Because I'm the kind of miserable fucker who broods even when she's sober and on meds
I don't know why, but I've been dwelling on the end of my last bout of counselling.
I know that in the week before I quit I was full of moral outrage and he was wrong and I was right, dammit. But by the time I got to the appointment, I was just tired. I just wanted out. I didn't give him the stuff I'd printed off on dangerousness and I wasn't planning to discuss his earlier comments. I just said this wasn't working, and we had fundamentally incompatible approaches and basic ideas, and this wasn't doing anything for me. He said, so what now, do we sit here in silence for forty-five minutes? I said, well, I was hoping I could go home early.
Oh, no.
He wanted to talk about it.
With hindsight, I should've seen that one coming.
So then we had this real fun conversation where he turned it all back on me. We'd been making progress, apparently. (We had? I thought I was playing along with his asinine small talk out of uncomfortable politeness, and wondering when the good bit was gonna start.) This was a cycle I went through. I was never going to get any better unless I stopped turning on people and withdrawing from the process. He couldn't express himself without me getting offended. It was all about how I had to be right and I couldn't stand anybody disagreeing with me.
Oh, and he hadn't said any of the things he'd said the previous week. Total flat-out denial. Basically took the Shaggy defence. Just as well I don't have any issues with shrinks acting like they're god and their word is automatically privileged over mine... oh, wait.
If I'd had any doubts about dumping him, the way he behaved when I did it pretty much wiped them out.
And I just feel tired, and depressed, and like any freaking time I ask for help someone just sees that point of weakness and goes for it.
At this point, I'd like to make a request of people going into the mental health professions. Please, get your shit together first. You should be less clingy and needy than your client. You should take things less personally than your client. And if you're going for my squishy bits, use needles, not fishhooks, so I don't tear bits out and leave them all over the carpet when I try to get away.
This entry was originally posted at http://frightened.dreamwidth.org/43404.html. Comment where you please.
I know that in the week before I quit I was full of moral outrage and he was wrong and I was right, dammit. But by the time I got to the appointment, I was just tired. I just wanted out. I didn't give him the stuff I'd printed off on dangerousness and I wasn't planning to discuss his earlier comments. I just said this wasn't working, and we had fundamentally incompatible approaches and basic ideas, and this wasn't doing anything for me. He said, so what now, do we sit here in silence for forty-five minutes? I said, well, I was hoping I could go home early.
Oh, no.
He wanted to talk about it.
With hindsight, I should've seen that one coming.
So then we had this real fun conversation where he turned it all back on me. We'd been making progress, apparently. (We had? I thought I was playing along with his asinine small talk out of uncomfortable politeness, and wondering when the good bit was gonna start.) This was a cycle I went through. I was never going to get any better unless I stopped turning on people and withdrawing from the process. He couldn't express himself without me getting offended. It was all about how I had to be right and I couldn't stand anybody disagreeing with me.
Oh, and he hadn't said any of the things he'd said the previous week. Total flat-out denial. Basically took the Shaggy defence. Just as well I don't have any issues with shrinks acting like they're god and their word is automatically privileged over mine... oh, wait.
If I'd had any doubts about dumping him, the way he behaved when I did it pretty much wiped them out.
And I just feel tired, and depressed, and like any freaking time I ask for help someone just sees that point of weakness and goes for it.
At this point, I'd like to make a request of people going into the mental health professions. Please, get your shit together first. You should be less clingy and needy than your client. You should take things less personally than your client. And if you're going for my squishy bits, use needles, not fishhooks, so I don't tear bits out and leave them all over the carpet when I try to get away.
This entry was originally posted at http://frightened.dreamwidth.org/43404.html. Comment where you please.