Monday, January 28, 2013

Bossing the Therapist

This evening, on a Monday, a usual *bleh* day for, I spent with my therapist. I  like him.  Fiesty little New Yorkah with an office reminiscint of a pub.  My kind of fellow, really, if I have to work on my demons, then I most prefer it with a no nonsense kind of guy.

So, Monday's with the New Yorkah, I've done it a few times now.  Feel pretty good about it.  Had his office memorized, it was a safe zone.  But tonight I walk in, and to my left is a loud mouthed man cocked back in the reception desk with a stalking cap on, on the cell phone.  Talking about snow removal. He was new, he didn't belong. Senses tingling.  He didn't move so I kept walking back to the office.  Hoping the New Yorkah would intercept me in the hall.  Which to his credit he did.

Out side his office he switches on his noise machine and we proceed. 

However, EVERYTHING in me says, NO.  He rearranged.  Really.  There was absolutely NO reason for the spring turn around, I laughed at myself as I razzed him about it, except deep down, I was kind of pissed.  Why dude? I swear he was messing with me.  He asked if it was okay, I think I rolled my eyes. I took my spot.  A new spot.  A spot that felt wrong, and sharp, and irritating.

So now that I was aware enough to note that I was uncomfortable, I tried so hard to be a good patient.  Be the observer, feel what you feel, and let it go, type stuff.  I was not my normal self tonight. I could tell.  I'm sure he could he could tell.  45 minutes into it, I couldn't see him anymore, the tears were hot and obscuring my vision.  I looked at him and he saw me shift.

I was extrememly embarassed when I had to explain to him my little melt down about to ensue had NOTHING to do with what we were talking about, but about "Why? Why did you change your office?"

He politely pointed I was right next to the door. 

Yes, but I need to SEE the door.  I was alittle irritated, so I asked him to ask the next combat vet who comes in how HE thinks of the new arrangement.  (That was me being lashy). 

I need to see the door. I need to see the door.  Holy Crap.  I need to see the door.

So we swapped spots.  His big black chair sitting facing the door, inviting.  But, sulking like a spoiled little brat with secondary, I drug over a wooden chair.  The one that SHOULD have been there in the first place.

It felt so, so RIGHT. The second I could see the door, tears, gone. Anxiety, gone. In fact, I do believe I took a big deep breath, and blew it out.  Smiled. 

Poor New Yorkah.  Bet he's never seen secondary like me before.


  1. Kateri please keep communicating.. you are a window to me understanding my PTSD

  2. Dear Anon- sorry about the late reply, but I do believe I am only a window into my own things. Perhaps we look alike? You will be okay in this world if you are too identical to me. Then again, I'll be okay too. Have you seen a therapist? Either to just talk or perhaps a more pointed approach, like EMDR (yes yes yesssss), or CBT? Tapping? Emotional freedom? I see some people with "ABC sheets" and I have found that unless you refer back to them a LOT, and have a really supportive coach/partner/friend who can call you out on your bullish*t thinking.... instead of semimonthly, or monthly...they are nothing but scrap paper, shoved in the junk drawer, behind the batteries and the lego guy missing a head. My thoughts. Keep on!