Psychiatrists

"Love all, trust a few." ~ William Shakespeare

I just don't seem to be able to write these days.  I start a paragraph and immediately think of why I shouldn't be writing it.  I erase and try to start over.  Sometimes I just bore myself.  Or maybe sometimes the words don't come quite so easily.  Either way, I'm not making much progress.

I had to call in for a refill on one of my anti-depressants (yes, I take several because of my post traumatic stress disorder) and was notified when I picked it up that my psychiatrist won't refill again until she sees me.  Okay.  I'm fine with the fact that she needs to see me periodically.  I even approve of the practice, but things are still very up in the air for me these days and I don't really think now is the time.  If she's holding my medication hostage, though, I guess I have no choice.  Sometimes I think she just makes me come in when she needs for me to write her another check for $100 for the 45 minutes she sees me.  Actually, it's been about four months since the last time, so her fee is probably up to $110 by now.  I have a bad attitude.  

I keep thinking I'm going to find another psychiatrist, but the only ones included in my insurance company's "preferred providers" are men.  I don't do male psychiatrists.  Generally speaking, I don't do male doctors at all--aside from my dentist and oncology team.  I have serious trust issues with men and very critical issues with male psychologists and psychiatrists.  When I was in college, I was referred to a male psychologist and I could just never make myself go to see him.  

The first (and last) male psychologist I ever saw was a real debacle.  He made me hug him every time before I left his office.  He made me hug him even though I'd just spent the last hour talking about being repeatedly sexually assaulted prior to the age of 5.  He made me hug him even though I'd just been talking about the incredible violence visited upon me by my father.  Believe me when I tell you that those hugs just compounded the problem.  I spent my childhood feeling completely powerless against the terrible men in my life and he made me feel powerless all over again.  I was too young and traumatized to resist the hug.  I just held my breath and did it anyway.  Just like with my uncle. 

Well this is turning out to be a fun post.  I give up. Maybe tomorrow I'll find something else to talk about.

America held hostage day 1658

Bushism of the day:

"The CIA laid out several scenarios and said life could be lousy, life could be OK, life could be better, and they were just guessing as to what the conditions might be like." - New York, Sept. 21, 2004