Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Waste of Time (Part 1)

For many years I have resisted going to counseling to treat my chronic depression and my eating disorder. I was first told to go to counseling at 17 when I had already developed Bulimia Nervosa, an eating disorder, which I have been living with now for 15 years. (Shit, that is half my life!) I just saw no point to it; I was diagnosed with "mild" melancholy, and they never even detected that I had behavioural problems with my eating habits. How can someone who "under-diagnosed" me send me off for the "right treatment"? How can my problems be solved by a complete stranger who knows fuck all about me, when *I* -- who knows me the best, and most -- can't change anything? All the shrink tools, meditation exercises, and big hugs in the world were not going to make the pain go away. "Just give me the pills so that I can function, get my grades, and get the fuck out of this miserable situation that I am in." was all that I would say in my sessions with my first shrink.

The second time I went into counseling was when I was at University; my doctor refused to give me my Prozac unless I went to see a counselor. If anyone who is thinking of being a psychiatric nurse, or a clinical psychologist, or going into a profession dealing with people who have some form of neurosis is reading this, well, this is one of the worst things you can do to one of your patients -- make threats to remove their happy pills, coz they are NOT going to cooperate. I used to go to my counseling sessions, sit down, ask what time it was, and sat there in silence for the entire session. I knew that what was "discussed" between me and my counselor stayed between us, unless they thought I was a threat to myself so I took full advantage of the "patient confidentiality" thing. I got the happy pills, in exchange of wasting 1hr of my time sitting opposite a complete stranger who just sat there and waited for me to "open up" to him.

I've had a few other shrinks that I have been seeing, some of whom recommended taking personality tests, ink blot tests, changed my medication, combined "alternative" therapy, etc. Whichever way, none of this was working.

Until I met Dana.

Dana has been my counselor for over a year now. I actually feel that I have made a lot of progress in her sessions; I don't know why I decided that I wanted to continue going to see her, but in Dana I felt that maybe I can get over all of my issues because she was the first one to make me feel like I could help myself. Not have someone else solve my issues. Unfortunately, Dana has now stopped seeing any patients, because she is on maternal leave. She adopted a little baby who needs full time attention.

Which left me back to where I started.

Luckily my doctor understands that I need all the happy pills to helps me to get thru the day and continues to write the prescriptions without any threats, and Dana has introduced me to a new, English speaking counselor. My new counselor is also a woman, but for some reason, she reminds me of why I resisted counseling all those years ago...

(to be continued)

2 comments:

CrushedDreams said...

GEEZ....things seem a mess. Perhaps your good consuler can help you find someone else? Have you expalined your point of veiw to her...she sounds like she cared and that was the key.

Hope all the CRAP in your life smooths out, perhaps you are too intelligent. Those who are have more problems making issues out of molehills.

Have you considered taking up a martial art so you have some place to beat the blahs (or somebodie's ass who needs it...)out of your system?

Here's a toast to you and your health my dear....!

Drunken Wench Rambler said...

ooooh, martial arts, huh? hmmm... I need more sales talk before I aspire to become the next Karate Kid. Beating up people under a set of RULES?!?

Nah, does not sit too well with me, I guess. I think I would prefer to either drop everything in my life and travel across Asia on horseback, or settle down quietly in my new home with my kitties, do the garden up, and sit on my porch with the DWFs - when they return - and a nice glass of Chardonnay in hand...

Now *that* is my kind of therapy!