I spent the afternoon with my mom in the hospital. Her husband was brought in yesterday morning with severe pulmonary edema and was put on a ventilator and had immediate dialysis. My sister spent yesterday with her, so today I spent the afternoon with her.
This was hard. My dad, who died 11 years ago, had the same type of illness as my mom’s new husband. I swore I would not go through this again, he has 4 children, they can spend time in the hospital with him. My dad was sick and in and out, mainly in, hospitals for 8 years before he died. I don’t want to do that again. I didn’t realize how hard it would be to be in that hospital today.
But before I went to the hospital, I had my therapy appointment. Remember that email that J never answered? He claims he never got my email. That brought back a flood of emotions due to my son’s old therapist who always claimed that he didn’t get my voice mails or my emails. He had a lot of unethical behaviors with my son and me, and I’ve written before about him and how I thought about him all the time and how he occupied my mind 24/7 and how hard it was to get over him, which I don’t think I have yet. So J telling me he didn’t get my email was like getting hit by a truck.
He did read the email, which I showed him on my blackberry, and we talked about how he made a poor choice of words in saying that the session two weeks ago was our first “regular” session, and he made a mistake in comparing me to his other patients. But, after saying that, he claims that all of his other patients feel totally comfortable in his office, they think of it as a safe haven where they can talk about anything. I, apparently, am the only uncomfortable patient, I can’t even walk in the door if he is standing near it. Knowing that does not really make me feel any better.
When I left J, I drove the one hour to the hospital, crying the whole time. Spent a few hours at the hospital, then drove the one hour home, crying the whole time. Luckily I had my running group tonight, running clears my mind. I had serious SI cravings, so bad that I was going to call the county hotline, but I didn’t have time and now my husband is home, so I can’t call. I really really wish I had someone to talk to.
Then I wrote another email to J, explaining why I was so bitchy at our session today because of the fact that I was feeling like he was my son’s old therapist and projecting my feelings for him onto J. And that I was stressed about the hospital, and my son flunking out of school, and I should have spent the session talking about that, instead of being a bitch about him not getting my email.
I’m wondering if I should just quit therapy. But I know, from comments others have left on this blog, that there are other people out there who don’t feel comfortable in therapy, who wonder what to talk about, who feel like they may be judged for what they say. I know that there are others like me out there. None of them are J’s patients apparently. The razor blade is calling me so loudly, it’s hard to shut it out.