the last session ·
10 July 07

Today was, what I thought to be, my last CBT session with my psych. As always I was asked “How are you?”, and as always I replied the familiar, “I’m OK”, whether I was or not. It just seems the quickest and easiest response to that same old question. Replying any other way would set the ball rolling of therapy I guess. I would prefer to have options on what to discuss rather than picking up from what I felt that morning, or that day.

Seeing as it was my last session, as far as I was aware, I asked about the steps that would be taken after this session, with regards to treatment. I demonstrated my doubts over whether group therapy was ideal for me. I didn’t want to do it if it meant that I would have no other options available to me.

It was explained fairly clearly that there is a “get out” option, whereby I could be seen by a psychiatrist with follow up appointments dealt with by a nurse just to see how things are going and so on. It sounds all right, and seems more at ease with what I would expect. The group therapy just seems a very daunting idea, in that although it may interest my curiosity, it will be a less productive route to approaching my recovery.

I’m not sure how I feel about things at the moment, particularly with the concept of group therapy. I seem to be dreading it, expecting the worst. I feel it may turn out like one group discussion I attended when I was admitted to hospital. At the end of my time in hospital, I was told that I could attend a session with other patients suffering from mental illness. I decided to attend it as I had little to lose. It was an abhorrent experience, one which I refuse to experience again.

I was in a room with an ex-mental patient, a counsellor or someone, and an incoherent Thai guy with a lisp, and of course myself. We sat in a crappy little room, not knowing how to begin, or what to say. Everyone was pussy footing around talking, I was one of the four that actually decided to start talking about mental illness and then getting the others to feed in. It was a fucking pathetic experience, and one of the most shallow, useless experiences I’ve had in my life. It was an ugly scene.

My head has been killing me lately. Over the past five days I went through five grams of cocaine, it was the best cocaine I’ve had so far. It was potent and gave me a real nice high. For a moment I thought I was getting addicted because I was enjoying it so much. I guess I was just doing that: enjoying it. When I ran out I felt tired, and a bit depressed that there wasn’t any more. Still it was only a few hours later that I felt better and “clean” again, and didn’t give the drugs a second thought.

I mention this because my psych did ask me whether I was making a statement of fact when she asked me what I was planning to do last week. I told her I would be at a friend’s place drinking alcohol and taking drugs. She came back at with what I had said last week and wanted to know if I was trying to provoke a reaction. It made me smile, because I could see where she was coming from, but that she had got it completely wrong. I could, I suppose, not have mentioned the drugs, but then I felt she was asking me a straight forward question and I was giving a very straight forward answer.

That’s the thing with me though, I don’t go for the bullshit, I try to be as honest and as up front as I can be with anyone, even if I don’t know who they are as a person. Doesn’t matter whether or not there is a relationship of any kind, I can be, and usually am, just as straight froward with strangers as I am with people that I know. I may come across as crude or obnoxious now and again, but I don’t mean any ill will by what I say, and it’s never to provoke a reaction for my own kicks. I kinda gave up that sort of shit when I was still a kid.

This headache is fucking killing me.

END