It is getting harder and harder not to contact Therapist. It’s on my mind almost all the time. Just pick up the phone. Drop her a mail. Tell her how much I miss her, she’ll understand, she’ll take me back. I want to hear that she misses me too, that she’s feeling even a fraction of the pain that is currently threatening to take me over.
But of course she doesn’t. Why would she? We weren’t friends, she was my therapist, and now she’s not. End of. I need to get over it, move on. But I just can’t. The more time is put between us, the harder it’s getting. When I was seeing her, she helped me hang on to perspective and not let things spiral out of control, but now all my energy is going into missing her and maintaining my distance, and I haven’t anything left to fight the rest. I’ve tried explaining this to various professionals – my psychiatrist, the hospital psychologist, my gp – and they get it, to an extent. But all I keep getting in return is keep going, keep doing what you’re doing, take extra drugs when it gets really bad.
The problem is the extra drugs are habit forming, and my need for them is increasing because things are getting really bad with increasing regularity. Yesterday was horrendous, the worst in a while which is really saying something given how the last few weeks have been. I cried at my boss, at a colleague, at my desk, the entire drive home, and then I introduced my gp to a whole new level of crazy. I’ve been signed out of work for a few days, and so far today have managed to get up (took a really, really long time), make some scones, and then lose it again. More emergency drugs so I’m calm now.
I don’t know how long I can be expected to continue like this. My gp feels that if I was guaranteed starting dbt in March that would help, and we’d/I’d muddle through the next few months, somehow. But it’s the somehow of that equation that bothers me. How??? I can’t concentrate on anything that involves complex thinking, or hanging on to more than one concept at a time, so work is proving extremely challenging. I can potter about the house. I can colour with the kids. I can walk, and walk, and walk, and walk. But after that?
Time heals all wounds apparently. Not so much this one. This one is festering.