Therapy

Therapy
I started therapy at 15. The story is that I wrote some incredibly depressing poetry and that got turned into the social worker at my school who called my parents.

My 1st therapist was CRAZY. She treated me like I was 5. She made me tear up paper to deal with anger (mostly angry at her for being crazy). She gave me an assignment to go home and blow bubbles. Gave me the bubble solution/wand thing, which I guess is actually kind of nice. The other crazy part that I didn't fully grasp at the time is that I was waiting to see a psychiatrist. The problem is it took ages to get an actual appointment because of being a new patient and schedules being full etc. She then (in front of me) told my parents if they didn't get me on meds, she'd have to put me in the hospital. Really, she had no power to do that. Really, I wasn't that bad. I wasn't even really cutting, just scratches (that actually got worse after seeing her). Plus, she should NOT have said that in front of me.

My parents hated her. It took some time for me to admit I did too.

Therapist #2 was actually a very nice woman. She worked with my parents about insurance. She worked with me to minimize school missed. She really never told them anything I said. The issue was that probably because of the first therapist I was afraid now of being hospitalized. I progressed at some point to actually cutting. I would dig razor blades out of drawers (the kind used for crafts and such). When I couldn't find those, I learned to dismantle the razors my mom and I bought for shaving our legs. It's very easy with cheap razors. It's harder with the more expensive ones because they usually have more plastic and stuff trying to look nice. When I was a junior in high school (age 16) I became suicidal as well. I would write suicide notes. I would debate how I could get pills to do it since I didn't have a job. I would tongue my meds at bedtime because they made me tired and I had started doing all my homework after I went to bed. I had screwed up ways of self punishment. I was overweight, but for a while I only ate dinner. I only drank water with/after dinner. The key is that I told her almost none of this because this was shit I knew I could get hospitalized for. My parents found something I wrote about being suicidal (I am fairly convinced they read my journal) and I managed to say I wrote it after something bad had happened (I don't want to go into that now) and I was ok. I started to dissociate during therapy. Not a separate personality, but I would completely shut down. I hated lying, and if I was actually thinking about what I said it was harder. I just stopped feeling and thinking to get through it.

From graduation until my junior year of college I was not in therapy. I was actually doing better, and my therapist and I had nothing to talk about. I also managed to persuade my psychiatrist that I was fine and didn't need her or meds as well.

Junior year after the whole bulimia thing came out I started seeing therapist #2 again because I did trust her. The key was that now I was mostly honest, but I was over 18 so she couldn't tell my parents, and I was really too sick to help. I remember I was abusing laxatives and diuretics at the time and purging almost everything I ate. I liked being dehydrated because it made me feel like I was actually sick.. like actually bulimic actually eating disordered. She would always ask if I wanted some water. I would always say no. She finally changed it to she would feel better if I drank water, so I finally drank a little cup of water so she'd relax. I left my job and moved home, but it still took over a month for me to get into the only eating disorder program around, so it was mostly a waiting game.

Therapist #3 I decided I had outgrown therapist 2 in 2009 I think. She was ok when I was a teenager, but I didn't feel like it was helping anymore. I tried one therapist who drove me crazy because she was always late for appointments even when I could see her walking around (it was a group office) so I knew she wasn't with another patient. I also did not feel she was listening. We didn't last very long. I got some recommendations from a social worker that ran an eating disorder support group.

Therapist #4 is my current therapist. In the beginning, things went well. I liked her. I also got a full-time job and relapsed pretty bad. I wouldn't eat at work. I was purging a lot. Unlike therapist #2 she decided to make boundaries. I had to text or email her a picture of my lunch. If I skipped lunch, she would cancel my appointment that week. I guess this is a thing with some forms of therapy (DBT I think). She didn't realize that I sometimes was happy not to see her because therapy is hard. I think I only once had her cancel an appointment. I sent her a picture of my sandwich and later admitted I didn't eat it. Lunch other says was a Special K protein shake or a protein bar, but actually having those at work was a big deal at the time.

At some point in 2010 while I was seeing her, I went to residential treatment for the bulimia, Remuda Ranch in Arizona. It was pretty amazing how they worked with me financially because I didn't make a lot and wasn't sure insurance would cover it since I was at a healthy weight (insurance didn't cover it but they still worked with me). I came back and therapy started going well.

Then recently my therapist started learning different techniques. Weird shit. I don't know the name for it but it involves colors. There's some box where you stare at a circle of colored light. There's a chart that is essentially a giant rainbow of colors. Different ones represent different things. What you see represents different things. I do admit that part is weird. The box I refuse to do in part because it hurts my eye and the other reason is hard to explain. The chart is weird. She will have me stare at it and tell her when colors move. I thought she was crazy, but they do move. Her thing today was looking at the color yellow, but I can't see the yellow. I see red, maybe orange, green, blue, violet. I see the yellow and orange parts of it as red. If I blink or look away, I can see it for a few seconds. Also, the colors are very bright, but they aren't after looking for a while. She thinks it's funny because I will look away or blink or squint and when she asks fumble over or trying to explain why. The reasons I hate this are 1) I have a hard time explaining what on earth I'm seeing because she won't see it the same way and 2) she will say how meaningful or interesting something I see is.. and I don't feel as enthusiastic about it.

We talk some. Today I made her stop and talk more about stuff with my psychiatrist.. which is enough for another entry.