This is a slightly edited version of the email I sent to my psychologist this morning. Names have been changed to protect anonymity.
I don’t know what to do. Do I try and call you? (but you’re probably not available and I feel bad about being reliant on you) or do I call duty? (who I will have to wait for a call back from and who are likely to not be able to help that much), or do I try and handle this all independently? (Which is hard and carries the risk that my emotions will explode at some point and I won’t be able to coherently explain what’s wrong or get help quick enough).
I have had enough. I can’t deal with the whole “Dr situation” on top of what I was already dealing with, and the extra pressure of hubby going away most of this week, and it being my birthday which I have been dreading.
I feel self conscious about ringing the CMHT as some of them will probably know I’m complaining about Dr X, especially Dr X’s secretary, who I feel most awkward with as I rang her in a very emotional state last week crying and swearing etc.
I feel ashamed of being this emotional and losing control sometimes. I also feel paranoid that I am being judged for being emotionally out of control, as I massively care what people think and want to just be “normal”. I feel paranoid that people will just think I’m making up stuff about Dr X because I have a personal vendetta against her, but I’m not and I don’t.
She is this perfect appearing doctor and I am the emotional vulnerable patient who people don’t like because of my ‘unusual’/messed up personality.
Dr X made me hate my personality more than I ever have done myself. Every bit of shame I was already feeling she maximised. She drew attention to my extremes, my changeability, my sensitivity, and how people can’t work me out… how I confuse, upset and provoke people, just by being myself. She was a professional bully to me. There was NOTHING helpful in what she said, though she claimed to be trying to help me by stating these very un-neutral and negative toned observations.
She makes me hate being me, even more than I already hated being me.
When I said I was starting to think maybe I should be just someone who writes reclusively without any social interaction or attempts to work alongside people, she wholeheartedly agreed.
I’m such a PD freak I think, so maybe I should not inflict myself on humanity and ruin the world with my shittily impossible personality.
I’m suicidally low. I’m crying. I’m alone. I feel a sense of loss, and a huge lostness of myself and my place in the world. I have no parents, and now no doctor.
She said things when I was so desperate and hurting which really fucking helped, so how can I reconcile that she was sometimes like that and so healing, with how she was last week? So stigmatising and dismissive and off-hand?
Mocking me. Laughing. Picking at my wounds. Bullying. How can this be the same person??? I can’t process her extremes, let alone my own.
I may not even be believed when I’m telling the truth, yet again. So what is the point of speaking the unfiltered truth, when not everyone listens and some people will directly oppose me?
Why is it, that it is the powerful emotionally harmful ones who block my expressions of truth? Why do they hurt me then say they didn’t. Or say I am evidently hurting, but it wasn’t anything to do with them, hands up “not guilty” they say. Nothing to do with me, just you and your messed up personality and psychiatric distortions.
Fuck it. What is the point in living if I can speak the truth and people will only dismiss it as fiction? due to me supposedly distorting everything with my fuckedupness? What is the point?
People will side with the doc, because she’s the all powerful and well respected consultant, and I’m the one that calls up crying and asking for help like the fuckedup waster that I am.
I give up, seriously. I give up on humanity. I give up on fighting this battle.
I feel fucking awful.
….That was what I sent, I’m now waiting for the CMHT to call me back. Last night I felt suicidal and in crisis and turned to my support network of friends to distract me and keep me safe in favour of the crisis team, [as the crisis team are absolute shit]. Life is bloody hard sometimes, and a life spent enduring mental illness is no life. I’ve had enough. My light is not shining. I am watching the anti-suicide video at the end of this post on repeat and trying desperately to believe the words. This is all I can write for now. I’m in crisis. What is the point?
I live for my children, suicidality is something to be tolerated. BPD is shit. PTSD is shit. Life is shit, I am shit. Hopefully that’s clearly enough put for today, feeling how I’m feeling.