What the fuck am I doing here?
By 5 p.m. yesterday, that was the only question on my mind. And for once it had nothing to do with existentialism and my place in the Universe, and everything to do with the very real walls of Addiction Central.
Yoda either suffered a concussion or went out back to blow a joint before our appointment. He interrupted me several times, cutting me off mid sentence. He forgot that I make music and write, and he seemed to completely space that last time he asked me for my web address to check out some of my work. Our time was short. He kept me waiting for 20 minutes and then just took it off my appointment; at a maximum we spoke for 40 minutes. Yoda took more time trying to remember some funny films from Woody Allen and the Coen brothers than he did acknowledging anything I told him. I was told I’d want sex again, and my statement about the abusive ex-turned-stalker was literally waved off by Yoda’s hand.
Maybe I should have nicknamed him Groucho instead.
No testing was done. Bipolar and ADHD were not mentioned. I was told to keep seeing Heike. I said, ‘So…that’s it? Just see Heike and cut back on smoking?’ (The ONLY thing Yoda was consistent on was his opinion that I should not quit smoking, just cut back.) He responded yes, that’s exactly what I should do and Heike could set up an appointment with him if I needed one in the future.
I’m still in shock. Yoda didn’t even remember I was 50 years old, which a quick look at my file would have told him.
Oh, the echoes of family harm have been strong since! I’m being ignored, forgotten, brushed aside, dismissed. All because I’m the problem child, a freak, hysterical, out of my head, crazy. No, wait. I’m not crazy; Yoda said yesterday ‘So you’re fine’ – a statement that elicited derisive laughter from me, but maybe that sarcasm got lost in translation. He certainly seemed to treat me like all I was was some dope head that needed to stop being in such a fog (as IF!).
While I kept remarkably calm through everything yesterday – and I did, I DID keep remarkably calm thru the whole thing – I couldn’t sleep last night without taking an Ativan, despite my shorted sleep the previous night. 20 hours up without a nap or rest and I said fuck it. My eyes were dry, I was yawning and tired, but my head couldn’t shut off. I took it for me and I took it as a fuck you to Yoda and Addiction Central.
I SAID a lot depended on my visit with Yoda. And it did. I just didn’t realize how many things depended on that visit until I was shown the door and sent on my way in a cloud of bewilderment.
Today is Saturday, not a day to dick around with the health system that largely runs Monday thru Friday. Come Monday, though, I’m marching over to my huisart’s office and getting a double appointment with her. While my mental health is not her forte, she does have the last word in my health care in general. She needs to hear about what’s been going on; the cancellations, the back and forth, and now the complete dismissal by Yoda. I’ve thought all night about this one, and my decision is that I will not go back there. Come Monday I’m canceling my appointment with Heike. That makes me a bit sad; I just got thru a host of problems with her and had real hope that we were going to start working as a team. But I will not – EVER – go to see Yoda again. I will not sit in the same room as a man who blows off with a casual hand flip any woman, including me, who says the word ‘rape’. Not again. Forget it.
It’s tough to not want to hurt myself today. Push myself until pain comes. I feel like I deserve it. The treatment I received yesterday is reinforcing that feeling for me, and my anger over the issue is mixing with my self loathing to the point that I am in danger. Very much so. Sitting still will be a challenge.
One joint smoked and like I give a fuck today how many I puff down…
I figure there are three possible outcomes I’m looking at. The first is that I’ll get on the waiting list for Addiction Central’s northern clinic (I’ve been traveling an hour each way to go to the southern one) and begin the entire merry-go-round again, with new therapists and psychiatrists to deal with. The second is that I’ll get an appointment with the original center that demanded I ‘get clean’ for 30 days. I’m willing to do that, all on my own, but I want the appointment set up before I begin. I won’t get clean and then wait another 2 months while they dick me in the system. The third is I’ll say fuck off to the entire idea and keep limping thru my life as I’ve been doing. It was hard enough for me to ask for help in the first place. Took me 50 goddamn fucking years to do it, for christ’s sake!
And why the fuck was my file marked ‘urgent’ – which I KNOW it was because I was TOLD it was – and here I sit, still spinning around and getting NOWHERE? Something’s amiss in the land of bliss.
While I’m confused and angry, I am very proud of (1) the way I handled myself during the appointment and (2) the fact I quickly realized something was WRONG yesterday and did my best to not internalize it. Yes, I’ve taken some of it in. This is the first time I’m trying to do this, to see what really happens, to hear and smell and feel the triggers and know that they’re triggers, and not buy into it. I defended myself well yesterday. Yes, that defense looked a bit like retreat into myself; I said less and less to Yoda the more and more bizarre his behavior became. THAT was a wise fall-back. I kept myself safe and semi-distant from him, able to observe his behavior while suffering the fewest of his verbal and nonverbal shots at me.
I should not feel at war with my doctors.
Time to do what I’ve been dancing around: fire their asses and find someone else to work with.