I smile, well because I guess it’s an automatic response to something that I know socially, I’m supposed to think is funny. I do it with everyone. Even when I don’t think the person is funny, or I don’t feel like smiling. I do it because as crappy as I feel inside doesn’t give me the right to make others feel crappy. I figure if I can make someone else feel like smiling then maybe my life here isn’t in vain.
So, back in the psychiatrist office. Any side effects from the medicine… not really, but it’s not helping. Let’s increase the dose and come back in about a month. Any questions? No, well… boda bing boda boom (yes, I know I misspelled that phrase. At this point, I don’t give a rat’s behind) I’m finished. See aren’t I an easy client. And five minutes of her time only cost me let’s see $60. It was supposed to last 20 minutes. 20 minutes… and all I got was a quarter of that. Somehow I think I should have paid her a quarter of what I was supposed to pay her.
The first day I had an appointment with her I told her I had a blog. I was under the impression she was actually going to read it. So far she hasn’t. When I told her the name of the blog, she told me I didn’t have to go through this alone. Really, could have surprised me. Who’s going to help me?
Somehow I feel more lonely when there is someone I want to be close to but feel I can’t be then if I had never met the person in the first place.
I remember asking my counselor if she would hold me. “Touching is a touchy subject in counseling” … pun intended.
No one really held me when I cried when I was younger. In fact, I wasn’t supposed to cry when I was younger. That was a weakness. If I cried, well then I would be yelled at or beat. I preferred the beating. I usually got yelled at. The beating was physical, there were tangible proof, there were bruises. But the yelling, that only left the emotional scars, scars I couldn’t see, that I couldn’t wrap my hands around. Being able to see the proof of the pain is easier to cope with than having to deal with both physical AND emotional abuse.
I couldn’t cry at school. I had to be strong there too. Since my mom was connected at the school, I had no teachers I could confide in. I had no friends I could trust with not only what was going on at home, but the deep depression I was dealing with. I mean what did I expect someone to do if I wanted to kill myself? I would expect them to get me help. Help I didn’t want, but help I desperately needed.
I remember having a particularly hard counseling session one day. I couldn’t even talk. All I could do was hold the pillow the counselor had gotten me. As stupid as it was, holding that pillow protected me. “Would you like me to hold you” … I don’t remember much about the sessions anymore, but I’m not sure I will ever forget that. I answered no, at that point in time I couldn’t handle someone offering support. It’s still hard.
I’m not used to someone offering support. I’m not used to the concept of someone actually caring. I know it sounds crazy, but it actually hurts to accept help. It’s not an arrogance thing. Or maybe it is. Maybe I think myself so perfect that I shouldn’t need help. Maybe I’m afraid of someone seeing me for who I really am.
As soon as I said no, I regretted it. I wanted her to hold me so badly. But I knew that would result in my crying. I never cried in a session. I still don’t. Crying for me is a very private thing. I don’t even let my husband see me crying. I go in the bathroom and lock the door. Or I cry in the car. Or in my office at work when people are gone. Maybe I’m afraid of being yelled at. Or like above, maybe I’m just afraid of someone realizing how horribly weak I am.
I really need someone to hold me now. Now that I’m ready for someone to hold me, no one’s around.
Today is counseling appointment day.
Hopefully I will have the guts to walk in and tell my counselor not only am I not going to see my psychiatrist any more but I won’t be seeing him, at least for a while.
I see no point in continuing with counseling. It’s nice to have someone to talk to about stuff, but the harder stuff I really need to talk about, I simply can’t open up to him about. Hell I can’t talk to anyone about it. Plus I know a certain person who would like to spend the extra time with me.
How do I feel about this? Alone, totally and utterly alone. I feel bad for leaning on my Twitter friends, no matter how much they say I can. I feel bad for leaning on my non-Twitter friends. So I am facing this and know there is no one out there that I feel I can trust with everything. I sit down to write this and a part of me doesn’t want anyone to know even what I write now. I literally just want to curl in to a ball and die.
I’m crying again. I started the day crying and it’s been off and on ever since. I’m exhausted and have no hope whatsoever of getting better. I have fought this for years, and don’t know how much energy or patience I have for continuing the fight. I’m considering taking down my blog, or at least not writing in it any more. What’s the point? No one wants to listen to someone whine about how much she hurts despite all the great stuff she has in her life. I feel like a selfish horrible person. A failure. That’s me.
Well, it appears my new psychiatrist isn’t on my upcoming health insurance plan. SO this means I will be cancelling the appointment. I’m not going to start over with someone new. I’ve already decided that. I guess it’s not a total loss, as last appointment all she did was go down her handy dandy list of antidepressants and ask if I had tried a particular one yet. The first one I hadn’t tried, she decided to prescribe for me. A primary care person could do that if I so wished. Plus she keeps asking me whether I want meds in the first place, like why else would I be sitting in her office wanting someone to oversee my medication management if I didn’t want medications?
I’m not even sure I’m going to keep seeing my counselor. It’s just I’m tired of fighting this. Of putting energy in to being better, but not getting there. What’s the point of wasting what little money I do have extra to talk to someone? Is talking about what little I can make of the emotions going to make a big difference for me? Doubt it. I’ve suffered through the feelings too long to even believe that my life could change. That I could wake up one morning and be happy to be alive.
How much do I have to endure before dying is justifiable? I’ve always wondered that. I guess in a way it doesn’t really matter. I don’t believe God would want me whether or not I was killed by someone else or whether I was killed by me. So in a way, it doesn’t matter to me. While I don’t want to hurt anyone here, I really don’t want to keep on struggling. No, it’s not just not wanting to continue struggling, it’s physically and emotionally not being able. I feel drained, empty, alone, hopeless. It’s really hard for me to keep going. To keep pretending everything is okay. To know that no matter what is going on in my life, I’m going to feel like shit. To know no discernible difference between the best and worst day of my life.
Even though I know I’m not, I feel so very alone. Like no matter what, no matter how many people care about me, I will still be alone. It’s hard for me to reconcile this feeling with the fact that I know there are supposedly people out there who care. It’s hard for me to know that I feel one way, even though the reality can be completely different.
I feel like self injuring more and more. Why? I don’t know. I don’t even know if it helps. I just want to feel the pain though. I guess in a way, it’s one of the few ways I can put into physical form how I am feeling emotionally. I don’t expect that to make sense to most of you, or even to some of you. Hell, it doesn’t even make sense to me.