Tuesday, December 20, 2011

borderline commitment of the fucked up.

Therapy with Dr. K began more than an hour and a half late.  At least she called me to tell me she wouldn't be able to make it until three.  She didn't actually show up until 3:30.  To be fair traffic in Los Angeles can be really horrible if there is an accident somewhere within a hundred mile radius.

We started therapy talking about my panic last week and then about Maggie.  She later mentioned that CT called her to tell her I asked for an extra session last week and that she wanted to see if there were any other sort of process groups I could join to get extra help...because I'm THAT crazy.  Things between CT and me have been a little tense and so Dr. K and I talked about that.  I said I don't think CT likes me or cares about me very much and how I think she's going to dump me the minute she finds an opportunity.  We talked about that for a little while and that she thinks that CT clearly cares about me, blah blah blah.  "It's really difficult to be a therapist for someone you don't like."  She went on to talk about how hard it is to work with people who have Borderline personality disorder.

"I do not have borderline personality disorder and I am not willing to continue treatment with people who need to give me that label in order to treat me."

"You have borderline traits."

"You need to have five out of nine criteria to be diagnosed with borderline.  I don't."

"I didn't say you were borderline, only that you have traits."

"So what traits do I have then?"

"Your panic, transient moods, not really knowing who you are.  Cutting and self harm are pretty unique to borderline."  She says a bunch of more crap about Axis 2 diagnosis. 

"No they aren't.  I don't think I agree with those things, but even if I did, those things cross over with a lot of other disorders.  There is nothing wrong with my personality."

We talk about this for a while and then she defensively says "Well, how would you like me to describe you?  What diagnosis do you want?  We have to tell your insurance something."

"I know you have tell my insurance something, but my insurance will not pay for borderline personality disorder anyway.  You can label me all you want.  I don't care.  There is nothing wrong with my personality."

It all went downhill from there.  I'm not sure how CT came back into the conversation but she said something about how she and CT don't think I am committed to change and learning to self soothe and that I have to be open to change and learning new ways to do things to improve.  I have to want to put out the effort to change.  I began to cry.  I didn't say much else because Dr. K was clearly flustered and kept telling me things like "You won't let me fix it.  You are making it impossible for me to win in this situation."  I fully admit that I can become a bit tunneled visioned.  When something hurts my feelings I tend to not be able to focus on anything else and I don't really want to because what matters more to me are what people actually think and do and not what they say.  I always think the negative things people say about me are what they truly think about me and that the careless actions are further proof. 

"I see you once a week.  I see CT twice a week.  I go to class once a week, but apparently that means nothing.  I'm not committed or putting in an effort to learning new skills."  I am so upset.  I hate therapy.  I hate DBT.  I always feel like shit when I leave these things.  I have never missed a session.  I am the only person in my class who has never missed a DBT class.  I sat through DBT class last week even though I could barely stay conscious, but you know, I'm not committed or putting in any effort to change my life at all.  What the fuck have I been doing for a year and 8 months of my life?  What the fuck have I been doing?  I guess paying $650 a month out of my really tiny unemployment check so that I can continue treatment means absolutely nothing.  All the time and tears I put into therapy mean nothing.  I walked out of therapy early because none of it matters.  Needless to say I will not be going to DBT class Tuesday tonight.

Fuck I am tired of my shitty life. Maggie is right.  Therapy won't help me.  I need to stop dwelling in the past.  Therapy isn't helping me.  My dangerous medications won't help me.  I might as well dive into a bag of cocaine and ski my life away.  It's not like I'm really as innocent as I make myself look on this blog.  Tim used to cuddle with me and rub my back at night for months before things went further.  I could have resisted then.  The first time he went too far, I pushed him over the edge.  I pushed him to the limit.  I was throwing tantrum after tantrum for hours.  I was obnoxious and he exploded.  He was drunk and raging and I kept pushing until he couldn't take it anymore.

He raped me.  That was wrong.  I get that, but I am the one who pushed him and pushed him until he exploded.  I screamed in pain in the beginning but after that I felt nothing.  Literally nothing.  I drew on the shower tiles with my own blood.  I felt absolutely nothing.  When it was all over and I was bathed and everything cleaned up, I felt nothing.  I felt nothing until I saw my sheets were thrown away.  I cried about my sheets.  I cried hard about my stupid sheets.  I only cared about my bedding not the fact that someone I loved had just violently violated me.  I was a fucked up kid.  Later on when I needed to see doctors for "straddle injuries" I came up with my own lies.  No one told me what to say.  I created my own lies about how I hurt myself.  I never asked for help.  I never told anyone.  I did nothing to help myself.  I could have told the truth and saved myself but I guess I didn't want to be saved.

Maggie is right.  He wasn't always violent and forceful.  He was only that way when he was angry.  At other times he was gentle and loving and I really liked being told how beautiful, smart, sexy, and loved I was.  I liked being wanted and loved.  Yeah, and sometimes I actually liked it, physically, mentally, all of it.  I was a fucked up child.  Sometimes I was the one who instigated it. Sometimes when I thought he was getting angry, I would purposely instigate it to make him feel better.  Sometimes I did it because I knew it would be rough and painful later, but sometimes I instigated it for no reason at all, just because I wanted to.

Sometimes I miss him.  How fucked up is that?  Sometimes my dreams about him are not nightmares.  I feel really sick and confused when I think about all of it and I can't believe I'm admitting it all in public.  How can I think of myself as such a little victim when it's my fault that things happened the way they did?  All of it is my fault.  I started it and I never even tried to help myself.  No wonder they left me at that hospital.  No wonder I was labeled as unfit for a family environment and no longer adoptable.  No wonder no one wants me.  I am a fucked up human being that no amount of therapy can fix.  Even therapists don't think there is any hope for me.  I give up.