My therapist never replied to my email. Although I wasn’t terribly surprised. I did receive a random text yesterday to ask if Our regular session could be on a revised day at a revised time. She said she was ‘trying to accommodate everyone’s needs’ but we know that’s not true. It’s because of another new job she’s taken on. Over the course of the six months I’ve known her, there’s been a few extra roles, to supplement income, for variety, I don’t know. I think both reasons are fair enough. But not so good for people that need consistency because of work commitments or children, or because the nature of the therapy is so damn hard, you need to plan your week. I’m happy for her, and for her career. She is a good person. She has been great for me. We’ve had some differences, some major, like her missing an important anniversary day, promising to return on specific days but falling flat, miscommunication, we are all human. I haven’t held back. I have been honest about my frustrations, inconvenience, etc. this time around, Anne failed to pick up a key point. That I was upset in the waiting room. I am not angry, hurt, let down or dejected about this. Instead it highlights to me a point in our therapeutic relationship that not many people would be willing to call – we have reached a plateau. I’m indifferent now to her ways, I feel I’m at a point where perhaps she is not best placed to help me. Not trained enough, or experienced enough.
She has enabled me to bring so much out. Look at things with a different perspective, verbalise my grief and my losses, my fears and my anxieties. Recognise the power of my PTSD symptoms, know exactly when I begin to disassociate, consider the complexity of my history. To talk, to start to feel, to know that there are different parts to me. To know how important it is to have that one hour in the week to let this broken bit out. To be true.
She has given me six months of progress and insight. And the courage to do more.
But now I know there is complex stuff in there and I need something else. Someone with consistency, with more specific training I guess, I’m not sure. I didn’t know what I needed when I looked for Anne.
Of course in this quandary i feel so much annoyance and frustration – will I ever be free? Perhaps I can just forget all this crap and move on? Forget it? I would love that. But the nightmares will still come, the panic attacks, the memories will click on either in my body, or in my head – I will never be free. I think that’s really important for people to realise. Yes, the past is the past. Yes, time passes. But let me tell you, time does not heal all wounds. There is always a scar – and that scar is your permanent reminder to your past. I’m trying to find a way to live with my scar. Ignoring it for years – hasn’t worked.