***I almost didn’t publish this. It is too ugly and ranty and paints me in a way that I don’t want others to think of me. But this is real, this was my day, this was my evening, these are my thoughts. I tire of apologizing for being who I am, for my feelings, for exposing the uglies in my brain to the outside air. I’m not perfect and I don’t expect anyone else to be.
I have spent over half my life in the care of mental health professionals. Since age 16, to be exact, although I can recall being required to see school counselors as early as the second grade. What was it that was so terribly *wrong* at such a young age, that I needed to see a school counselor? I don’t remember exactly, and I really don’t want to hear the real answer, but I do remember that I have always struggled in relationships with my peers.
That hasn’t really changed. My on-again, off-again personality pushes people away, as does my clingy-ness and rapid mood changes and social awkwardness and tendency to shut down completely for months on end. I have a handful of online friends, that I do keep in close contact with, and I have LarBear. Otherwise, I have family — QoB, my dad, the Big Dawg…all close to me in one manner or another, varying from one time to another.
For me, that’s enough, and it’s almost more than I can handle sometimes. I have added peer support to my treatment mix, and it is one more person that I have to handle, and to be honest, I haven’t handled her well. I cancelled our appointment today, fifteen minutes before I was supposed to be there. There is no common courtesy in that at all, and I can imagine she is pissed, but I wasn’t able to make myself leave the house and go to that appointment.
I tried getting her on the phone several times, but that is mission impossible because I am not allowed to have a phone number for her that actually rings her line. When my call is transferred from the front desk, it literally rings to a phone that is not in existence, and then goes to her voicemail. Voicemail that she checks once a day, at best. I have left her countless voicemails before, only to get a response fifteen minutes before our next scheduled appointment. What kind of support is it, when I can only have access to her within the confines of my appointment? I have better access to my med treater than that, for crying out loud, and this person is supposed to be “support.”
I suppose this is just me demonizing another person and blaming and complaining. It’s what I would be told, and you know, frankly, I’m getting really tired of having my feelings invalidated. It really is no wonder to me that I can’t get along with anyone worth a damn, and it has been this way so long, and so severely, that I really don’t see another way.
DBT helps. Of course it helps. Does my current therapist know DBT? No. What do we talk about? I’m not sure. I can’t really remember from appointment to appointment, which makes me feel as if I am having no gains in that department. The lapses in my memory are frequent and significant, and I know it is because I am numbing myself and distracting away negative feelings. I am not allowing myself to live my life, I am trying to just get through it.
And I am back around to that DBT saying, you’re trying hard enough, and you can try harder. I want to put that on a billboard in my front yard, so I can look out my window every five minutes and see it flashing at me in bright red. It is very frustrating to me, that I feel I am being written off by the mental health staff at the center, as someone whose problems are in her head.
I am still straightening out a few things and a lot of sentences in my head, and maybe tomorrow or the next I can post more about why I feel kicked to the curb by my treaters, but for now, I need to calm down or I will never sleep. Sleep would be good, it would be helpful, it would make matters better. One can only hope.