Much to my surprise I had an appointment with the cognitive behavioural woman this morning. Less to my surprise, I hate her. This is becoming a bit of a problem. I hate all the stupid patronising adults working in that building over the road from the computer I’m at now (I can see it out the window! Yuk) and I don’t get on with any of them and they all leave these great long silences where they nod sympathetically and wait for me to say something but I don’t because there was no question and then they say why are you getting angry? What’s going through your head right now? and I say nothing, nothing, and smile fixedly so that they can tell it’s a big fat fib and they nod and go mmm and I try not to tear my hand to bits with my nails because I need that hand to hold my pen on Monday in my Maths exam.
At this point she said “I can see you’re angry right now, Suzanne! What thoughts go through your head when you’re angry?”
“What, you mean what am I thinking now?” I’m thinking drop dead you stupid woman. And if you can’t do that then leave me alone, I hate you, I hate you. Euuuch. My hands are shaking just typing this.
“Not now, just generally. What do you think that triggers your anger?”
“I don’t. I just am. Sometimes I wake up angry and that’s it, I’m angry.”
“Yes. Well, you see, I’m a therapist, so I do know more about this than you -” well, blatantly you do, at which point did you hear me purporting to know more than a therapist? I’m not that arrogant “- but your moods are connected to your thoughts. They don’t just appear somehow; they’re triggered. Can you perhaps remember an occasion when you were angry? What were you thinking then?”
It doesn’t matter how many times you say it, lady, and how many different ways you can think of to say it in, because I am angry. It is how I live. Sometimes the anger lays lower than other times, but if you happen to be around when it gets to the surface, I will be angry at you whether you asked me if I wanted a drink or whether you called my mother a whore. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, far as I can tell, I’ll just wake up angry some days. It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking.”
“Yes, but it’s connected. It’s connected, the circle of life, haha aren’t I funny and don’t I get along so well with children with my fecking bad grammar and likely belief in ley lines -”
It isn’t connected! OK? She thinks I’m pre-psychotic (there’s some fancy term for that that I’ve already forgotten) because I told her about feeling unreal, and she wants to get the psychiatrist to put me on meds but I’m not going on medication, right? I function fine! To have some kind of mental disorder it’s got to interfere with your social or physical or mental functioning, right? And I operate just like everybody else! I just happen to feel like everybody else isn’t real, on occasion. It doesn’t negatively affect me. Sometimes it’s handy.
She thinks that while feeling unreal CBT would be of minimal help, so I best get drugged up before coming back to see her. Jeez. I probably ought to stop hating on mental health professionals but I can’t help it, I hate them, it’s like the interview process involves finding the city’s most objectionable adults and then giving them objectionable clothes and then giving them a leaflet which outlines What The Youth Of Today Find Amusing and telling them to learn it by heart and jeez!
“I had a girl send me a card last week. The one who goes to your school.”
Oh, sure you did. Because that isn’t the world’s greatest coincidence? You have seen another girl of my age at my school who has my issues. Of course you have. Shut up.
“It just said, Thank you.”
Yes. OK, it said thank you. All right, I’ve got that. You can stop staring at me now. There’s no need to outline the words in the air, yes, OK, stop that now. I said stop that!
“‘I never thought I could be happy’, it said.”
I bet she started thinking that soon as she got into therapy with you. It’s like, abandon hope all ye who hear my voice. Shut up.
“‘Thank you’, she said.”
Yeah, you mentioned that bit. Nothing else? No, like, declaration of her undying love and willingness to do anything for you no matter the cost to her? You mean she wouldn’t lay down her life for you? Well, that’s it, I’m not listening if she didn’t say that bit. Why am I meant to care if some kid who allegedly went to my school once upon a time is happy?
She said a complete therapy course would take about six to ten sessions “because you’re a smart girl.” Then, like everybody else in CAMHS I’ve met, she left a long pause. Probably I’m meant to blush modestly at that point, or say no, i’m not really or thank them, but I just stare at them. I am smart. I know that. Telling me and waiting for thanks is just butt-kissing, isn’t it? Stop it. Stop kissing my butt and go away. Look, if you ever want me to write you a grovelling thank you card you’re gonna have to do more than tell me I’m smart.
OK. I’m worn out now and I’ve almost used up my allotted library computer time, so I guess I’d better shut up. I’m getting a hair cut later which I’m a bit excited about, and I’ll probably erase this morning from my mind as soon as I log off. Thanks to all of you who wished me a happy birthday – it was the one sunny day in my otherwise rainy and typically English-summer half-term. I had a nice day.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tagged: anger, arrogance, bad grammar, camhs, cbt, circle of life, cognitive behavioural therapy, computer, english summer, good day, grovelling, ingratitude, ley lines, library, mental illness, negative affect, patronising, psychiatrist, psychosis, therapist, thoughts, triggers | 8 Comments »