I saw that therapist/shrink who is doing a program assessment again. She really hasn't impressed me much so far. I'm trying to be honest because I'm hoping that she'll be able to find me someone in the program who is a good fit, but so far---that seems to be a mistake. This woman is a bit of a blunt instrument. Someone told me she was good for someone else, but weellll, also not very good for her, and I can understand that now.
This may have been a mistake. A serious mistake. You know how I know? Because I woke up screaming from a nightmare at 3:45 am and it was so real and so awful I'm scared to get back to sleep now. It was all about people digging around and snooping in my basement, and unpacking my boxes and rooting around in there without my permission and discovering stuff that I had neatly packed away and dealt with as much as I feel like for now.
(Yes, I know the meaning of the dream is obvious, even to someone like me....my God, could I be any easier to read?) It's just that I'm sick of being told that Brief Therapy is the new solution to mental health when really, it's just a big fat budget dodge. No one wants to pay for the damage that crime victims or victims of medical errors suffer. They all want us to go away and take a pill and shut the fuck up.
So, now I'm feeling pretty shitty, like someone starting rooting around in my stuff, and then walked away and left me with the mess to clean up. God forbid they stick around to help me pack it all away nice and neat. Guess OHIP won't pay for it! *eyeroll*
I have to find someone permanent who will listen to what I say. This woman----I told her quite clearly that CBT is really not my style, and she ends the session by telling me that meditation is the solution, and we should work on a mantra for altering my cognitive thought process around the assumption that this baby will not make it.
Yes, because chanting changes your medical history & risk factors...a mantra and a good hippie outfit and a bong are all I need to make it through the day.
Anyway, my real neurosis around these sessions is that I can't stand how she takes notes. You see, the old protocol was that any explicit notes were not to be put in the hospital files, just basic notes describing medications and symptoms and the fact that sessions were occurring. Anything more definitive, was only written in files and notes that the department alone or the therapist could access. It's a way of ensuring patient privacy but not compromising medical care, since the average medical Doc is too stupid to accurately understand mental health issues, and the average "mental health professional" is mentally ill themselves and spends all of their time projecting their own emotional shit onto their patients, then writing it in their notes. At least on this blog, if I feel it, I can write it, and it isn't someone's else's impression of me. And hell, if I want to take it down someday, I can!
But nothing, absolutely nothing that has been encased in the blue hospital file can ever ever be removed. If that piece of paper has slid down the sacred metal duotang clip, it's there honey, for allllll fuckin' eternity. So when I say, dear Doc, please don't write anything explicit in my file, be obscure, do not continue to write about my personal neurosis in there. Cause, ummm, that was me withdrawing my consent for her to write it that way. Cause no means NO! Sigh....
I don't want to go back, but the thought of breaking in yet ANOTHER doc is so depressing that I'm not sure I can bear it. Maybe I'll just forget about it. This is definitely not worth not sleeping.