Am I BeingSpied On

Am I being spied on? Am I doing something wrong that I should worry about being spied on?

I feel really rattled right now. I just had a most uncomfortable interaction with my landlord and I cannot shake the feeling that he is spying on me and came to my door to interrogate me. The conversation was very stilted, sounded planned, and awkward. I wish I just had the courage and conviction to tell people things are none of their business.

What happened:
My landlord, "C" rang my doorbell. I answered,as my door was open and he could see I was in...I probably wouldn't have answered if that weren't the case. I would have shrunk into the shadows and pretended I was not home, because he and is family scare me.

When I answered he asked me how I was doing...but the tone wasn't a polite, light conversational opener type "how are you"...it was more demanding information sounding. The reason I say this is because upon my saying okay he immediately asked me if I was working.

This question caught me completely off guard...though it shouldn't have because I stress everyday about him, or his family learning I am on a leave from work. He was just so blunt. It was weird. I didn't have time to think of how I could protect myself, and maintain my privacy...so I blurted out, yes I am working.

Immediately I thought ...He is asking me these questions in his professional "insurance adjuster" capacity. This belief was further enhanced when his next question immediately popped out of his mouth: What do you teach?

I could feel myself getting increasingly stressed...how do I answer without being dishonest, but also without telling an insurance adjuster I am working. The last thing I need is for him to think I am being dishonest by being on disability, but still working.

Note:(In reality I am not "working" in the sense that would be construed as fraudulently collecting disability insurance and working on the side. I "work" (volunteer) in an art clubhouse where teaching classes is a part of a mental illness rehabilitation program)

Regardless, of what a big part of me understands is my rehabilitation as opposed to my fraudulently working...I am so scared by all his questions.

I told him I teach printmaking and mixed media art classes. His questions kept coming...he asked twice how my boyfriend was...and he had an look of concern/perturbation on his face that was so strong that I asked him if everything was okay with me as a tenant.

Am I doing okay as a tenant? Are there any problems with my being here?, I asked. At this point I was almost on the verge of tears, and could feel myself overheating because of the stress. He said no, I was a perfect tenant.

Why then is he asking me all these questions? (His Dad has asked me about my working, and a couple times asked me why I am not at work too. I feel so uncomfortable with these questions, but I cannot think of what to say to avoid answering)

Then he asked me if I had the internet hooked up. I did this morning I told him. He then asked if I wanted to share the connection with him; me paying half and he the other half. Immediately I became intensely paranoid again. I asked him about how that might affect my privacy, i.e. if he had access to my connection via wifi/or shared connection could he see what I was doing online? Does anyone out there know the answer to this? How secure is my browsing/laptop info if I share with him, especially given he has the computer skills to spy?

When "C" left I almost got sick. I am freaking out right now...I revealed so much...told him I was working, said I'd think about a shared connection etc. He then asked me if I had my new computer. I told him I was getting one soon.

He offered to help me get a computer saying he had vendor connections. He asked me what I used it for..and I overshared and gave out too much information. Rather than say it was none of his business, I said that would be great...but inside I kept thinking he was doing this so he could install some kind of spyware on my computer so he could monitor me/spy on me.

Every time I see him, or his sister or Dad I freak out and hide in my suite until they are gone. I think I do this because I feel scrutinized and criticized at best, and spied on at worst.

I want to think I am imagining all my fears of spying, and I keep trying to reassure myself and act like I have a right to be off work and taking care of myself without fear of getting in trouble for doing things "worklike" to try to rehabilitate myself, and get back to real work and a life worth living...but more and more I think I really am being spied on.

Am I being spied on? Or am I delusional? What do those reading this post and my recent experience think?

Note: He works for a giant insurance company, has seen me receive mail from my employer's HR department every two weeks, lives in the house my suite is in so sees me home all the time, always seems uncomfortable around me and way too snoopy.

This is so stressful. Every time I leave my suite I look first to see if anyone in the house is here to see me at home (again), because I am so afraid of being seen as not working. I try to plan to stay away for at least 1/2 days if I go out...so it at least looks as though I might have at least a part time job. I am getting worn out by trying to pretend all the time...or by trying to reassure myself that it doesn't matter what his family, or him know about me. I really don't believe it doesn't matter, and I really believe something weird /nefarious is going on.

Resisting Trust

In my last post, "What a Difference a Day Makes", rather than feeling better, (I am not), I think despite feeling unwell I was able to have some insight into how my perception of other's motives might be skewed by my own beliefs about how I want and need to be supported when I am unwell.
I feel like I had an epiphany about other people. It seems obvious now that I have embraced the idea, but I am NOT the centre of the universe. Ha, ha...sort of:>( I often worry that I am narcissistic...can you be narcissistic if you think you might be? Hmmm).

Given that others deal with their depression in many different ways, it is probable, and even likely, that if they try to support me or you, or help us, they will do so in the way they understand to be helpful to them. This may or may not be the way in which you want to be supported or helped.

I know I try hard to approach friends difficulties the way I think they might need supporting, but I bet I get it completely wrong much of the time, because of my reference point. I need love and affection, nothing that indicates dismissiveness, or anger, and honest feedback.

I realize now that I block people from providing me with honest feedback because I so often feel hurt and criticized by what others perceive as honesty and even support. Difficulty trusting others is a key component to my reacting negatively i.e. fearfully, or hurt) to honest feedback.

I have great deal of difficulty trusting others, even those who consistently prove themselves trustworthy, (eg. Dr X, my boyfriend, friends etc.). I think I have made progress in this area, especially with Dr. X, but I falter all the time.

I remember just last week how intensely hurt I felt by a letter he had written to my Family Doctor (in Canada specialists need re-referrals from the referring physician every 6 mos...seems ridiculous when a psychiatrist has been seeing me this long). In the letter to request a re-refferal he said something like (paraphrase), "Aqua's mood cycles. She sees this component of her mood and is afraid to commit to regular activities". Honestly, I feel okay about what he wrote now because he and I talked about how I felt hurt by his comment.

At the time, after I left his office and read the letter, I was so hurt and angered by his comment. I felt so bad about myself and the way I was, that when I wrote my post, "Concrete and Practical Help" I could not even write about the situation that lead to my needing this help.

I felt like he was saying that I "could" commit to work etc., if only I would; that it was ME stopping myself from committing and not the fact that my mood disorder, my depression, was so intensely unpredictable and severe. It felt completely contrary to what I thought he had been telling me for years; that my mood disorder and its cycling affect my ability to maintain the momentum, motivation, mood, and energy to commit to regular scheduled activities. As I read the letter, all the trust and honesty Dr. X had worked so hard to maintain dissipated in front of me.

Obviously, not ALL the trust disappeared, because I was able to discuss my anger and hurt with him in my next appointment. The discussion helped me understand what his intentions had been. I understood more clearly. What really strikes me today, as I write this, is how, after years and years of building a trustful relationship, I can so suddenly feel hurt and distrustful.

As I read the letter to my physician I tried so hard to tell myself I was mistaken in my interpretation of the words. I tried so hard to believe and understand that Dr. X was so good to me, was so compassionate, honourable and trustworthy. I tried to remember how consistently supportive he has been all these years...but the worm of distrust, suspicion and paranoia kept digging itself into my brain.

...and I wonder why Dr. X and others might be apprehensive and not completely forthcoming about providing me with open and honest feedback. Given my pathological difficulties with trust, given my fear of being punished and plotted against, how can he be sure I will accept his feedback is thoughtful, caring and therapeutic?

Why do I resist trusting people so much?

What a Difference a Day Makes

I am okay. I will survive. I just so often wish I wouldn't. This is not what I thought my life would be like.

Last night my boyfriend called me and asked if could come over and help.

I have a friend coming in from England (actually she is moving back here) to stay with the next couple days. I had not cleaned my house in a long, long, long time. My floors were filthy, dishes literally ALL dirty, my kitchen a mess, bathroom disgustingly dirty...basically my whole place needed cleaning and I had 24 hours to do it.

Given I had months prior to this to clean and tidy my houset and hadn't been able to, things were not looking positive on the "clean the house" front. My boyfriend asked if he could come over and help me clean the house.

Can you believe that? He's a keeper...really!!!

When I was upset yesterday it was mostly because I was so depressed and needed so desperately to be heard. My friend E called me yesterday and really, really listened. We went for coffee this morning and she listened again. I hope she knows how much that means to me. I feel heard by her, and being heard makes me feel like others get me and can relate...and that I am not as freakish as I feel.

The people who commented on my last post heard me too. Thank you so much. I needed to be cared for and understood.

I know "I" (my b'friend) cares for me. He is so funny and cuddly, so passionate and charming, so thoughtful and kind in so many ways. Today I can see that maybe he approaches my depression and my reaching out the way he needs to be supported or cared for when he is depressed?

Maybe he needs people to tell him he is okay, or to tell him to try harder, or to tell him he can challenge his depression, to tell him it has no control over him? I suspect we each have different needs when it comes to feeling supported. Maybe he was supporting me the only way he knows how? Who knows.

The funny thing is that last night he said to me, "I am sorry I came across as a jesus freak last night" (apologies to anyone who has god in there live)...

I was a bit perplexed until he reminded me that, when he was trying to "help" me, he kept telling me to pray. When I said I didn't believe in god he kept saying sure you do, what is the first thing you do when something really bad happens? I had to laugh because he is right...the first thing I do is say, "Please god, don't let this be happening". Last night he told me that when he was really depressed, after he tried to commit suicide, he went to the mosque everyday and prayed to god.

We support, and show others support in a myriad of ways. I need to know that sometimes my depressive perspective skews my ability to accept feedback. I so often feel criticized when I am depressed. I need to think less about what is actually being said (from my perspective), recognize others have a different perspective than me, and think more about what the person who is speaking to me is like. If they are trustworthy, compassionate, honourable, loving and kind towards me the rest of the time, it is more than likely there ways of supporting me are intended to be that way as well.

Word Finding and Memory Problems

I am having so much difficulty with word finding and memory. I don't know if it is the depression or the medication. It's probably both. Whatever is causing it I am intensely frustrated, saddened and embarrassed by what I see is a continuing deterioration of my verbal intelligence, my ability to communicate and my memory; all aspects of myself that I highly value.

It seems like what words that used to flow out of me, without much thought are stranded somewhere in my brain. What used to take no time is now taking 10-20-30 seconds, and sometimes hours, or days to show up in my head. It is unpredictable what kinds of words I cannot find. Sometimes it is big words, sometimes it is everyday words like "pencil", or "palette", or "easel"

Here is an example of what happens:
Yesterday I was with a friend explaining how I really like this new show on t.v. called, "The Mentalist". I told her it is about this guy who used to be a "psychic" via trickery and observation. At some point early on, before the time in which the series is set, his wife and daughter are murdered by a serial killer. I can't remember if his chicanery led to the murders or not, but the murders lead him to a life change. He decides to use his powers of observation, and his ability to "read" people, for good and joins an investigative team with the California Bureau of Investigation.

The show is very... "insert word I can't find here"...and then I begin to fumble for the word. I know everything about the word, but its name. It means the show follows a pattern each week: A crime happens, the Bureau has a suspect, the mentalist does not believe that person caused the crime and, in a way that shows flippant disregard for the system, he shows everyone who the guilty party really is. The word I cannot find means "follows a pattern", or "plays out in a similar way", etc.

Neither of us could think of the word, so I bring this up in my appointment today and I STILL cannot think of the word despite knowing I know it, and that it is there, hidden somewhere in the folds of my brain.

It finally came to me when I was out with my puppy later in the morning. The show is "FORMULAIC". It may not seem like a big deal to some, but to me language is so important. The right word can often say more than a whole paragraph; as I believe I have proven in my above example. Also, it would not be a big deal if it weren't happening so often, and if it was not so noticeable to others. I feel like an idiot.

My memory is another problem (or part of the same problem?). I swear sometimes if you ask me what I did yesterday, or what day of the week it was, or when did I did a particular task...I just stare off into space, searching my brain. It feels similar to when your computer is really slow. Sometimes the answer eventually pops into my head, but sometimes it is as though I need to reboot. The memory is gone. So I end up saying I did such and such. I can't remember when, or I'm not sure which day, but I remember doing it.

Then sometimes I don't remember at all. This happens so much with television shows. I will start watching a show, my husband will say we have seen it. I will insist he may have, but I have not. Then suddenly, usually when the show is almost over, I begin to have the feeling I have seen it before and the memory of it pops into my head. Or alternately, I know I have seen a show I begin to watch, but I have absolutely no recall of what it is about...so watching it again is like seeing it for the first time.

My husband gets so angry with me. He says I'm stoned all the time on my medication. He belittles my inability to remember. I feel awful, that I cannot remember, but I wish he would give me a break.

Dr. X. is going to help me in some fun ways, to see if I can improve my memory. Today he came up with some interesting ideas about how to help retain what I learn and learn in the first place. The task he gave me this week is to find a magazine I like and read a couple articles that interest me. I will then bring them to our appointment next week and we will have a conversation about the articles. I understand the point will be to exercise my memory.

Dr. X. has been so comforting the past few weeks. I find his faith in me and his, "together we can do it, we can help me make progress together" attitude inspiring, even when I am sitting across from him crying. He has a knack for really listening to me and understanding me. I am able to appreciate and value his help even in my darkest moments.

Oh yeah....and I'm supposed to take my vitamins EVERY day. I will if I remember..ha, ha!

Puppies and Behavioural Therapy

Dr. X said something interesting to me in my session yesterday when I was telling him about how my new cute little puppy and I are doing. I was explaining that I was taking a bit of an authoritarian approach with the him (the dog...not Dr.X ;>)

From my perspective it is better, and more manageable, to begin to set clear boundaries and expectations with a puppy who is 22.5 lbs, than to try to get an 80lb dog to change it's behaviour, or do what you want it to do

When I say "authoritarian"...I don't mean my Dad style, scare the crap out of you so you never make a mistake type treatment. That kept me in line while my Dad was watching, or if there was a possibility I would get caught, but left with difficult to control wild streak the second I left home.

With my puppy I am setting clear boundaries and using praise, not punishment, and a few other techniques that really work. I believe in the idea that dogs are pack animals and still maintain many of the behaviours of pack animals. In keeping with that I believe every pack has a leader, its Alpha dog. The job of the Alpha is to protect the pack and ensure it continues to exist and flourish. That's my job

It is up to me to establish my being the Alpha while little puppy is still a little puppy vs. a big dog . I do not want an 80lb boxer trying to become the head of our pack. My husband really should be second in line...but he is not being as consistent as I think he needs to be

Anyways, I have had the puppy a week and he is smart with a streak of stubbornness in him, but here are some tricks I've learned...and it really works. (I got some of these out of the "Puppies for Dummies" book...you know those yellow and black books that teach you all kinds of things. Some of these books are very good (the drawing one is great) and they are easy to read if you have difficulty reading, or with concentration, because you can just read snippets of sections to get really clear ideas. Other things I learned from my Dad when he trained and worked with police dogs

First thing that is going well. I have established a "potty" place and am teaching him to pee/poo on command. He pretty much has it down. I just repeat, go pee, or go poo...and the important thing...do not look at them, ignore them while you say it...as soon as I stopped looking at him ...he began to go. The idea is that an Alpha would not keep looking back on the pack. They LEAD the pack. This idea is great because it is easy to cleanup after the dog

Second thing I have taught him...and he's REALLY good at it, is to heel. I immediately insisted the puppy either walk behind me or directly to the left of me. if he tries to move ahead I just give him a bit of a quick tug, reposition him and walk a bit faster. Within two days he was walking slack leashed beside or behind me MOST of the time...a few little hierarchy takeover attempts, but a polite correction by me and a hug and "good boy" when he gets back into formation and we are off again

The other thing I learned about this behaviour is that if you walk ahead with confidence, even continuing walking if they sit down, they catch up quickly, because they want to be near you...so just keep walking if they stop and they will follow

The coolest thing is that today, because he was so good at heeling I took out my bike and taught him how to run beside me on my bike through the blueberry field. We did a few slowish, short runs, because young puppies shouldn't be exercised to much, but he was awesome at it. We had great fun.

I am teaching him to sit when a car comes in the driveway, and when someone approaches us. Both for the safety of the dog, but also for the people. There is nothing I hate more than an adult dog who jumps up on you when they greet you. 20lb puppy...sort of cute jumping up to say hello...80lb dog doing the same thing a disaster waiting to happen

All the stuff I am teaching him are like games to him. He's sucking it all up like a sponge and loves the attention he gets when he "gets" a command.

Lastly, one of the first things I read was to introduce your puppy to as many sounds: loud, shrill, sharp, annoying etc, as you can before they are 16 weeks. So I have been doing that in the house with the vacuum cleaner, the hairdryer, mixer, etc.

I learned yesterday that if your puppy is scared of a noise, or scared of something the last thing you are supposed to do is bend down, pet the dog, make eye contact and reassure him. (Which is definitely what you have the urge to do...i.e."Oh poor puppy, its okay" ) This places you (in the dogs eyes) in a subordinate position, where now it's his job to protect you. It can lead to a over protective dog, which can lead to aggressive behaviour.

Instead, you are supposed to pull the dog on the lead closer to you. Place the puppy between your legs, hold them slightly tight between your legs (this reassures them that you will protect them...like an Alpha would), stand tall, remain calm and say good boy/girl in a calm, firm voice, while the noise or thing scaring him goes on.

I was skeptical of this one, but today when I took my bike out it needed to be washed (I haven't ridden it in years years..argh! The noise of the power hose spray freaked the puppy out, so I left the hose on, went over to him and put him between my legs, stood tall, no eye contact, acting like the noise was not significant. He immediately sat down. I returned to hosing of my bike and he sat there super calm, no longer afraid of the noise.

It happened again when I took out the air compressor to pump up my tires. I did the same thing and "voila" he could have cared less about the sound after that.

This whole post does actually have something to do with my mood disorder, or at least some of the symptoms and behaviours I have that feed my depression. One of them is difficulty being an authority figure. I am always afraid I will be rejected, or not cared for, or thought as mean, or uncaring. Afraid I will be unloved. This has greatly affected me in the jobs I have had, because each promotion brought on more 'authority" which to be became synonymous with stress and isolation.

The interesting thing Dr. X. pointed out was that this puppy training is great behavioural therapy for me to practice being the authority figure in a way that is loving and respectful, but also ensures I get what I am requesting and still remain cared for.

He's right. In one week I have taught the puppy a lot, but he has taught me that he loves me even more when he knows what is expected of him.

Oh yeah...note to self: the bike ride and running made for a much calmer dog this evening. Keep this up. We both need the exercise.

The Slow Pace of Acceptance and Change

I am so tired I feel literally sick, but I cannot sleep. 1:30am wide awake, 2:30, 3:30, 4:30 still wide awake. I started taking a low dose of Trazadone on top of everything else, but it hasn't helped me sleep and makes me feel really awful in the morning. Even more tired than before.

Part of it is the puppy, but I wasn't sleeping even before I knew of or brought the puppy home. Unfortunately, it's not that, "I feel so happy/wired I can't sleep". The kind that happens when my mood shoots up.

No, this sleep is my old, "I have a millions ruminations going through my head and my mind won't shut up, so I can't sleep" insomnia.

Today was my first day teaching a "Teen Group" at the Art Clubhouse. It was during the hours I regularly take a nap 4-6/7. I was so tired, until I began and then my enthusiasm and energy kicked in. Thank god. The class was really good and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I also have a really great helper...which makes such a difference...YAY!

I see so many improvements in my life over the past few months. Actually, I look back, and even before any medication helped me I now recognize that I have been slowly improving over the past few years. The problem is the lability in my mood is such that when I feel good I feel I will always be perfectly well, but when I crash I feel like I am never going to be well.

I am trying really hard to accept I have a mental illness; to say to myself, "My fatigue is a symptom (of the medicine or the illness...who knows), my memory problems, concentration and word finding problems. my sleeplessness and sleepiness...they are all symptoms. Are these better than wanting to die all the time? Yes.

So life is improving, but I am trying to allow myself to accept that life has changed dramatically for me, and needs to change even more for me to become "well" (whatever that means). I am a different person because of the experiences with depression and anxiety I have gone through over the years. My functioning is different than it was. That is hard to accept.

I truly believe my old life is gone. I think my last wolf dream told me that, but my new life is just beginning and hopefully despite the side effects/residual symptoms it will be a life worth living.

I may fall into a depression again, but I think I have some skills now that I didn't have before, and I have a pdoc I trust and know is right for me. I know he will help me even if I get fully well and become sick later on. I also am working hard at integrating myself into a community that matters to me.

So I'm sickly tired, but I am much better off than I was. My being able to say that proves the point. I think my Mom sent me my new puppy as a symbol of the beginning of my new life. The black wolf killed the old me, and the white dog will protect and help the new me grow.

I say my Mom instigated the change, because my puppy came from a breeder named "Casamoonen". Casa means house...I see the name as "house of the moon". My sisters and I all decided when my mom died she became the moon. (which is full tonight by the way). Every night I step outside and see the moon and say hello to my Mom. My new puppy was sent to me by her. I believe that. He is a messenger sent to help me with my transition into my new life.

It is strange how I get sent all these messages in dreams, in life, in everything around me. Does this happen to others? Do you get sent messages that you feel compelled to heed or follow? It happens too often for me to ignore.

Is Public Privacy Possible?

Last session I managed to tell Dr. X. most of the things about my obsessive thoughts. It was extremely difficult, because he was the source and the subject of my thoughts. I was looking at my stats and saw that he had visited my blog a few times and looked and numerous sections (labels) in my blog. I became scared he would feel I was disrespectful to towards him in some of my posts.

Despite my earlier offer this year to let him read my blog, when he did I became scared I had disregarded that there are two of us involved in my therapy, and that I was too open about who I see him as, and how he and I interact. I was fearful that my blog crossed some boundary; that I exposed him more than I it was right for me to do. I could not stop worrying that I had destroyed our relationship.

He assured me I was always respectful; that that was part of my personality. I still feel unsure about whether I cross Dr./Patient boundaries in my blog posts. I feel my blog is immensely helpful to my mental health, but I also want to ensure I respect other people's privacy. I worry that he was just saying that to make me feel better. That is a problem for me, not trusting that people are saying exactly what they mean, that they are not placating me, rather than having an honest conversation with me.

I use my blog to augment my therapy with Dr. X. I have mentioned before that often it acts as a preparation tool. A sort of 'practice run' for the next therapy session I am going to (or sometimes that preparation takes place over and over, until I am able to say what I need to say). I also use my blog to debrief myself after a session.

I often wonder how much of my session I remember "correctly". I remember reading Irvin Yalom's "Every Day Gets a Little Closer: A Twice Told Therapy. In the book he recounts how he and a client wrote about each therapy session and then exchanged notes. In particular he was astounded by how different he and the patient saw the session. Things he felt were really important, the patient either ignored, or glanced over. Much of what the patient found helpful was the relationship between herself and her pdoc.

In my sessions I am often so emotional I cannot think straight. Writing reinforces things Dr. X and I discussed. There can sometimes be problems for me though, when I misread something in my session, or if my symptoms are bad and I am feeling 'paranoid'.

I place the word paranoid in quotations, because I am never sure if I am paranoid, or if what I sense, see, hear really happens. I really feel I have a gift/curse for picking up on small vocal cues and sounds, details, messages and body language that others miss, or do not recognize they are showing. My theory is that because my father was so unpredictable in his rage I learned to sense infinitesimally small cues and changes in his behaviour to prepare myself for the flight/fight/freeze response before things happened.

Something that might support this theory is when, in first year university, I volunteered for a study that was measuring the relationship between hearing and depression. I was extremely depressed at the time. They put me through a flurry of hearing tests and seemed to be astounded at what I could hear. They told me I could hear sounds in ranges that people were not supposed to be able to hear.

Anyways...back to Dr. X's privacy. I again want to assure my readers that I respect your privacy. Dr. X seemed surprised I knew he had visited. The only way I knew it was Dr. X. (or was pretty sure) it was him, (a particular person) was because of his particular server. It had shown up before when he looked at some of my paintings in a session.

You will notice I have two statistics sites,"Sitemeter" and "Statcounter". on my blog. One gives me information about numbers of visitors, where they come from (cities and countries, and how long they visit my site(these are not accurate and usually show as 0) . Sitemeter also tells me how people got to my blog, (e.g. what they googled to get here).

Statcounter provides a bit more information about which pages people viewed and things like that. In Sitemeter it supposedly shows the latitude and longitude of visitors, but please know that it is not accurate in terms of where people live. I was very concerned when I first signed up for it as it appeared anyone with Sitemeter could track the address of my IP.

Rest assured, I checked it out and that is not the case. For instance anyone who posts from Vancouver shows as living at one particular address, on the same street. I have tested this out with a couple friends, and even people I do not know who show up have the same Lat/Long...so it is NOT GPS co-ordinates. In fact, my Lat/Long shows I live in the middle of the Fraser River miles from my house.

I have these stats counters on my site because I am an info junky. I find it interesting to see people from all over the world vi sting, to see how many people visit, because I want to know if I am keeping people's interest, or posting about things that people are interested in. My blog is about my therapy, but I also want to make it relevant to others.

If you have any questions about your privacy and these two statistics programs, please ask me, or add them to your own site and see for yourself what they provide. I believe if you click on their icon (at the bottom right of my blog) you can read more info about them.

Letting Go of the Past

In my session on Friday Dr. X. asked me what I was working on with my painting. Immediately, I felt intensely self conscious, fake, and that my art was trite and unworthy. I began to cry. I felt like a fraud with my art. I felt embarrassed by it, and by my ideas. Yet, while by myself painting, and when I look at my paintings alone, I feel an intense sense of accomplishment. I experience a sense that this is what I am supposed to be doing; the direction my life is meant to go in.

I think when I share something this valuable to me with Dr. X. I have a tendency to project my Dad onto him. Dr. X. instantaneously and magically BECOMES my father. I am unable to consciously recognize the person in front of me as the trustworthy, caring, interested and compassionate Dr. X. I cannot see him as the person who wants me to succeed. Dr. X. has left the building. My Dad is sitting in front of me.

I feel almost re-traumatized by the unconscious/subconscious fear that an extremely important person in my life will ridicule or dismiss my ideas. So when Dr. X asks me what I am doing with my art I become the child of an arrogant, egotistical, narcissistic tyrant. A Commander-in Chief who ordered me to listen. The all powerful authority figure who ridiculed, rejected and dismissed my ideas, my opinions and tried to slaughter my creative soul. The man who seemed almost obsessed with putting me in my place and proving he was right and I was wrong.

As a child I accepted he was right. It was me. I was wrong. I wasn't good, or smart, or good at anything. I was stupid, never paid attention and never listened. I believed this for so long that now, as an adult, I have forgotten how to be my own person without fearing I will make a mistake, or I won't be good enough, or I won't do well enough at anything I do, or I will embarrass myself, or my ideas really are stupid, or people will not like me. I will be rejected.

When I was a kid I wanted so badly to be involved with, and to please, my Dad. As a child I would wait , laying wide awake in bed; waiting to hear the late night news come on. I would sneak out and ask my Dad if I could watch it. We would sit on the couch together watching the news. This was the most important thing in the world to me. A sense of shared experience with my Dad. I would read the newspapers for the same reasons.

I did these things because I so desperately wanted to have something in common with my Dad. I wanted him to be proud of me, to be pleased with my seeking knowledge, to be able to talk with him about things. It never worked. If I tried to discuss something we watched together, or an article we both read it inevitably became an argument about why my perspectives were wrong and his were right.

I don't know why my Dad did this. I know he loved me, and I know he loves me, but he still does treats me and my ideas the same way. I love my Dad and I am trying really hard to let go of the past, but my past haunts me and slips unseen into so many areas of my life.

I forgive my Dad. I think he was probably treated that way by his parents. Also, being a policeman, and the "top down" military lifestyle life that type of job entails, would reinforce a sense of "authority" and "correctness" in anyone doing those kinds of jobs. He was a product of his environment. On top of that, there are no perfect manuals for being a good parent and the 60's and 70's child rearing mores were much different than today's. I can forgive, but my body and mind cannot forget.

I still react the same way to certain circumstances as I did when I was a child. I want to please all men, all authority figures, anyone who remotely has any control or authority over me no matter how tenuous the connection to their being an "authority figure" is. I am afraid of, and go out of my way to reconcile my opinions with, anyone who disagrees with me or anyone who has the potential to hurt me. I react with fear, terror, anxiety, and sometimes panic when someone, anyone, invades my personal space, or physically intimidates me or threatens me.

Obviously, given how I sometimes project my Dad onto my kind pdoc, I often react this way in situations that do not warrant such a reaction. This is when the therapeutic moments between myself and Dr. X are the most powerful. When the Dr. X, and a I are involved in a discussion or situation in my appointment that causes me to have such a severe reaction, I need to, and/or he needs to help me, recognize that these are the times to take note and to back up, examine my reaction and start again.

As he asked me about my art and I began to cry, I expressed how I was afraid my art was trite and unworthy. He spoke up and asked me to examine what I had said. As I sat there crying and feeling ashamed I was suddenly reminded of who was sitting in front of me. I remembered he is supportive, not dismissive. He is nurturing and interested in what I am doing, not judgemental. Almost instantaneously I began sharing my new ideas. I heard the excitement in my voice. I felt the joy of sharing something I cared about with someone who wanted to know. I felt one tiny step closer to letting go of my past and learning to be proud of my future.

A Conversation Between Me and My Dad

Me: Hi Dad, guess what? I bought a new car. (I've been driving and old 1986 minivan for years...love it, but it's time has come...well, did come years ago)

Dad: Hell, you never listened to your father's advice. Why in the hell would you buy a new car? (sort of joking I think)

Me: The same vehicles, but 3 years older, are only $3000.000 less and have no warranty, it made way more sense to buy new, plus I have never owned a new car. I just wanted a new car.

Dad: What else are you up to?

Me: (really excited)..oh, I applied for and got the volunteer position to teach 3 half day printmaking workshops to teens in the summer.

Dad: What kind of teens are they.

Me: Teens coming to the Art Clubhouse. Teen with mental illnesses.

Dad: Oh, you mean not real teens?

Me: (in my head...WTF?) (Out loud)They are REAL teens, what is that supposed to mean? They just have illnesses too.

Dad: Why the hell aren't you getting a real job, one that pays? Why the hell would you volunteer when you could be working for money.

Me: Well, I'm only volunteering to teach 3 hours a week and it's in a rehabilitative and supportive environment. I am trying to get better.

Dad: Well if you can volunteer to work you can get a real job.

Me: (wishing I'd never called, and wondering WHY I always contact him with the delusion that someday he will actually be proud of how hard I try, and wondering where I could get a job that allowed me to work just 3 hours a week and where I could feed myself and pay the rent) Dad, I am still not well. I cannot work right now. I am slowly trying to get better so I can work.

Dad: What you need is a real job. You have been doing that volunteer stuff for a long time now.

Me: (thinking yes...I've been managing a few hours a week for the last 1.5 years, but just recently began to feel safe doing that or even well enough to do that....and besides that, what I do in my volunteer work now is far more "real", much more meaningful and important than anything I have done work wise in my past). I am not ready to work yet Dad. I'm trying to get well and volunteering in this supportive environment is a safe way for me to work towards that.

Dad: Hrmfft. (Translation: you are so lame)

Me: (Hanging up from a call I initiated and entered feeling excited and proud of myself; and hanging up from the call feeling dejected, rejected, diminished, ashamed)

...bye Dad. I love you.

Dad: yup, bye. (click)

I Felt Like an Idiot...at first

This morning I went to my first pdoc session in three weeks. I told him I wanted to tell him something, but I was afraid of what he would do if I told him. I was open and completely honest about what I have been doing, planning, thinking; about how depressed I've been, about feeling imminently suicidal, about obtaining and hoarding my dogs medications with the intention of committing suicide, that I was not at this moment feeling suicidal. I felt better yesterday and today and I told him that.

Dr X. said, "What would you like me to do with this information to keep you safe and to help you? I just sat there thinking..."Duh, what do I want him to do and why did I tell him all that"?

I explained to him I told him all this because I feel intensely guilty about being disingenuous in terms of planning and successfully obtaining all the serious medications I did from the pharmascist. I feel guilty for planning my suicide and taking all those steps towards achieving that plan.

He said: "If you carry out your plan it will really impact our ability to continue therapy". Ha, ha!! I really laughed when he said that...because it was such an absurd, but true comment. It was risky for him to say that, because I am really sensitive and could have felt like I was not being taken seriously, but he seems to know me well enough to know when a bit of humour can lighten a really dark situation. I like that he knows me that well.

I found it harder to tell him what I wanted him to do with the information than what I did not want him to do with it. I did not want him to tell my husband. (There is some talk at the university about setting a policy to notify one's parents (or next of kin) when a person is suicidal or expresses suicidal thoughts or plans) Dr. X. and I both disagree with that policy. I would simply never speak up and express my suicidality if I knew that was going to happen.

I did not want him to put me in the hospital, for a few reasons:

• I am completely freaked out and grossed out about sleeping in a bed where someone else has slept.
• I have major contamination fears about lice, bedbugs, just yucky things in general.
• I am worried about losing my freedom.
• I am worried I will be treated poorly or misunderstood, because that has been much of my experience with mental health care people. (Although overall last time I was in the hospital most of them treated me very well).
• I don't want to sleep in the same room with someone else. I had such a great roomate last time I was in the hospital, but it could really be a nightmare if you did not get along with someone.
• I do not think I need to be in the hospital. I feel better today and yesterday.
  
  Dr. X let me know it was an option. I explained I have been considering ECT again. He told me I could go into the hospital without having ECT. I appreciate he was providing options for me.
  
  I told him about my dreams and that I thought they were telling me it was okay to commit suicide. He explained that I may have been projecting suicidal meaning on the dreams, when perhaps they were dreams telling me I needed a transformation in my life, but not neccessarily transformation via suicide. That makes sense to me. When I am depressed and feeling suicidal it seems like everything is telling me to kill myself. I read that meaning into what I read, into music I hear, videos I see etc.
  
  In the end he expressed that he was concerned about me, and did not want me to think he did not take my actions and thoughts very seriously, but that it was important that we made the decision about what I should do to take care of myself together. He would not send me to the hospital if that was not what I wanted. I appreciate his trust in me. Times like this strengthen our therapeutic alliance.
  
  In the end we decided to increase my Prozac, and increase my Valium to offset the Prozac induced teeth tapping and the repetitive music playing over and over in my head. At first I felt like an idiot for telling him all I thought and did over the past few weeks, especially when he asked me what I wanted him to do about it, but in the end I am really glad I was open and honest, and I feel like I can get through another week because I trusted him enough to talk and because he trusted me enough to let me make choices for myself.

Do I Tell my Pdoc the Truth?

Tomorrow I have my first pdoc appointment since three weeks ago. Both before and after my last appointment I have/had been feeling increasingly suicidal. Three weeks was a very long gap between appointments given how poorly I have been managing.

I have taken to sleeping much of the afternoon. I cannot get myself out of the house, so I have been really isolating myself. I have avoided the Art Clubhouse I go to except for the two half days I volunteer. Even then on one of those days I have been getting there late and leaving early. I just don't want to do anything.

This is gross, (and very unlike me), last week I couldn't even manage to shower for 5 days straight. The effort to get into the shower, and then brush my hair afterwards seemed overwhelming. I haven't been able to cook, or clean. My husband has been cooking dinner, thank god. He hasn't been yelling, or screaming at me for being so sluglike. In fact he has been very supportive, which is a change I really appreciate.

All those things I can tell my pdoc. The truth I am afraid to tell is how deceptive I have been in regards to my dog's prescriptions. I have been amassing very large amounts of two types of heart medications and a very large, and definitely lethal dosage, of Phenobarbital My dog does need these meds, but I have been getting the pharmacist to give me all his refills at once under the guise that I do not want to pay the dispensing fee for monthly doses.

That is not the truth. I want to use the medicine to commit suicide and have been stockpiling the medications for this purpose. I know I will never get better, never find medications that will help me for any length of time. I've tried almost everything there is to try.

Today I do not feel suicidal, but most of the last month or more, and many days in the months prior, I have. There must be some part of me that wants to keep trying because, today I think it might be important for me to tell Dr. X. what I have been doing, but I am afraid about what he will do if I tell him.

I am afraid he will tell my husband what I have been doing, or worse, not let me leave my appointment tomorrow. I recognize that I am moving closer to action in terms of killing myself, but I believe what I do with my life is my prerogative. If I tell him I also understand I am reaching out for help and some part of me wants to do that; wants to live. I have always trusted him to trust me, but I don't know if he will if I tell him my recent plans and actions. I want to tell him, but I want his assurance that what I do about it will be my choice.

5 Reasons I Look Forward To Therapy

1) My pdoc really "gets" me. I always (99.9% of the time) feel listened to, cared for and understood.

2) If I I feel misunderstood or not heard by Dr. X. I feel he has proven himself to be so trustworthy that I feel 100% safe addressing my concerns. My best learning has taken place when there has been a misunderstanding that I am able to address. I believe that the best therapy happens, not through the words we speak, but through the behaviours that take place between us and the therapeutic relationship we are building and developing.

3) I can be raging, agitated, anxious, suicidal but after I am with my pdoc for 5 or 10 minutes I almost always begin to feel calm. It feels magical, but I think it is his calm presence that invites calmness in me. When I am extremely anxious I sometimes try to visualize myself sitting across from him in his office, hoping I can capture some of that energy outside our sessions.

4) It is clear to me that my pdoc loves what he does. Sometimes I sense a childlike joy when we are working together. It's not just when I am feeling better either. It seems to be when we both come upon an idea or a solution that will help me.

5) He accepts the mad, sad, angry, glad, close to hypomanic, irritable, dull, and wide awake me. Basically he accepts me any way I am. Never judges, never seems surprised, or shocked. Always seems to like me however I am. That makes me feel safe to be open and honest about everything I feel and everything I do.

It All changed this Morning

I woke this a.m. to go see my pdoc. All I wrote yesterday seemed like gibberish. I felt more stable this a.m than usual. So I abandoned the plan to get him to read how I'm feeling and decided to act on an important thing we have been working on in therapy..

Last week, after entreating me for 2 weeks to bring in my hoarded meds, he made a direct request for me to do so. He never does that. It got me thinking all week about what he has said to over the years about my suicidal thoughts and how hoarding old meds and especially sedatives was an unhealthy "safety net".

My safety net was what I called them...because I felt if I just couldn't go on I would have a way out if I saved as much as I could. The problem becomes I start obsessing about whether they will work or not, whether I will actually die if I take them, whether I had enough to die and not do just physical damage to my body, how I can ensure I die. The other thing these hoarded meds do is tempt me to misuse the old sedatives to help me calm down. It's not fair to me or my pdoc. How the hell is my pdoc supposed to assess me if I'm start taking things he doesn't know about, on top of what he's prescribed.

So today I put the meds in my bag, took them out, put them back in...then I exited the house, went to his office and told him I had them with me, but I was not sure if I could give them up.

He never insisted, in fact the opposite. He said it was my choice. I felt good about that understanding that I require autonomy and reflected on how them sitting in my dresser taunting me to take them was truly unhealthy.

I handed them to him. It was a good decision. Last time I did this I had a fairly large amount of epival and I realize that as soon as I handed in that hoard I immediately stopped obsessing about killing myself with Epival.

I feel more honest now. I feel like I am learning to trust that should I need something to help me again my pdoc will be there for me still. I think for some reason I fear being left with no way to feel even a bit of relief. Like what if he left and all my support systems broke down. He said he's not going anywhere. I'm going to try to trust that statement and let go of the fear I will be abandoned and desperately ill, with no one willing to help me.

Truthtelling in Therapy

I feel so ashamed and guilty about how I behave. While I believe absolute honesty in therapy is extremely important to, (and maybe the cornerstone of), successful therapy, I still hold back and find it hard to explain the bad things I do to myself.

I am going to try right here and right now to get some of those things out, then if I can't bring them up in therapy today I will show this to Dr. X.

For a couple weeks now I have been having increasingly intense and anxious suicidal ideation. I have been feeling so depressed, but also anxious to the point of panic, and irritable to the point of rage. In these rages I have been hitting my head-hard with my fists...A couple weeks ago I flew into a rage when my husband was 1.25 hrs late for dinner. Right before he came home I started hitting and kicking the wall so violently I had huge bruises on my elbows. I felt totally out of control with anger over such a stupid thing.

I feel like my brain is going to explode. I want my brain to stop. It will not STOP....it just keeps ruminating on all the negative things...flying from one bad feeling, incident, potential incident, to another.

I spent hours on Saturday counting medications I have hoarded (Epival 18500mg, Zopiclone 300mg, Gabapentin 7500mg reading about suicide online, looking up ways to commit suicide, thinking about how I could do it without hurting my family, trying to figure out where to do it. Yesterday I spent hours trying to find out if I would die from an epival overdose. I tried again today, but could not find the dose needed, only the blood levels...but I don't know how that works so not very helpful.

As my anxiety increases throughout the day I have these obsessive visualizations of stabbing myself in the chest with a really big knife. Over and over and over again, until (in my imagination) the tightness in my chest goes away, my whole upper body deflates and becomes relaxed again.

I started an Art Class (drawing) the other day and my anxiety was so acute I could barely breathe and started to have an anxiety attack where I almost had to leave the room I was so anxious. I started shaking (my hands and legs) and I could hear my vice quaking when I spoke...I just shut down and couldn't even think when I was being asked questions...like all I wanted to do was get out of there...it was so brutal. Every night I have this intense sense of rage and irritability going on inside me...there is so much energy behind it I feel like I'm going to blow up...and I do start spewing negative and angry words out towards my husband. I feel like I can't control the feeling...it gets worse as the night goes on, the t.v, or the sound of my husband chewing his food, or my cat's meowing make me feel explosive.

I want to tell my pdoc, but I feel so childish and immature, unbalanced, unworthy, labile...so embarrassed, that I have these thoughts, that I behave this way, that I treat others this way, that I have been deceptive (by hoarding medications)...especially the zopiclone, because I keep asking for more.

I am using the new zopiclone I get...(though it is not helping me sleep anymore). I keep asking for more instead of using the stuff I have hoarded from months ago...so I can save my stashed sleeping meds...so I have a way out or a means of relief if I cannot take it anymore. On Saturday I even thought I should just take 10 or 20 zopiclone....just to get some rest and some relief...not to die, but to calm down and let go.

In my last post I spoke of fearing abandonment by my pdoc. At the time he asked me if I had had thoughts of abandoning him. I took it to mean was I thinking of leaving therapy. Given how suicidal I felt last Saturday ,now that I think about it it maybe he meant "leaving"...as in permanently, as in suicide. I do talk to him sometimes about my suicidal thoughts, but I sense an uncomfortable avoidance of the topic when I bring it up, so I've been trying to let it go and not talk so much about it.

I recognize the counterproductivity of having all these medications around. They seem to entice me to use them. If they were gone I would have no reason to obsess about whether they would help me die or not, or whether they would relax me or not...they simply would not be here, so I could not use them.

I am going to print this off and try to talk honestly and openly with Dr. X about this. I will bring these meds to my session and if I feel safe I will give them to him.