The memories of therapy have been returning. I now have a much clearer idea of what went on. And I am determined that making the effort to write them down – and it is an effort, you don’t know how much I want to turn away and trance out – is worth it, that some future self will be glad I did so. Blogging thus becomes a way to create an imagined future self, is an assertion of faith that I will survive this.
I walked into the waiting room as she was saying good bye to someone else, which felt a bit awkward. When she tried to take me through to where the rooms are she didn’t have her card with her and had to ask one of the receptionists to open the door. As I followed her in she turned to say something to me about it, but my eyes were wandering off to the side and up to the ceiling. I hate that this happens, that I can’t seem to behave normally. Then I couldn’t sit normally, I was all curled up and closed in. She commented on this, saying it wasn’t usually a good sign. She also commented on how long my hair suddenly seemed to be (I was wearing it down). I said it needed cutting.
I managed to tell her that I didn’t like coming back to the hospital, that it made me nervous. And she said she didn’t blame me and offered to see me at the Recovery Centre instead. But I said that the hospital was still easier. There’s a great deal to be said for not having to catch buses straight after therapy.
She asked about the situation with my PA. I told her that I didn’t like it, that I wanted to be able to clean my house myself. She said that she had no doubt I could, and one day would, it seemed to her that at the moment I was using a lot of energy just staying out of hospital and that the help was there for a reason.
She asked how I felt after the last session, but I couldn’t remember that far back. So she asked me what I had been doing since we last met and I told her I had been to see my family and stopped taking my meds.
We had a conversation about the meds first. She said she wasn’t particularly pro meds, and she thought they had limitations that weren’t often enough discussed, but she expressed concern that I had stopped mine abruptly, because that could hit you in the face with rebound symptoms. She said she didn’t want to see me back in hospital because she knew how horrible it was for me, and that I had been doing really well. I told her that I had concerns too, but it wasn’t really up to me. She said that was shit, if I was left to pick up the pieces for decisions I had no say in.
She asked me some questions about my family but I wasn’t really able to answer those. I have no idea how to start talking about my family. I said – and I didn’t know I was going to say it until I said it – that the visit had been all right for the person I am with my family, but not OK for me. She wanted to know more about that, but I wasn’t really able to say anything else. She said that she thought we probably did need to have a conversation about my family sometime, but she didn’t want it to be about criticising either me or my family.
I said I was frustrated because I knew that before I came I had lots to say to her, and I knew that as soon as I left I would have lots to say to her. She said that sometimes she felt as though she was looking for the end of a ball of a wool, and that if she could find it and pull it it would allow me to talk, but that maybe she wasn’t very good at finding the ends of balls of wool (hence lots of thoughts and fears about being too difficult).
I said that I didn’t understand my life and that I wanted to understand my life so that I could change it. She said something like it wasn’t something that could be rushed, and we would go at my pace.
Next appointment 9th June.