If my life wasn’t it ruins before, it certainly is now.
I don’t even want to talk about the past few weeks, it is all too much negativity and I know how people hate that, especially near the festive day. Yet those same people will see the blog title and out of sheer nosiness, they will have to read.
Well you won’t find anything so sustain your appetite for drama here. There’s little humor in this situation and lord knows I often try to dig for the silver lining. Bilious are the entrails of those who feast on another’s woe.
I wasn’t in there long, unlike my previous stay. It seems to me, an almost pointless expedition to have made. I came out worse than when I went in and with little hope of a future at all.
Whilst I was in there, a psychiatrist, having known me for all of a benzo-meddled 10 minutes, decided I was to be withdrawn from my course at college because I was ‘aiming to high!’ In one sentence this hook nosed creature with creased skin snapped my entire future from under me and dismissed it as a small child’s dream. In her view, having read the notes about the previous 7 days, I was going nowhere in life and never would. Great!
They also insisted I quit paying for my therapy and do something called the ‘recovery college,’ which involves sitting in multiple classes with multiple people learning about everything I already learnt about in the very expensive therapy I have spent the last 4 years paying for, because the mental health service told me there was no treatments or help available to me.
Now I am expected to hinder the progress I have made, tackle my anxiety in groups situations (after being told a classroom environment is too much for my tiny brain) just to relearn CBT techniques that I already know. A complete waste of time if there ever was one.
Well what would you have like to have done, I hear you bellow; brow knitted.
I’d have continued with college. I’d have persisted to tackle my anxiety, catch up on my work, offered me a new drug or a higher dose and allowed myself a well earned qualification by summer 2018 and be a whole step further to actually stating my degree.
Instead I will have nothing by summer 2018 but a headache from listening to other mentally unwell people, who haven’t spend 4 years in therapy, moan about how hard their life is. This time next year, instead of being at my dream uni on my psychology course, I will have achieved precisely nothing. At most I may have learnt a few new tricks to help manage the emotions I am experiencing as a traumatized human being. I will have gained nothing that I could not have gained through continuing art therapy and studying psychology!!
I currently have no job, I’m not in education and as of tomorrow I officially have no hope of being a mother. Right now life feels pretty pointless and holds no purpose. There is no future on my page, past me and A’s weekend away in January.
I have been considering a break from therapy; just until I have a chance to see if my seizures and symptoms increase or decrease with this pause.
I am still awaiting the EMDR therapy and for these actual recovery courses to begin. Basically I am in the fall through net. There is no support system during Xmas or for the foreseeable. I am simply bouncing violently in the net between their schemes and my dreams.