Tag Archives: Dissociative identity disorder

the elusive hunt for a new therapist

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12

Readers of this blog may not be surprised to learn that I am looking for a new therapist. There was the incident in January, and there have been other incidents since then that I’ve not written about. I am done, beyond fucking done. I know it might be useful to others to share the latest experience with Doc that led me to this decision, but it is too upsetting. To summarize, (my writing teacher would so object, we should never summarize, but I need to in this case) by Doc’s own admission there has been too much countertransference from him in my sessions. He’s apologized profusely, but he does this every single time. He apologizes profusely, and then it happens again! I’ve also noticed it happens on a 1-2 month interval.

It’s practically been a part-time job trying to find a new therapist. I’ve called therapists that I was given as possible leads, and when one particular therapist could not take me on as a client because she did not have room she offered to try to find me some leads. I’ve then been following up with those leads, and I am disheartened that too many of these people are not good about returning phone calls. A note to any therapists out there reading this: Even if you can’t take on a patient, you should return their phone call and tell them you have no room! I would like to know why the hell I have to put such an obvious thing in a blog post. Returning phone calls in a timely manner (1-2 business days) is the appropriate thing to do, and aside from that, it’s the kind thing to do. A person is looking for a therapist for fuck’s sake! It’s not like I called to order a pizza. I imagine in most professions it is inappropriate to not return phone calls. The expectation is not lowered for therapists, just saying in case some therapists out there are not aware.

I was asked by one therapist how complex I am. I did not know how to answer this question, so gave her my take of myself at this point. Then I never heard back from her. All this searching is made more difficult by the fact that I am looking for someone with experience treating dissociative identity disorder as well as PTSD.

I feel like I’m in a lake with no boat.

This is why you’re my favorite

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The first time you called me I wanted to get back to watching Law and Order: SVU, mind you it was on Hulu Plus, so it’s not like I was forever going to miss a critical moment. Your Match.com profile seemed a tiny bit bitter in that you very specifically noted that “cheaters” should not contact you.When someone is compelled to put that it into their profile it means they’ve been cheated on. You confirmed my suspicion without any inquiry from me. I wondered if this fact would spill into your dating interactions, but it didn’t scare me off completely.

I reluctantly said yes when you asked me out, and where did you take us on our first date? You booked us at a Hibachi place, of all things. I was tempted to cancel. I loathe Hibachi meals, all the hullabaloo with the knives and the squirting of sake into open mouths, not to mention the sodium-heavy mediocre over-priced meal that we get to consume. But something inside me kept telling me to give it a shot, so I did. And sure enough I get there, and we are seated with a large party that is celebrating a 21st birthday. I silently groan inside. But I am already distracted by you, the way you introduced yourself to me in that way that says you are truly glad to meet me. Yes, you do have a round belly, but I shop at Lane Bryant, though I like to brag that it’s the one place where I’m a “small.”

And as soon as you speak to me I realize how much I truly am an ass. Your voice, which I found strange and jarring on the phone, has a comforting quality to it. You don’t quite have a lisp. I don’t know what it is, all I know is that I realized in that moment that I met you that I judged you for it, and It was jerky of me to do so. Your eyes speak authenticity when they meet my eyes. I just think to myself, “Geesh, I’m a weenie jerk. Look at you! You are authentically happy to meet me, and all the beautiful women in this high end sushi/hibachi place don’t even get a stray blink from you.”

I decided very quickly upon meeting you that I liked you, though I was still flummoxed by the prospect of spending a meal with this young group of people celebrating a birthday. Really, this is a nightmare. I still did not like you for this … this first date with a group of young things. I wanted to melt away, so I attempted to do so by opening up the heavy and voluminous menu in front of me. I pretended to study it intently in an attempt to avoid small talk with the others. I didn’t know what else to do. Then I hear you start speaking to them, and I’m thinking what are you doing? I want to reach out and pull you back. You’re asking who’s the birthday girl, and you’re talking them up, and they like you (how could they not?). Me, the idiot behind the heavy menu, looks up and realizes hey, these are people too, perhaps they didn’t exactly relish having two forty somethings crash their birthday dinner. Again, it’s very clear who’s the jerk here, and so far, it’s been the same person all along.

It was a lovely dinner with the young peeps all on account of you, of course. Who am I kidding? You had me the moment you met me the door of the restaurant with that affable “Good evening!” that you greeted me with as you embraced me.

After that date our lives got in the way of us going any further than a few dates. We both have demanding jobs, and your kids live 3.5 hours away and you try to visit them most weekends. There simply were not enough hours in the day for us to get know each other better. We drifted apart, and then, somehow, after many months we’ve started texting and talking on the phone again. I’ve no idea how that happened.

You’re completely unfazed by my PTSD and DID. You live in the here and now, and I find myself wanting to be more like you.

I don’t know what the future holds for us. We may not have a future. I do know that I like you on a deep level that I’ve not felt for someone in a very long time. it might be two weeks before you’re back in town so that we can go on a date, and I’m willing to wait.

just a kids birthday party

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You are minding your own business typing on your laptop and spacing out. Then bam! What the hell is that? Your body instantly shakes. You want to hide, but there is no table high enough to get under as you only have a coffee table in front of you as you sit in your favorite cozy comfy chair at the tea shop. The guy next to you sees you shake and says, “It’s just a kids birthday party.” You feel a part of you get angry at him, and you can feel the hot gaze that you are giving him. He offers his hand to yours, but you’re too much in touch with this angry part of you to take his hand. Another kinder part of you wishes you had taken his hand. This nicer part of you knows that he was just stating a fact to you without judgement, but the other angry part of you still fights this understanding, and insists on being a weenie jerk with a wall of silence.

You feel stupid when you realize it’s just a balloon popping from the birthday party in the next room of the tea shop. A river of tears comes pouring out of your eyes, and there is no place to hide, no way to shield it from the people sitting around you knitting as the set up is a series of comfy chairs around a coffee table. Someone asks, “What happened, hon?” You can’t answer because you have not yet found your words. Your words are floating around you like bubbles you can’t catch. You reach for your words and they disintegrate before they come out of your mouth as articulated verbiage. The lady next to you says, “Did someone say something mean to you?” Then the guy beside you says, “Balloon popping from the birthday party startled her.” Thankfully, his explanation lessens their attention on you. Everyone mercifully goes back to their knitting.

Your mind is still amped up and jumbled like a slew of cords that can’t be untangled. And just like Adam Sandler’s character who fought PTSD in the movie, Reign Over Me, you put in your ear buds and turn up the volume as loud as you can take it. You need the jolt of music to hit all your senses so that you can try to get out of this cloak of fear that will not come off. Coincidentally, when you hit play “Shake It Off” is what you hear. That’s ok, it’s just the song you need to distract you because you do need to shake it off.