Therapy, at last.

My birthday was yesterday. My therapy was also yesterday.

I managed to wake up feeling happier, and my Moodscope score was 71% (compared to the 19% of Wednesday). The day passed nicely with presents and a lunch out, and then it was nearly 2pm. Therapy time. D-Day all over again.

As it turns out, the voices were entirely wrong. They made me feel so awful on Wednesday that I felt like killing myself was the only way out. I felt almost sick as my therapist called me in, and I went into the little room with a heavy heart. I was already hearing my poisoned radio of three presenters: “She doesn’t want you here; stop whinging; you are getting put back into the system, you know; stop believing you will ever be fixed…”

Dr K, my therapist, was kindly directing me to my chair as I re-focussed my attention into the room. She then explained that she was familiar to a certain extent with my case, as she had read my notes, but she was going to use the first two sessions to get to know me a little better.

I realised that now was my chance to explain that I had been waiting for so long for help that I barely knew where to start. So I just opened my mouth and explained how I felt- and suddenly, the floodgates opened and I felt words coming out of my mouth that I had been waiting to say for months.

“I’m just traumatised- I think I have PTSD.

“I got told by three psychiatrists that the abuse was my fault because I have a personality disorder, then I found out they had written ‘diagnosis unknown’ on the assessment sheet.

“My ex controlled me to the point where I was not allowed out of the house unless he said so, I could only wear carefully approved outfits, I wasn’t allowed to see friends and I was raped.

“I just really need help to deal with my fear and my symptoms…”

She listened really well and she was shocked at how bad the abuse was. Dr K actually said that it was “like the stories you hear on the news,” which was a huge relief for me. To hear that from her was almost a validation that yes, my suffering was that bad, yes it was caused by him, yes it was all his fault…

And then the voices. She was concerned that I had had to wait for so long without support until I saw her, and she said that it must be horrible to try and function with three voices going on at me all the time. Dr K also said that she was concerned that I was suicidal yesterday and had no help.

She will be helping me manage my symptoms, and hopefully help me to get to the root of them. She said we could try EMDR, other voice-management techniques (like bringing them out in sessions and engaging with them), and we would focus on other things too, like trying to empower me.

I cried more out of gratitude than sadness. She told me I have PTSD, no question, and she told me I would be getting help for as long as it took. That’s all I’ve been waiting to hear for so long.

Thank all the gods that finally, finally, I have help, and thank you all for hauling my ass through some parts of the roughest year of my life. Thank you to my loving friends, my wonderful family, and to J, for being kind and honest and supportive.

I am desperate to heal. I want to live, not tread water. I want to be me again.


2 comments on “Therapy, at last.

  1. Am a new follower. Good for you!

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