My HP Knows No Boundaries

As a trauma survivor, I was taught the reason I have piss poor boundaries, is because I was taught through the abuse, that I didn’t have any, didn’t deserve boundaries, etc.  So, why do I limit my Higher Power (HP)?

I left my old therapist.  She was only in the office one day a week, I had repeatedly expressed the fact I needed a second session with her; I even suggested Skype or FaceTime. She said she would look into it, did she?  Nope. Every excuse in the book.  So I ended it, rogue style.  No safety net, no other therapist but a DBT therapist lined up-which got screwed up-so I began my search.

I went to the other trauma specialists in town.  The lady I contacted, who used to head up the trauma program at Forest View didn’t take Medicare, but she recommended someone else.  I didn’t recognize this new therapists last name, but I recognized her first name, and I hypothesized it was the same woman.

So, I had an appointment on Wednesday of this week lined up.  But first, I had to go to Urgent Care.  I was sick again.  Turns out, I have two viruses attacking my already compromised, HIV positive system.  No bueno.  So, a chest X ray and a breathing treatment later, I walk out with an antibiotic, an inhaler, a cough pearl, and NyQuil for nighttime.  And LOTS of fluids and rest.  But, before this shit show happened, I made a part map and actually was able to journal with my system.  I did it so the new therapist could have a visual, and a foothold.

So, I learned a lot.  I have a long way to go.  I’m down to five parts.  From 89 in 8 years, that’s pretty sweet.  Couldn’t have done it without the old therapist, but it’s time.  Time, and frankly?  I think she didn’t believe me anymore.  As soon as I told her about the cult memories, and the sacrifice and the murders, and blood orgies, and all that experience, she shut down.  She retired from the hospital too.  She always told me she was a lot older than I thought.  Okay.  Still- Not. My. Problem.  But when she “wish you luck”, then tries to call and email me, trying to dialogue because I said I was open to it, that was before she wished me luck.  And, in the same breath said she would help me transition to the new therapist.  Bitch, please!  Not if you was the laaaast trauma therapist  on Earth, Honey!  Then she suggested a closing session for us.  Bitch!  Hell nah.  No way.  Your true colors showed, and your bitch flag flew high, why on God’s green Earth would I want to EVAH see your cracker ass again.  And the bitch of it all?  I had found a birthday card from her the day before she wished me luck.  I sent her a very pointed email.  Using facts, logic, reason tempered emotion.  That’s when she got the clue.  I told her shit I never told ANYONE.  Even a professional.  She was the first professional I trusted.  But not the last.

So, I had to cancel with the new therapist because I was so ill.  She actually called me, and left me a voicemail, saying she was happy/excited to work with me and was looking forward to it.  Word travels fast in small circles.  Bitch dropped a huge ball.  I told her.  A person with DID needs a solid relationship with their therapist.  It is as imperative as medication.  But she was, what the fuck ever she was.  Her loss.

But the new therapist, C., is exactly whom I thought she was.  WAVES OF RELIEF!!!!!   WAVES!!!  So, I feel much better.

Been working with the parts.  Have to close my PayPal account.  Have to acknowledge my mother and father didn’t know, therefore they could do nothing, but they love me regardless, and they are here for me now.  And that is what is important.  The now.

“Oh, now, now, now, the only now, and above all now, and there is no other now but thou now and now is thy prophet.”  Ernest Hemingway, For Whom The Bell Tolls.

So, excuse me while I go eat something, take a rest, and enjoy the Time Out my HP put me in, so I can enjoy the now…



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