Fuck Yeah!

Many months ago during a therapy session, my therapist said something I agreed with. As a learned reaction and now habit, I wanted to say "Amen!" as a rather automatic expression of agreeance. I then realized I didn't actually want to say Amen, and immediately felt uncomfortable with it's religious association. So I stopped him from sharing what he was currently talking about and I told him how I was feeling. I told him it was another learned behavior I wanted to work on correcting. Right now! Right this very minute. We briefly changed topics and he encourage me to replace it with something else.

He suggested "FUCK yeah". Sooo now I say...

Fuck yeah!

And to this day one of the best/productive sessions I've had. Listening to your body and noticing its changes and desires can take time, but it often provide relief when you can do the things that your body needs, when it wants it.

So what has therapy taught me? Above all, it taught me that it takes the right person to be able to trust and heal. In 2018 alone I had 6 different therapists.

I've constantly been accused of not wanting to get better, that I'm not trying and being lazy. I've even been told by some professionals I don't need therapy and there is nothing wrong with me. And while I'm not going to deny wanting to end my life and giving up on the difficulty my life has presented me-I'm not sure when the conversation of seeking help leads to blaming that person who has experienced a lot of trauma, of doing something wrong. There are some absolutely shitty resources in our mental health field, Or just plain medical field, and it seems I have run into so many of them. Those rumors of clients sleeping with their therapists? Aren't rumors. While, I've never done that, I know people who have. Those who have taken an oath to help and serve, those in sensitive situations, have often hurt those they swore to help.

I had this conversation with my current therapist last week. She had a name for the rude and often abusive demeanor and behavior of social workers under the constant wear and tear of their professions. I don't recall what that term was, but that it's the same thing that is happening in our law enforcement. When everyday you are surrounded by hard things, you too become worn down and harden if you can't find the release needed to cope with what surrounds you. It's like when you just went grocery shopping for new fruits and veggies and those old ripe bananas on the counter you forgot to toss, ripens all your other fruit over night. So quickly. You don't even know what happen, and one day you realize- you're just overly ripe fruit too. Regardless, therapy is hard. From the consumer side, its hard to google phone numbers, read profiles. Make call, be put on hold and leave messages on answering machine, just to ask if they were accepting patients and how long their wait was to get in. It can take weeks-months to begin a healing process that takes years to see progress in. Even when you do get into one hour weekly sessions, after 12 months, not considering accidents, holidays and sick days, That's still less than 1% of your yearly day-to-day life spent with professionals that are suppose to help you heal. Of course you are suppose to take what you learn and apply it you your life, but I'm sure you can imagine who difficult that is already for someone who is sick.

Now imagine going through this process several times because the people you are working with is not a great match. It's completely exhausting. But I've had a few therapist touch my life, my first surprisingly starting at the age 12.

Joseph Muir. was with LDS Family services, he has since gone private. He counseled my sister, and my parents through their divorce counseling and was recommended through the Mormon church. He was the first adult to just listen and advocate for my feelings and emotions. He was the first adult to know how terrible my family members were to me. To believe when I told him how difficult it was. After all he had been counseling 4 of my other family members. I called him Joe, and he listened to my concerns, watched me cry, be in pain and just exist. He was one of the first steps in opening up and learning about myself. I still keep in touch with him. He might even read this blog, we had our phone call every 3 year chat over Christmas about 3 weeks ago.

He could always make me laugh and smile at the same time. Oh Joe!

I then had a therapist (psychologist) for a few short weeks in Rexburg Idaho, in practice with himself, and maybe a sibling. I think his name was Dr. Brannon. (not 100%) He was very tall, wore tight jeans and all white/all black leather snake skin boots, a white t shirt, white hair and beard down to his belly button and sat on the floor and drew me photos. I was 18 when I met him. I was going through a lot. I had no idea what was going on in my life. I was homeless, in love, cast out by my family and religion from dropping out of BYU from having sex. His office? Was right off campus. He called me a bitch once. While uncalled for because of the professional position he held, he wasn't wrong. Maybe that's my old self speaking not realizing how men in authority have treated me poorly? None the less I admire the wisdom that came from him, and his audacity, rather courage to practice and work with patience of a different faith (Mormon) than him, when he specifically wasn't fond of the cult. One session he actually said that "I was harshing his mellow". I grinned, I thought he was so interesting. This therapist came highly recommendation by my bishop, who I saw as a fatherly figure, and was paying for these appointment, was sitting on the floor drawing me photos, and called a bitch. And got paid to do it. ha!

Honestly, looking back, I was always a bit odd to I find this interesting, it was because I liked his style, and his heart despite our differences. He wasn't the one that needed changing after all, I was. I came to him for help. I had a few more therapists, impatient, social workers, short term through homelessness, and even saw Joe again once or twice. Until my suicide attempt in Jan 2018, and threw me back into weekly and non stop mental health care.

I bounced therapist to therapist. I started with a nice older man named Richard in February 2018. That lasted 7 weeks. His form of minimal chat therapy bored me. His office was dark with no windows either. Well, the only window was to the front desk, and made me feel uncomfortable as patients checking in for their appointment could see us through the broken cheap plastic dusty blinds. I was going through a faith transition and he was encouraging me look towards god, while I was pulling away. I then found Robin Gipe with Catholic Charities! Don't be fooled with the organization name, she only occasionally mentioned god, in neither positive or negative light. Merely keeping pace with me, and only with my consent and interest. I liked this about her, but she never did get my name right, even though I saw her twice a week for her only patient who took the first appointment at 9 am. I liked her enough and she supported me being polyamorous. Even gave me a podcast she listens to on her own about kink/swinging/poly life styles. I was like "ooo gurl, okay!" but after six months of her not remembering my name, I ditched her too. And went back impatient. I needed a better therapist. Or something, something different, this wasn't working. And impatient psychiatric stays require them to schedule outpatient care usually within 7 days of discharge... No such luck was immediately found though. Sheppard Pratt, Maryland's supposedly five star rated Mental health hospital matched me with someone outside of my county, but had the qualifications and form of therapy I had been looking for, DBT! (Dialectical Behavioral therapy) Upon first appointment, I was let known that neither him nor anyone in his office or facility offered DBT. Unfortunately I also found him physically attractive. And so even though I had been hospitalized for 19 days, and then waited another 3.5 weeks for my first appointment with him, by my 2nd session I knew this wouldn't work. Our 3rd and last appointment was goodbye. Unlike other therapists, he gave me lists of books and other places to look for help. He suggested a Vipassana get away. (a 10-day silent Buddhist retreat for meditation! Closest one was in Delaware, about a 3 hours drive from me) He also suggest me leave the Mormon church in fact he was the release of the catapult I had loaded and was waiting to shoot, that put my faith-crisis in motion. At the very end he also slipped me a name/number of a guy who uses psychedelics on the back of a posted note, mentioned he realizes this is unprofessional but believed he could truly help me. Ha! Drugs heal man! And yes, I called him. No drugs yet though.... maybe I'll hit him back up. Up next I went to another facility in my town in the same building as Catholic Charities. Western Maryland Counseling Center, the only location in my town that offered the form of therapy I wanted/needed DBT. And it was a flop. The woman who runs it is a total bitch. Her name is Jessica. And she gave me fresh from graduation new therapist named Molly. A blonde overly excited social worker. I'm not the type of patient you partner with someone new in the field. Sorry. The woman who ran it told me and my case manager in person I needed a "higher level of care than they could not provide" and refused to work me any further beyond those 3 sessions and removed me from their practice without my desire to leave all from me feeling suicidal and not wanting to go to the hospital.

If Fred doesn't own these already, I know he would wear them.

Then I met Fred on Christmas Eve, 2018. The one mentioned at the beginning of this blog. He is in private practice, too. He is slender, eccentric and fashionable, I don't think I ever saw him wear the same shoes twice. Suede, red, yellow, Van gough starry night, purple shoes... He had crystals in his windows on a a tall shelf, so when the sun shined through it cast rainbows on the walls. Fred doesn't give two shits about holidays and therefore he works on them, on behalf of his patients. My second appointment was New Years! He's a bit out there... in other words, a good fit. Until he told me that "I was spending a lot of time putting effort into applying for disability, but little to no effort applying for scholarships, mentor/internships, colleges or other work study programs and activities to better myself." I honestly never got over it, he never apologized for hurting my feelings after I wrote him an email telling him how hard it was to come to therapy now that it felt like he was calling me lazy. As if I couldn't do both, apply to disability and better myself. And I ended our therapy together. We had many good bonding moments, including him visiting me once while I was impatient during another mental health stay, after visiting his sick dad. He cares about his patients, I just couldn't be the patient he wanted me to be when he wanted me to be it. I needed another change away from his judgement. I didn't need a life coach, I needed healing.

I now work with a woman named Danielle Hudack at Keep Exploring Yourself here in town, also in private practice. We have come to the conclusion of a new diagnosis of PTSD, and are working towards EMDR therapy. I'm in a "learning about myself" phase until we can start that form of therapy. And only in month two with her. Paper work, venting, sickness and holidays stand in the way of the progress (time) healing takes.

Indeed all my favorite therapists were in private practice and went against the grain. I'm not a traditional person, and I don't need traditional therapy, but I do need therapy. This is my journey along with several others who work hard for themselves searching for something better. My goal wasn't to end on a sour note and tell you after all this it hasn't been worth it. But it doesn't feel like it has. I feel like a hamster on a wheel. Running an invisible race with no beginning or end. Just running to run. And the only progress I make occasionally is internally that few take the time to see.

I feel like the only thing I've gotten better at is being mad at the failed system. Everyone is quick to tell me that I or my mental health team is doing something wrong because I'm not getting better. I'm inclined to believe them, but I'm not sure at this time what else I can do differently to create a different outcome. This is just a list of therapists and my experience with them during my journey. During which started amidst my parents divorce, than leaving the state to Idaho for private university, when I dropped out and became homeless, I then had several hospitalizations and suicide attempts, became a felon, was applying to disability, attended court hearings, made several visits to the department of social services and Social Security administration, met with several case managers about my health care/housing, bought and sold vehicles I needed for my transportation to my appointments and other life errands, all while experiencing normal daily life occurrences. Trying to set aside time weekly to meet with a therapist and figure myself out and get better. Remember, one hour a week is less than 1% of my life, but yet my life seems to revolve around it's care.

I'm not sure where I'm at on this journey, but the struggle seems never ending for me. Here's to learning the terrain never gets easier, my legs just get stronger. And I hate that. I hate that a lot.

Fuck yeah!