** I don't want to discourage anybody from seeking professional help. There are good therapists out there who truly care about their clients.**
This is the 3d attempt to write this post. It bothers me how much this therapist affected my ability to open up.
I ended our sessions last Wednesday. It was a good decision. I should've done this earlier.
I started therapy because some of my PTSD symptoms came back and I had a moderate depressive episode. It was manageable, but I felt it was better if I talked to somebody about this.
My PTSD was caused by a series of traumatic events starting from age 5 to 25. The most difficult part was how other people reacted to what was happening to me. I tried to seek help. A few teachers knew, family members, the school pyshcologist and the police. Some of them believed me, but they didn't do anything to stop the abuse. A teacher believed me and blamed me. Most of them didn't believe me at all. They said that I'm exaggerating or lying.
My therapist did the same, but it never felt so bad. He asked me to write a letter about my trauma and send it to him ( if I wanted to). I did. I wrote about everything that had a negative impact on me. At the end I told him how much it would mean to me if he reads it. I never told anybody about everything that happened. I wanted to have somebody in the world who knows. I always felt alone in this, fighting with the wind mills.
Plus, it was easier to write it down instead of saying those things out loud. Usually I make paintings and drawings about it. I don't talk.
It took him a month to start reading it, but only because I kept asking him about it. He kept saying that he will do it.
Therapy ended after 7 months and he still hasn't finished it.
This moment represents our entire therapeutical relationship. He kept forgetting important things that I told him about during previous sessions, called me by the name of another client. At times he was patronizing and distracted by his phone, but what really hurt me was that he didn't believe me.
Most of the times when I talked about my trauma, I felt as if he was a police officer. He would ask many questions. Not about me or how I felt, but weird specific things from the day of the trauma. He either asked many question in an interrogation style, or he would be silent.
He told me that his suspiciousness is completely normal because it's very unlikely for somebody to have so many traumatic events of sexual abuse/assault, each one involving a different person or people. That anyone would be suspicious.
I never heard something that resembles empathy coming out his mouth. Not one '' I'm sorry this happened''' '' It must have been hard for you''. Nothing.
The closest thing was' 'I'm sorry you and your sister were abused, but it's over. You can' t change the past. In this moment koala's are burning and dying in the fires''
Later on he insisted that he believes me and he isn' t suspicious anymore. I started to feel safe with him... until a memory of a traumatic event came back. That trauma happened when I was 5 and I blocked a part of it by dissociating. I finally recovered that missing piece of memory. It was triggered by something during the quarantine period. It made me sick to my stomach, but I was glad I finally remembered and I could move on. That night I wrote him a message crying and shacking. I was throwing up all night, couldn't sleep.I had physical flashbacks that I couldn't get rid off. He was nice and supportive for the first time, but when our session came and I told him what I remembered, he did it again.
He told me that he believes that it happened, but maybe not in the way that I'm describing it. '' It's just too strange that so many things happened in different environments with different people''. That was it. The first and only thing that came out of his mouth that day.
Now I have a major depressive episode and suicidal ideation on top of the initial issues. I need a real therapist, but I' m not ready to open up again.. yet.
This is the closest thing that I can do for now.
But I will. I'm tired of having all this memories buried somewhere inside of me or in my drawings. I want to let them out. Not just in images. I want to talk and I want to feel that I'm worthy of trust and compassion.
All those men are free. The one who abused me the most is free. I'm not. Nobody questioned or interrogated them.
So I will no longer accept this, especially from a therapist, on my time and my money. I deserve better.
This is the 3d attempt to write this post. It bothers me how much this therapist affected my ability to open up.
I ended our sessions last Wednesday. It was a good decision. I should've done this earlier.
I started therapy because some of my PTSD symptoms came back and I had a moderate depressive episode. It was manageable, but I felt it was better if I talked to somebody about this.
My PTSD was caused by a series of traumatic events starting from age 5 to 25. The most difficult part was how other people reacted to what was happening to me. I tried to seek help. A few teachers knew, family members, the school pyshcologist and the police. Some of them believed me, but they didn't do anything to stop the abuse. A teacher believed me and blamed me. Most of them didn't believe me at all. They said that I'm exaggerating or lying.
My therapist did the same, but it never felt so bad. He asked me to write a letter about my trauma and send it to him ( if I wanted to). I did. I wrote about everything that had a negative impact on me. At the end I told him how much it would mean to me if he reads it. I never told anybody about everything that happened. I wanted to have somebody in the world who knows. I always felt alone in this, fighting with the wind mills.
Plus, it was easier to write it down instead of saying those things out loud. Usually I make paintings and drawings about it. I don't talk.
It took him a month to start reading it, but only because I kept asking him about it. He kept saying that he will do it.
Therapy ended after 7 months and he still hasn't finished it.
This moment represents our entire therapeutical relationship. He kept forgetting important things that I told him about during previous sessions, called me by the name of another client. At times he was patronizing and distracted by his phone, but what really hurt me was that he didn't believe me.
Most of the times when I talked about my trauma, I felt as if he was a police officer. He would ask many questions. Not about me or how I felt, but weird specific things from the day of the trauma. He either asked many question in an interrogation style, or he would be silent.
He told me that his suspiciousness is completely normal because it's very unlikely for somebody to have so many traumatic events of sexual abuse/assault, each one involving a different person or people. That anyone would be suspicious.
I never heard something that resembles empathy coming out his mouth. Not one '' I'm sorry this happened''' '' It must have been hard for you''. Nothing.
The closest thing was' 'I'm sorry you and your sister were abused, but it's over. You can' t change the past. In this moment koala's are burning and dying in the fires''
Later on he insisted that he believes me and he isn' t suspicious anymore. I started to feel safe with him... until a memory of a traumatic event came back. That trauma happened when I was 5 and I blocked a part of it by dissociating. I finally recovered that missing piece of memory. It was triggered by something during the quarantine period. It made me sick to my stomach, but I was glad I finally remembered and I could move on. That night I wrote him a message crying and shacking. I was throwing up all night, couldn't sleep.I had physical flashbacks that I couldn't get rid off. He was nice and supportive for the first time, but when our session came and I told him what I remembered, he did it again.
He told me that he believes that it happened, but maybe not in the way that I'm describing it. '' It's just too strange that so many things happened in different environments with different people''. That was it. The first and only thing that came out of his mouth that day.
Now I have a major depressive episode and suicidal ideation on top of the initial issues. I need a real therapist, but I' m not ready to open up again.. yet.
This is the closest thing that I can do for now.
But I will. I'm tired of having all this memories buried somewhere inside of me or in my drawings. I want to let them out. Not just in images. I want to talk and I want to feel that I'm worthy of trust and compassion.
All those men are free. The one who abused me the most is free. I'm not. Nobody questioned or interrogated them.
So I will no longer accept this, especially from a therapist, on my time and my money. I deserve better.
)). I will definitely watch it. Your description was hilarious and so realistic. I could almost picture the scene! 