Therapy has reached a point where I just want to run away.
I can’t really explain it. Nothing happened, at least in terms of the work. We’ve been trying to work through all of the post-MRI triggery nonsense to figure out this hidden memory or alter or whatever.
Lately, I’ve been getting so mad at my therapist. Or something similar to mad. I’m so irritated – with her, with myself, with the commute to her office, with the office itself. Everything grates on me.
Everything feels wrong.
I’m not really mad or irritated with her personally. There’s just something about the essence of her and her role in my life that makes me feel super out of control.
There’s so much internal chaos right now and I feel awful.
I don’t know how to describe it, but I feel like I am dying. Or frozen. Or dying a slow, freezing death. I often journal, either in an actual journal or on my iPad. Lately, I’ve just been writing the word DEAD over and over again, with no idea why.
Emotionally, I don’t know what I feel. I think I should feel…sad? angry? helpless? scared? Something that would match the physiological sensations that are so distressing? I know I feel something, but my ability to articulate that seems to have been taken from me.
(Another hint that whatever is trying to reveal itself is being matched by a force that has equal motivation to NOT allow this thing to be revealed. Always fun times with DID.)
My brain is a foggy mush. I probably need a lot more sleep, but my body never seems to want that to happen. My wife ordered me a weighted blanket today, so I’m cautiously optimistic that will help with my insomnia.
I got home from a concert around midnight on Thursday night. I have our mail key, so I picked up the mail on my way in. There was a single envelope in it, addressed to me from some random address in Boston.
Without even opening it, I knew what it was.
And I was right.
It was a $7k bill for my stay at the residential trauma program that I attended for two weeks LAST Fall. Yes, eleven months ago. This is all related to the same insurance nonsense that gave Zooey the perfect excuse to bail on being my therapist.
It would seem the insurance company is still battling claims from last year. And if this goes back even further, I’ll end up with a bill for my three day inpatient stay last August as well as many physical therapy appointments and regular physical check-ups.
And worst of all, I will get a bill from Zooey for every single appointment we ever had.
That part is less about the money and more about the idea of having to interact with her at all for any reason, even via snail mail. Not to mention the fact that I’ve spent many hours and several thousand dollars in therapy trying to recover from all the fucking damage she did. The thought of paying her roughly $6,000 for betrayal and abandonment makes me want to vomit. Ugh.
Hopefully that won’t happen. But with all of the things that have been going on this week, that was the final straw that led me into full meltdown mode. I started panicking about money and decided therapy should be the first expense we cut back.
What do I need it for anyway?! I went without therapy for most of my life and I’m fine. Why must I indulge in this abstract treatment? What am I doing spending all of this money???
I desperately wanted to bail on therapy. And this was the perfect excuse. But then I became worried at how desperate I was to back out of this relationship and this work. However, rather than formulating a plan on how to execute my escape, I sent this email at 2:08am on Friday:
Do you happen to have any open sessions today (Friday)? If so, can I please come in?
I don’t have clinic yet (starts Monday) so anytime would work.
Also: It’s late (or early?) thus I felt weird calling to leave a voicemail. Since this is scheduling related, which is within email parameters, I thought that might be better. And less awkward.
But you can call me to respond if that’s easier for you.
She wrote me back later that morning:
I can see you tonight at 6. Would that work for you?
Yes. It would work. So I went to that session. My 4th damn session this week.