Tag Archives: psychological pain

Another depression episode is coming

Another depression episode is coming

Yesterday I was starting to feel symptoms of depression. Feeling worthless, everyone hates me, loss of appetite, feeling guilty over nothing, etc. Today I felt more of the same as I was riding the bus to my physical therapy appointment. I just didn’t want to go. I thought it was pointless. I just feel so tired. My legs hurt because I had to make a lot of trips up and down the stairs today. My brother in law needed to be let in because he forgot his keys. Then my mother had a nurse come. I was so aggravated. I just wanted to sleep.

I got to PT and the PT notices my swelling has gone down. I hope so because I have been icing it a lot. Not I got to work on the muscle to help bring it down more. That hurts. I have one more session with her before the Pain Program starts. She said that I could come back if I needed to for anything PT related. I said okay. I know there will be something I will need PT for. And she is a good therapist. I like her a lot.

I had to wait for the bus back to the station. It was really cold out and the wind made it colder. I had my music but there was nothing I wanted to hear. I have like 2,000 songs and I couldn’t decide what to listen to. I was listening to Pearl Jam and I love listening to their music when I am in a bad mood but this time, I wanted something else. I looked over my playlist and there was nothing to suit me. I ended up taking my headphones off and trying to snooze on the bus.

I came home. My new OtterBox came. I also went to Walgreens and picked up some stuff for my roommate. I hope that solves the problem. I also need to clear the area where the window is so my brother in law can take the AC out. I don’t think we are going to have an Indian summer. It is going to be cold the next few days. I think days of shorts and T-shirts are over. I hope my brother in law puts in my screen for the window. I like to keep the window cracked a bit so my room doesn’t get too hot. I had to do that last winter and it worked. I didn’t overheat. I like my room cool anyways.

My thigh is pretty sore from where I gave myself the shot. I had to put a lido patch on as it was really sore after all the stair climbing. Red Sox won last night. It was another nail biter but I slept through most of it. I kept getting messages about it, which kind of pissed me off as I was trying to sleep. I didn’t want to put the do not disturb on as I wanted my alarm to wake me in the morning for my meds. I actually woke up before the alarm this morning, which was good. I didn’t have to leave until 1215 to catch the bus for my appointment.

I made the Guatemala coffee. It was strong and bold. I really liked it. Wish I had time to finish it but I didn’t. I had some of my pumpkin cake for my breakfast. I have half of it left. If I remember in the morning, maybe I will take some with me when I meet up with my friends. They may like it.

World Mental Health Day

This is going to be negative but I don’t care as it is my lived experience: I’ve been in therapy since I was 15 because I self-harmed. Seen a wide range of therapists from social workers to psychologists to psychiatrists. Most have ended treatment with me for various reasons. I am now on therapist number 14. First 6 months I didn’t think I was going to stay with him. He is a psychologist with supposed experience with trauma and suicidal ideation. He took me on knowing this. Now since the MeToo, I’ve been having intrusive memories. I tell him about it and he shrugs. Seriously? Why am I seeing you if you don’t know how to deal with trauma when you said you had training? I feel like the system has let me down, yet again.

Before I even saw him, I must have talked to at least 5 different therapists. None would take me on because of my suicidal history. I thought I could shove it aside and just have this guy because he returned my call and wanted to work with me. Now it is a year later and I am finding it so difficult to deal with him. I am once again looking for therapists and I am wondering why. I live in a large city. There shouldn’t be just 1 therapist in my 5 mile radius that deals with suicidal histories. Suicide is its own can of worms. I understand from a suicidologist standpoint. Not everyone is cut out to deal, it isn’t taught in school yada yada. I get it. But where is the compassion in therapy? Are too many good therapists burned out? Am I ever going to find someone to help me through suicidal crisis and chronic pain and all the other shit I deal with? Or is that too much because I don’t follow god or help myself?

About Therapists

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.

about today’s therapy session

After I wrote my blog last night, I stayed up for maybe an hour and then I crashed. I was so wiped out and knew if I fought it, I was going to get overtired and then sleep whenever. So I basically fell asleep by 2130. But fucking stupid pain woke me at 0100. Again it happened while I was dreaming to wake me up. Annoying. I had taken my pain meds so I don’t understand why I am waking up in pain. Doesn’t make sense. It was difficult to go back to sleep. Around 5, I made breakfast. I read. I laid down to try and sleep but then my fricken bones started hurting. I didn’t fall back to sleep until 0630. I took my morning meds before I tried sleeping, including my pain meds as I put the do not disturb on my phone but set my alarm for exclusion so I wouldn’t oversleep.

The damn thing went off at 10 but I didn’t want to get up. I had to sleep because I had a late therapy appointment and if I stayed up, I might be groggy by the time therapy rolled around. I didn’t want that. I took a shower and then went to my room to cool off. Then I made some cold cut sandwiches for lunch. I then left to do the errand for mother. When I was done, the bus was there so I took it, even though it wouldn’t take me to the square. I ordered my espresso got some Pike for home. Then I had my sandwich. It was good. I had brought some cookies in case I wanted something sweet but I was too full. I wrote in my journal for a bit and then left for therapy.

Therapy was good. I brought up some difficult things I wanted to discuss but wasn’t sure if he would dump me after I told him. I said so and he said there were only about 4 things that would cause him to dump me. 1) self-harm in his office, 2) injuring him, 3) destroying any of his office things, and the 4) undressing in his in office. Then asked him if he planned on undressing and he said no. Good. I really don’t want to see him naked!

We had a good chat around my suicidality. I brought up some points that my friend on Twitter brought up with the blog I wrote over the weekend. He asked why I thought it would scare him away and I said because I wasn’t sure how crazy you would think I am. He said he has extensive work in trauma so understands how things can get wonky trying to cope with it when you don’t know how to cope, basically (my words, not his). I felt better talking about this and asked what to do about it and he gave me an answer that I didn’t like, which was “this”. And I was like what, put things in a bag and then pull them out one by one? Deal with everything? Come on, man, give me some guidance! We went over the stuff little by little until time ran out. But there is no structure with how we will proceed and that kind of irks me. He said I like control and I do, to a degree. This guy really gets me and I am so glad because I can talk to him and not worry he is going to force me to go to the hospital after we talk or bind me to some safety contract before leaving. The suicidologist in me is totally freaking out about this because there should be SOME plan but there isn’t. He has said that if I want to kill myself, I am free to do so, just don’t do it in his office, basically. This is really hard to grasp when I have had 27 years of therapists that have been very strict on safety and calling for help and the what not of trying to keep me alive. Sometimes I feel like he doesn’t give a shit if I live or die, but today I got a glimpse that he does care if I do. Usually, the therapist’s care if what helps me to know if I am worth caring about. I know my psychiatrist cares. She wouldn’t nudge me and be a pain in the ass about me seeing her if she didn’t. I don’t get that way with this therapist though. If I want to cancel, it is okay where past therapists have always given me a hassle on why did I cancel like if I didn’t have a good enough reason, I couldn’t cancel the session. I tell him I can’t make it, and that is fine with him. He understands that I have a medical condition that sometimes forces me out of the game. I sometimes cannot physically make it in. I try though and I sometimes wait too long to cancel until I realize I can’t cancel because it is past the golden hour to do so.

Anyway, these are just my experiences with this therapist. I like him even though there is no structure. Just talk and see where it goes kind of deal. It kind of drives me crazy some times but it is also okay because there is no linear path of getting better. Just like my memoir. It goes forwards and backwards. I hope we do talk about what we talked about today again. I think I will have to bring it up to work on it. I just don’t see him doing that.

What if I live?

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?