I’ve had three therapists in my lifetime; I’ve been forced to change therapists because of moving. Additionally, I’ve never frequented one for more than a year. Probably never more than six months at a time.
My current therapist, we’ll call her DB, I am seeing at the referral of my physician. I’ve only seen her three times and twice I’ve had the privilege of vibrating in her office. I was initially excited about her EMDR techniques; I’m struggling enough that vibrating my anxiety away to the visualization of a “safe place” sounded like just what I needed. As it turns out, I can’t even think of a safe place. I spend a lot of time in my bedroom so I visualized that. However, I don’t even want my walls green anymore, and that’s what I was stuck imagining. I didn’t want to talk all stream of consciousness, but I couldn’t express that, all I could do was sit there and cry. My only regret is that I didn’t place the vibrators in my crotch.
I stopped going after two sessions because I didn’t think it was helping and I want someone much smarter than me. Yet I’m a glutton for punishment, I suppose, because I went back. This time she asked me to consider seeing an iridologist. Perhaps alternative medicine will help me where traditional medication has failed. Perhaps a man staring into my eyes can tell me I have parasites and heal me of all my afflictions. If only.
I’m waiting to get in to see a psychiatrist, but the demand is so high and supply is so low that the wait is taking forever. I haven’t even been allowed to schedule an appointment yet.