Tag: hopelessness

About Therapists

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders, suicide, suicide attempt

About therapists

I have been thinking about writing this for a while, just an overview about the many therapists I have had from all different degrees and orientations. I started off seeing a school counselor. She was getting her degree in counseling, though I am not sure if it was as a school counselor or a social worker. We only saw each other for a few months and then when school started again, I started seeing a social worker that worked at another school. She was good. Had the idea that I shouldn’t use drugs or alcohol. We had a “safety contract”, which my first 10 or so did. It mostly said I wouldn’t kill myself until the next meeting and if I did feel like acting to go to the emergency room or call 911. I only saw her for about 10 months. She left and I saw someone new, a person who was also seeking their degree. I basically feel like she took advantage of me and was only interested in collecting my insurance. Nothing got worked on. I was hospitalized every three months, the last one was when I came out as “gay”. Transgender was never talked about with any therapist until the one I saw prior to my current therapist.

As I had state insurance, therapists were coming and going. By the 10th one, I was tired of them leaving so I left the system for private as I then had private insurance. Only problem was that this therapist didn’t take my insurance. When I switched in 2001, we saw each other for a month before my disc blew and then I didn’t see her again for another three months. We kept in touch by phone. It was a lot to go through. I didn’t talk about my psych issues as I just had my physical health jeopardized. We worked together for sixteen years. All throughout, I was suicidal. But I had the odd hospitalization because we worked on stabilizing using frequent contact. We saw each other sometimes three times a week when I was bad. Then we saw each other twice a week. She moved offices until she moved 30 miles away from Boston. It was tough because I didn’t have a car. I did but it broke down. We just had phone therapy. This went on for about five years. I would get a zipcar once a month to see her but that took some planning around my pain and weather.

The suicidal ideation I had made my therapist nervous. We tried different things, but she never consistently held me to them. I chided away from it because I knew what she was looking for or rather had an idea. I knew it wasn’t going to change. During the last year of therapy we had, we were constantly fighting over my suicidality. She just wasn’t listening to me anymore. I couldn’t explain why I was suicidal. I just mentioned it and she would “hog” the rest of the session with her endless talk, which I just took as her anxiety. It was interfering. I found out she was seeking consultation over me and I felt threatened by that. Eventually we just called it quits. I didn’t see anyone for few months. I had to collect myself. She gave me a few therapists but they weren’t taking on new clients.
Enter my current therapist. He had called back within a few hours of me leaving a message and we had set a time up with in a few days. He sent me his paperwork and other insurance stuff. All throughout seeing the previous therapist, we had tried different suicidal safety planning and scales and whatnots. This guy was not for it. I think the less paperwork, the better. And it bugs me! He just wants to talk things out. For the first six months I didn’t know if this was going to work out. But I had no where else to go. I was tired of searching for therapists only to be told no when I revealed I had a suicidal history. He wasn’t afraid of me talking about suicide and I ease up. Even when I told him I had a plan, he didn’t freak out on me. He understood why I felt that way and we talked it out. It decreased my feelings so I didn’t feel like no one was on my side. I often felt better after sessions but there were a few where I was more frustrated. I texted him a few times and got supportive responses, something my previous therapist did not do, at all. She only responded if we had to change appointment times.

I have been seeing this guy for 16 months. I still find it totally weird that we have an understanding of why I am suicidal yet there is no plan in place, so to speak. He is okay if I live and okay if I die, as long as I don’t do it in his office. He hasn’t taught me things I don’t already know. He would like me to be more social, but that is kind of hard with my physical pain. I like being alone anyway as noise can irritate me, like it is today. Hell, just being in Starbucks when their music is loud is enough to have me leave after I finish eating or when I am ready to write. He doesn’t try to pin things down and my biggest annoyance is when he says we will work on something but doesn’t go further than that. And then when I bring it up next session (I have to bring things up, he won’t), it still doesn’t go anywhere. But I have had that happen with the last therapist I saw, too. She would say we need to work on this and we never did.

I don’t mean to write this to defer you from seeking therapy, that isn’t my goal. I just wanted to write about my experiences with therapists and how they react to suicidal thoughts. Everyone is different. And maybe you started seeing a therapist and then the suicide thoughts started happening. The therapist freaks out and you are then forced to see someone else. Or you attempted and now the therapist doesn’t want to work with you anymore. That is sad and unfortunate but I know it does happen. Suicide is like an elephant (or hippo as someone called it that the other day) in the room that you both know is there but don’t want to face. Or maybe your therapist is trained and does work with you on the issues as long as there is a safety plan in place first with contact numbers and you collaborate on what will work and what will not work. The focus has to be on YOU not the therapist’s comfort level. While my therapist does that and gives me the time to try and work things out as well as support me in any way he can, I still sometimes feel like he just doesn’t get it or dropped the ball on an issue that is never going to see light of day again. I know they are busy people. They have lives outside the office. They see so many patients per day and then deal with the wonderful insurance that can or cannot accept their claims. I don’t know. I am not making excuses for them but if you have a therapist that cares about you and takes your suicidal thoughts seriously, works with you on keeping you safe, and the chronicity of the matter, great. I just am still trying to work with someone and cope with a therapist that says you can kill yourself as long as it isn’t in my office.

What if I live?

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders, suicide

What if I live?

Been thinking seriously of ending my life in a few weeks. I plan dates. It helps me cope knowing I have some date to look forward to so I know the misery will end. Usually this happens in a state of despair when my pain levels are high and all I can think about is death.

But the next morning, after a few hours or more of sleep, I feel differently. Some mornings I cannot believe I sunk so low. Yet usually there is some record of it—a blog or email or social media post. It brings me back, temporarily, to that place and I wonder what if I live rather than go through the plan to die?

I have few events coming up in the next few months. Something to look forward to, so to speak, yet on the nights of despair, they are far from reach, unable to be thought about. Someone said that I should write goodbye letters. I wrote one to my psychiatrist. The other 19 people on my list is a little harder. I don’t have all my ducks in a row, so to speak, to end my life like I had planned way back in March. I was supposed to die in June. It is now the middle of July and I am still here. I do’t feel that getting help would be helpful to me. I have been in therapy for 27 years, that is nearly half of my lifetime. Yet I still remain as suicidally trapped as I did when I was 15 years old and wanted to seriously end my life then.

What if I live?

I don’t know the answer to this question. I just keep going, hoping the day won’t come where I’ll say I’ve had enough and go through with my plan. I don’t want to live. I am in too much physical pain. CRPS has taken so much from me. Might as well take my life as well. I’m not worth living.

I feel like I am crying wolf too many times. I don’t think anyone believes just how serious I am this time. But even I am not 100% convinced I will end my life on the day I planned. What if I live? What if I die? What if I am rescued in time? No one knows my plan. Hell, I don’t even know it completely. I’ve been too afraid of putting it forward because that will make it more real. Do I have to end my life? I feel I have to. I feel no one cares how bad I hurt. And not one medical professional wants to see my suffering end. I’ve had enough of fighting for my care. I had to do this since I was 16. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve run out of gas. If I live, I’ll continue to suffer just so my family and friends aren’t in pain. What kind of life is that?

I’ve been pushing through trying to hang on. I know the demons will pass in the morning. Hence I live to see another day. Hence I live, least until despair grabs a hold of me once again.

What if I live?

A Pissy and Muggy Monday

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders

A Pissy and Muggy Monday

I woke up at 0530 from a strange dream, which I do not recall presently. I had to use the bathroom and when I came back, my foot started hurting. I took a breakthrough med but didn’t want to go back to sleep as I knew I would wake up feeling like shit. I just laid down until my alarm went off. I didn’t get up. I just laid there until I had to get up. I took my morning meds then went downstairs to use the bathroom again and brush my teeth.

I checked my text messages when I got back to my room. I was hoping to have time to make coffee but the message said the bus I needed to take was delayed. Just lovely. I got dressed quickly. I decided to let the AC run to keep the room cool. I went downstairs and got a reusable cup and asked my mother if she needed anything while I was out. She didn’t and she didn’t call me back when I reached the stairs. I was barely awake and was putting stuff in my bag then taking them out only to put them back in. I have no idea what the hell I was doing. I finally got my shit together, put my sunglasses on, the Bluetooth on my phone, and left. Bus I was to take went by just as I was approaching the corner. If I “ran”, I would have caught it but then the light turned green and it took off. Oh well. Hope I didn’t have to wait long for the next one.

I got to my PT with a few minutes to spare, but not enough to grab a coffee. I graduated from PT for my groin pain. She was proud of me for sticking with the home exercises and making progress and actually doing more than I was doing. My thigh was not feeling good after she did the myofascial stuff she did but I fared okay. I left and waited for the bus. It was really hot and muggy. I was sweating and getting more pissy as I didn’t have a coffee. I decided I wasn’t going to go from the orange to the red line, but from the orange to green to red to go to my psych appt. I didn’t want to be walking around in circles at the orange line transfer like I did a few weeks ago. It worked as I was about 45 minutes early for my appt. I waited in the lobby and wrote in my journal. I had gotten coffee when the bus dropped me off at the station. Wasn’t the best but it worked.

I met with my psych and discussed the stuff I wrote in the emails, kind of. She wanted to know more about my mother. So I told her about the surgery tomorrow and my anxiety about everything. I also told her I was mad that the pain docs had once again dismissed what I wanted done. I told her I wanted the dose increased and she said they weren’t going to do that. So I am supposed to continue to plan my death and go through with it?? I didn’t tell her that cause that would have landed me in the emergency room. But I just feel like she is siding with them rather than me. I feel so angry. I am so fed up. The next time I see her is the day I planned my next death but I am not seeing her because I moved it up a week. Fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I am so done fighting all the fucking time and getting nowhere.

So next week when I get paid, I am scouting out the area where I wish to die and if it is feasible, find a good spot and return to it a few weeks later. I am done. I am not going to be around the rest of the summer. I don’t fucking care anymore. I will go through the motions like I am, live the double life and all. But other than that, I am going to write these damn letters and say goodbye to my friends and family. I guess that was why my psychiatrist’s letter was kind of easy to write. I no longer respect her as I once did. It hurts. But it taught me that you can’t trust anyone.

pained and pissed off

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders

Pained and pissed off

I didn’t go to sleep till 0700. I woke up around 1000. I sorted out my meds and as there was a threat of increased pollen, I took an extra Allegra. I then made breakfast and coffee. I was so sleepy after the coffee that I decided to take a nap. My foot exploded a few minutes after my head hit the pillow. I was so fricken mad.

I tried to calm down so I took some more Ativan and Neurontin. I usually don’t take Neurontin during the day but I wanted to fricken sleep. I had emailed my psychiatrist around 0230. She responded and asked if I can come in on Monday. I told her it would be hard as I have PT in the morning but she had a time that suited when I could get to Boston so I said okay. I really thought today was Sunday all day. I kept having to look at my phone to see that it was Saturday. I am so off from not sleeping.

I was able to fall asleep around 1400. I slept for another 3.5 hours. I was hungry so made a burger. My sister is going to have a dinner for tomorrow so I will try and grill the steak that I have. I asked her to show me how to operate it. She didn’t have time today as she was going out.

The highlight of my day was having my little 5 month old cousin come over. She is such a cutie. She kept crying every time I talked to her so I let her be. She stopped crying when I walked away. HAHA. I came down after I finished my tea because I wanted a pic of her. I snuck it as her mother doesn’t want pics. I am not going to post it but I wanted to show my friend how cute she is (not on social media). I played with her and she was “talking”. Just kind of loud stuff, like she was boss. It was funny. I love her so much.

I came back upstairs and some troll on Twitter responded to a message I had posted at god knows what hour. It was from like 1 am or so. We exchanged a few messages and then I blocked him as he was a troll. He said he was using his friend’s phone to use Twitter. Ya, you are a troll if you do that. Idiot. I am trying to stay awake but my fucking foot feels like it is being sliced open. I didn’t have a number 2 today. I am upset about this because I need to keep track of it. I don’t remember if I went yesterday or not. I think I did but I don’t remember. I am kind of in a fog so my memory isn’t great. I will take some fiber pills with my night meds and just continue to take them until I go. I will take Miralax if I need to.

I had take my blood pressure around 4 am just to see what it was. Damn batteries were dead so I had to find new ones. I found them and put them in. Then took it. It was high on both wrists. Pulse was 91, a little fast. I took it when I woke up this morning and it was a much better number. I am going to keep track of it every day in one of my notebooks. My PCP wants to compare the office visit BP to my home BP readings.

I am kind of scared of meeting with my psych on Monday. If I am cool and collected, I don’t think anything will happen. I honestly don’t know what I said in the email. I know I told her about my mother’s upcoming surgery. What I said after that, I am not sure. I know I was pissed I didn’t end my life yesterday because I was in so much damn pain. I got to get through the to the damn pain clinic that the damn dose is not adequate for flares. I need something that will cover me and the breakthrough meds are not doing that. I am having severe pain, just by moving my foot or sometimes, not even moving my foot. It just explodes while I am on the bed, not doing anything. I can’t stand it. I hate, fucking absolutely hate, not being heard and this pain doc and fellow just does not listen!! They have their own idea of what is wrong and how to treat it and that is that. No intervention or input from the patient. What kind of care is that? Paternalistic! I hate it very much. My former PCP allowed collaboration and things. We might not have agreed on some things but at least we talked about it rather than him saying this is what we are doing end of story. I wish I still had him. I know he would be attacking my weight issues, which would be stressing me out, but at least I could count on him to help control my pain. I don’t think those kind of docs exist anymore.