Reflections of Yesterday’s therapy session

Reflections of yesterday’s therapy session

I woke up hangover after all the Neurontin I took last night. I wasn’t surprised as I knew I would be. I needed coffee but I just missed the bus and had to wait an hour for the next one. I goofed off on the laptop and got ready to go out.

The homeless guy I met last week was on the bus. He didn’t appear to acknowledge my presence so I just kept my distance. I got to Starbucks and ordered my espresso with a breakfast sandwich. I had been craving to have their sausage, egg, and cheese. I then played with my phone while I ate before writing in my journal.

I started writing in my journal about yesterday’s session. I’m not sure how our sessions are going to be now that she feels inadequate. The whole thing is making me feel like a jerk. If we do get an “adjunctive” therapist, how will our sessions be? I can’t imagine having two therapists where we talking about the same things in therapy. It’s just going to be draining on me and useless time for me. I don’t understand why she can’t be the “therapist” and work on my fucking issues. She did before. I don’t understand why things have changed. And it’s frustrating me because I have to wait till Tuesday to get these questions answered. Plus the holiday is coming up so I know there is going to be NO ONE to see me until after the holidays, if she is able to find someone.

The whole thing is freaking me out and thinking she doesn’t want to work with me anymore but still wants to be in contact with me no matter what. How is that going to fly? I know in the past while I was seeing a therapist in my hometown we still met with one another. But it was mostly to bitch about how the session went with the other therapist. I don’t want that to be the focus of each session. It will be ridiculous and a waste of my time. As it is, she still wants to know every fucking detail of what goes on with my psych appointments. If she wants to know that badly, maybe she should accompany me to them, for crying out loud. I think that is to waste time on her part so we don’t have to talk about other matters.

I remember a time when before my suicidality clouded everything we did, she used to be able to center me and give me real therapy. We had a good working relationship. And we still had it even though we talked over the phone the majority of the time. Then something happened and she blew of course. Symptoms of my PTSD were listened to but no advice given, same with the anxiety issues that popped up with the pain levels increasing. Seemed that we spent more time talking about my damn pain syndrome than about therapy itself and what would work for me. Each session, we just went with the flow while my suicidality flew out of control. She could barely contain it anymore and I was just going from one death date to another, searching for hope that just wasn’t there anymore. Her love and care for me were enough to save my ass from my self-destructiveness. This is something I have told her time and time again but again it fell on deaf ears. She felt it was enough because she was the therapist and I was the client and that meant we had the unbroken rule that I wasn’t to die by suicide by any means, no matter that my life turned into a whirlwind of pain and despair.

Sometime this year, when I became psychotic after my father’s death, I became disconnected from those around me. I still feel disconnected. It’s not that I don’t know I am loved or cared for. It’s just that I can’t feel these things, only sadness, depression, and misery. The physical pain takes care of the rest. I have tried to feel more connected but I just don’t feel it. It’s hard to empathize and sympathize with those around me. I feel like I am giving people the cold shoulder most of the time and I don’t mean to because that is just not who I am. I have bouts of crying that come out of the blue with no feelings attached to it. It’s strange to feel so much feeling and not know what the fuck they are but tears continue to roll down my face. I know part of it is the grief that I have not felt since my father’s passing. When he died, I shed not one tear for months now. I just am not in touch with my feelings anymore, hence this disconnection I feel.

My therapist thinks it’s because of the psychosis and anti-psychotic med that are causing this to be so. She called it the “negative symptoms of psychosis”. I still have no idea what the hell that means. I could look it up but I really don’t want to know. Funny, I used to know psychotic symptoms like the back of my hand but that was years ago and now I just have forgotten. I haven’t discussed the issue with my psychiatrist because I don’t think it’s worth the time to be discussed. I am not worried about it and frankly don’t care. I rather feel disconnected anyways. It’s safer than having feelings.

any thoughts?

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