her last words, his waffle ·
6 February 08

Today was the worst session I had from any one related to mental health services. It was bike man again, except bike man too the tube this time, and apparently made people laugh telling jokes. So obviously the life of the party.

We had an hour’s discussion, which worked one way. He spoke while I listened, with the odd moment where I would be given the opportunity to answer a question or provide some say in what needs to be done. He went on, and on, and on and fucking on. I couldn’t take much more of it as I was dozing off, and in my head I was visualising his death, and externally the voice was instructing me decapitate the fucker then div feet first into his body. Sort of like a bouncing castle.

We’ve had three may be four meetings thus far, but so far all he’s done is bore me. He’s not a Dr nor is a psychotherapist, or anything of that ilk. He’s just a some nice bastard who has his own issues which he brings with him. I think he needs to see a therapist. I mean seriously, he patronises then apologises, he second guesses, then apologises for doing so. It’s like he can’t function outside of his own own life.

When I write my blog, I write it because it’s an online diary of sorts. If people find it useful great, if not, that’s fine too. I’ve had a number of emails saying thanks, or offering support and others not saying to pick myself up as I’m not physically disabled or anything. I tend to agree with the comment, in some respects, but a mental disability can also lend to being an actual disability. Still it’s nice to get feedback from people that read my blog whatever feedback they offer.

But I digress. I’m not happy with the person I have teamed up with, and I don’t trust him just as I don’t trust anyone else. How much am I supposed to reveal to him about what I’m actually thinking, and what the voice is saying? He doesnt seem to listen, he just seems to love the sound of his own voice. I amy have to get him to do a few things for me before I request someone ele become my care coordinator.

They’re pushing for me to move out before I finish my course, rather than the other way around as I was hoping, but yeah basically they’re trying to get me to leave. It’s good, don’t get me wrong, it’s a step forward but I am weary that things might go wrong and then I’ll either suck it up and stick with it or suck it up and go home. Either way, if I do end up a new place I need to crucially be placed in a decent environment. We’ll see what happens though.

I finally got the letter my psych sent me before leaving her job. I sent her a text message on her mobile phone which I wasn’t sure whether I should do. I didn’t know whether she would send it with or without my consent. So I texted her and never got one back, but before that I emailed her and got an auto-response saying she had left and to contact so so.

But the end of the result, I got my letter. It was a lengthy four page letter, so I decided it deserved time to be read rather than skimmed through., Either she was taking notes when we were in therapy or she was a good listener with a hellluva memory. I was shocked at how much we had covered in the 20 months of our relationship as patient and Dr.

There was an admission on my part that should she leave it wouldn’t affect me as long as she was replaced with someone similar in skill an experience. But now I have bikeman, I wish she was back and doing therapy again. Reading the letter made it even more difficult to accept that I would have to start new relationships from the hearing voie group sessions, to a new psychiatrist and then psychologist.

But shit happens. Seriously these meds make me very drowsy so I’m going to bed.