When I had my first appointment with the woman I thought was to be my new therapist, I was disheartened the entire session was dedicated to my history. I've gone without anyone to really talk with in well over a year and the year and change prior to that, the two people I did see were not at all helpful. It was even more disheartening when the evaluation session ended and she booked my second appointment out 20 days. I literally bit my lip so hard it bled.
Mentally, I marked each day off the calendar in anticipation of this visit. Each day telling myself how I was not going to just go in and start rambling on. I wanted her to pick at my brain and figure out the best place to start. When a therapist allows me do all the talking is when progress goes out the window. If they're going to do that they may as well just put a stuffed dummy in the chair and let a tape recorder run. It's futile. I don't need merely to verbalize what's in my head. On that I am quite clear, be it ever so jumbled up most of the time. I need someone to help me piece this puzzle that is my brain back in a way where things make sense.
In hindsight, I suppose it should have been a clue to me this person, who's door sign reads; [name redacted], M.S., R.N., C.S., wasn't what I was looking for. That and the evaluation immediately followed by the "take this medication or die" spiel. I should have known I ended up with a psychiatrist wanna-be.
So here I am, back at square one, waiting for a LICSW to get back to me to let me know if she is accepting new clients. It's tedious. I'm so tired. My head, my mind and my heart are just so tired. I sought help when I finally realized I couldn't hold on much longer-when I realized I was at the point where I had one foot in this world and the other in the next- and that was twenty one days ago and here I am waiting again.
No comments:
Post a Comment