So, “When you chase two rabbits, you don’t catch either one”. Or something to that effect. I’ve been whirling for a while. But, the ax came down this week.
See, I had 89 alters. I’m now down to 4 parts- so I integrated 85 alters over 8 years; that’s like DID on Meth, pretty much-and each part has a part and some, have poly fragment. But these last four are the hold outs. They hold some pretty hated shit. And I’ve known that and tried to convey that to my therapist.
When I got out of PsychLab, they wanted me to do IOP for ETOH-Alcohol/Addiction- so I saw Kevin at the Retreat House. He recommended DBT- Dialectical Behavior Therapy. Ok. So I was put on the list for the hospital’s DBT Clinic. I waited, and after a few fits and starts, I landed an appointment.
So I went to the clinic and met with this chick named Jessica. Here’s the deal with DBT Therapy- you have to drop your present therapist, because you will be in one individual session once a week, and then a skills group therapy with other people another day of the week. I couldn’t lose Katy. I wasn’t integrated- Katy never explained it to me. No one did. Until I met with Ms. I won’t look you in the eye, “You’re mine for a year”, trying to pigeonhole me as Borderline Personality Disorder during the session when I never read your paperwork, making excuses for you being a sucky ass therapist, not giving a damn about my needs, not being sensitive to the clients needs Social Worker like the NASW Code of Ethics mandates, and basic all around God Awful experience. I told Jessica Rabbit that I couldn’t give up my current therapist because I wasn’t integrated. This particular mental Health Hospital, doesn’t believe in DID. They don’t even deal with it, just PTSD. Really helpful and validating, eh? So, I rock out of there, never to return.
So I meet with my therapist Wednesday. She has whittled down to one day a week because she lives so far away, we talked politics-no therapy-and she basically asked me if I would mind switching my appointment time because one of her other clients was, “Scared” to drive when the weather turns Wintery. So, I’m like, that’s your job. Whatever. My therapist also was like, because this one day a week shit has been an issue since I got out of the hospital in September, you do so much better when you see someone else (DBT Therapist) one day and me another. Problem with that is the DBT Clinics are as I mentioned above. She’s basically phasing me out by asking me to do the seemingly impossible.
So, I have a big a-ha-ha moment Thursday. I realize I have a core, cognitive belief that I am a piece of shit, deserve to be treated like shit, neglected, ignored, abused and abandoned, because of all my baggage. And I seek out people who treat me that way, to instill and reinforce that belief in me. No mas.
So, I call another DBT Therapist show in town after a Google search. Call em. 6 months, and leave your present therapist. Okay. So, after Wednesday- we mutinied with my professor-my therapist appointment which was a huge waste of time, Thursday of my Yoga Teacher yelling at me cuz my house looks like it did three years ago, because I’m never home, so it has become a drop zone, and Friday, I decided to go with the DBT Therapist and figure out how to fire my therapist.
So, I have basically emailed, called and texted- and talked in person to my therapist about this integration which I need two sessions a week. What about Skype? Or FaceTime? I suggest? I’m not sure they’re HIPPA Compliant. Well, get the fuck on it, sister. You’re my employee!!! But she has never responded and she moved to the North end of BFE from town. Okay.
So, yesterday, I decide to state my case in a text, and fire her. Have not heard one word from her. I see the DBT Therapist-which I can schedule online- tomorrow at 2 pm. So, after 8 years of hard, intimate, icky personal shite- I even found a Birthday card from my Therapist yesterday when I was cleaning-like, I was duct taped to a picnic table when I was six, and gang raped/assaulted by Mr. Roach’s Auto Line Co Workers in the August sun in the afternoon when I was six. So, nothing. Great. I have a bunch of abandonment issues, neglect, intimacy issues, after my life, and my therapist has something going on that she won’t level with me about, and I fire her, and still nothing. Okay.
So, I slept like shit last night. It’s been one of the underlying stressors I’ve been dealing with since September. And I had to call an 911 Plumber yesterday, I had lake Zuzu in my kitchen. The plumber asks me, “What does your man do?” “I’m single.” “with your personality?!! Must be by choice!” “Yup.”
Mercury is retrograde today, I think, and it is the first day of Scorpio season. It’s only ten am and I am so over it. I have to hop in the shower, because my mom and I are supposed to meet at Lowe’s after she gets out of church. I am apathetic.
I had a dream I was on a cruise ship with these 20 year olds, who found out my status, and we’re being complete cunts about it. You know, 20 year old shit. I threw one overboard, and extorted $150, and talked to an 80’s age David Bowie. Weird shit, man.
It’s October, a week before Halloween, it’s gonna be rough. And I start a new therapist, and, whatever. It is what it is.
Thank God for The Four Agreements, because all the shit that is going on AROUND me, is not BECAUSE of me. Not my circus, not my monkeys. My Monkeys Fly…Bitches!