Tag Archives: ptsd

the elusive hunt for a new therapist

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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.

a miraculous thing worth mentioning

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This past Sunday for the first time as long as I can remember I got out of bed at a reasonable time. I was not super-glued to the bed with fog and dissociation the way I am on most Sundays.

I got out of bed, and I knew I wanted a kale smoothie with pineapple and mango. So many mornings I’ve wanted this, had the ingredients in the freezer, but then the world turned into a fog and all I could do eventually was extricate myself from the apartment in order to not lose any more time. But, this was not the case this past Sunday. I thought about the pineapple mango kale smoothie and how I had brand new freshly washed organic kale in my refrigerator. I focused on the fact that I wanted the cool, fruity, creamy and clean taste that comes from combining kale, pineapple, mango and banana in a smoothie.

I told myself, “Today you can do this. You want this. You want to have a smoothie at home for breakfast.” I turned on the tv to a show I had recorded: “NCIS Los Angeles” while I made my smoothie along with some wheat toast on the side. I felt myself start to float, but when I felt this start to happen I would look at the beautiful kale, and think to myself “if you leave the apartment you will not be able to have your favorite smoothie.”

And, let’s be frank, the incredible loud whir of a VitaMix blender will bring anyone dissociating back to present time. It’s like a jet fighter is taking off in your kitchen.

Much to my amazement, I had myself a kale smoothie with a side of wheat toast with local salted butter. It all felt right and homey. I actually watched two episodes of “NCIS Los Angeles.” Before I knew it I spent the entire Sunday at home doing homework, and cooking for myself. I did find that there are some dangers to staying home and eating. It is far too easy to polish off an entire box of Annie’s Organic Cheddar Bunnies Snack Crackers. Then there was the attempt to cook a package of turkey bacon for the week so that I could make sandwiches with the meat. That was a pipe dream! The turkey bacon did not last through Monday.

I deem this past Sunday a strangely significant milestone for me. I’ve no idea what was different about this past Sunday, but I’ll take it, along with a kale smoothie.

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.