You. I am allowed to say how I feel tonight. It’s my blog. I can say whatever I choose.

You. I know I may be a second class citizen in your mind, but I still have the right to assert my boundaries and alert you when you’ve crossed them.

You….are the most apparently self-assured person I know. You are the person who is most sure of themself and most used to being listened to and appeased by nodding dog examples of humans who are vunerable and who need what only you can give. You need to know I’m not a nodding dog, and you overstepped it today. Big fucking time. I thought you already knew my nature by now? You misjudged me, MASSIVELY.

I can say NO to you.

I can say “enough”.

I can say “what the fuck”?!?

I can say Dr, that was NOT OK.

I can say that was too much.

I can say that was bang out of order.

I can say you were wrong, and made a huge error of professional judgement there; not only with what you said, but far more with how you said it.

I can say I am staggered at how little you understand me, whilst professing to understand me inside out, psychiatrically, utterly, completely.

I can say you went too far, one time to many; that you let me down and I am bitterly disappointed and resentful.

I can say you reversed my psychological progress with your wounding words.

I can say I am sat here shaking my head in disbelief that you’d behave so out of character, and be like you were just then on our very last meeting, which I desperately wanted to be conflict-free and amicable.

I can say my memories of you are now far bitterer than sweet.

I can say I’m crushed.

I can say I’m broken.

I can say I’m disappointed.

I can say my heart hurts like you wouldn’t believe.

I can say I bet you don’t give me a second thought after that consultation, whilst I feel emotional pain in the rawest and deepest of ways, to an intensity you’ll never experience for yourself.

I hurt. You escape that. You are not hurting as I am hurting. You are protected while I am bleeding without bandages.

I can say you are categorically not the person and clinician who I thought you were.

I can say I got you wrong. I hoped for more than I got. I’m sad at the loss of you not being the person who I always wished you might possibly be for me.

I can say the suicidal pain I expressed to my psychologist after we met was fucking real. Raw and urgent.

How would you have felt seeing me double up in pain on the telephone because of your words, your looks, your malice, your attack? I didn’t provoke that. You did. It was wrong.

I can say you don’t like me and I realise that now without any shadow of a doubt.

I can say you lost patience with me and you didn’t even attempt to conceal it.

I can say you will think you were entirely right while I will know you are entirely wrong. Is that too black and white for your pastal off-white doctor’s coat grey?

I can say my sadness and hurt and injustice at the pain of being unfairly judged and misunderstood is far more uncomfortable than your professional difficulty in dealing with any patient, including myself, however challenging.

You are the doctor. You are the one who yields the control. You trained all those years at medical school to treat me like that?! Is that what the royal college of psychiatrists would agree was “good practise”??

You reckon you stuck to the NICE guidelines and your professional code of conduct this afternoon in session?

Like hell you did Dr.

That’s why this patient is going to use her voice to say “WHAT YOU SAID AND HOW YOU SAID IT WAS NOT FUCKING OK. NOT ON ANY LEVEL, IN ANY CONTEXT”




Do you hear me?

I refuse to see you again. Why?… because when I look at you, I don’t like what I see.

There is no ‘we’, any more. It is just I, and YOU.

And I will not take what YOU just did.