Thank you for giving me false hope…

You know, when I was first diagnosed with BPD I was given some very good options for treatment. Medication to help me manage the difficult symptoms, DBT to get my behaviours in check and even things like art therapy to help me express my emotions and thoughts in a more stable way than self-harm and alcohol abuse. I felt hopeful at the idea of finally getting more reliable help than just psychotherapy and generic antidepressants.

It’s been almost two years since that first conversation with Dr Eyebrows. Since then I’ve been offered very few medication options and psychotherapy. When I ended up in hospital after we lost Shandy, the RAID doctor was very confused as to why I wasn’t already in DBT – I explained how the consultant above Dr Eyebrows didn’t think I was suitable and instead put me in psychotherapy. She told both me and Husband to push for DBT because I would clearly benefit from it. So again, we pushed for it. Dr Eyebrows said he had put me forward for it, but no such referral was made. Every time it’s been brought up with Dr Nutkins-May, it’s been quickly pushed aside in favour of medication changes. Now I’ve been referred to this nurse and she said she would refer me to a psychologist for an assessment for treatment. Once again, I felt hopeful!letter

Until Friday, when I got a letter from the psychologist at the medical centre who said that I wasn’t going to be receiving DBT. Are you serious? It’s taken all these false starts for someone to not only give me a straight answer, but flat out refuse me the best treatment for someone with this disorder. Some might say I don’t need it because I’m pretty high functioning and seemingly dealing pretty well with the dysfunctional behaviours, but surely that’s taking away the opportunity for me to even give it a try? I know my file is pretty thin in comparison to some who have been under constant psychiatric care, but that doesn’t take away the fact that I HAVE A PERSONALITY DISORDER. I still think about hurting myself, I do still have suicidal thoughts, my medication is still far from fixed – oh, and there’s still the twenty-odd years of trauma that I have yet to process properly!

I have my next appointment with the nurse on Monday, and I don’t feel hopeful. The psychologist should be calling me to book an assessment for further treatment and I just have this horrible gut feeling that they’re going to try and push me back into psychotherapy for the umpteenth time. Look, sitting in a room with a bloke staring at me and expecting me to bear my soul for him to keep prodding for more, giving me nothing back. I get more care and sympathy from my dog than I do that fucking therapist.

Do you know what I would love? Just every few weeks, a space for me to talk about me with someone available just to support me if I feel upset or vulnerable. Maybe a space where I can be creative, not necessarily art therapy, just some sort of outlet. Is that sort of thing available? If so, I would love the chance to give it a try. I will not go back to psychotherapy. Bog-standard CBT is not for me. Counselling is good, but not enough. Those are literally the only treatment options I have been offered and have undertaken, and I feel a little short-changed.

I feel like I’ve run out of hope for progress. Maybe I should just accept the meds and shut up.

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About Claire

Well-groomed tomboy. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I hide it well.
This entry was posted in Mental Health and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Thank you for giving me false hope…

  1. I love your idea for a space where someone just listens to you unload and where you can unwind with some creativity…if you add in the professional cuddlers that have cropped up in a few places, you’d have me as a patron for LIFE.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Claire says:

      Honestly, I talk more when I’m doing something. If a therapist wants me to open up, give me some paper to draw on and I will tell them whatever is going on in my head. But staring at me like a goldfish will always make me feel defensive. Always.

      Like

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