Winter has set in, and it’s like this whole world has grown colder and colder. I’ve been having a rift with my psychologist. While once I would write her many emails a week, I no longer confide in her. I have few other ways of coping though. Badminton used to give me a break from everything. I enjoyed seeing my team each week, but then I was not allowed to play as I was not vaccinated. I was replaced by someone else, which was incredibly painful and triggering for me, and my team continued without me. The vaccine mandate has lifted now and I assumed I would be able to play again next season. But last weekend I got a text from the old lady who organises badminton asking me if I wanted to play full time next season IF a space becomes available. I was already primed to bite, and I did bite.
“I’d like to play full time. I shouldn’t have to wait for a space I always wanted to play I should never have been excluded!” I wrote back.
I was at absolute breaking point, driven to this place by many things such as my psychologist and being woken by the neighbours. I was almost about to tell her that I wanted to kill myself. She didn’t reply. I wrote another text telling her I’m not angry at her and know it’s not her fault.
“Zoe I know you are not but I haven’t the time to whinge about how we Victorians have been treated”, she then told me.
Her lack of empathy made me want to cry. All I needed to hear was “I agree and I’m sorry this happened to you” or “We’ll try our best to get you playing again”. Why can’t people in this world show any empathy? It feels like all people want is happy friendly Zoe and when I digress from that people just stick their nose up.
I’m so depressed I struggle to do the most basic of things like clean my teeth. I met with my disability support worker on Thursday at a café and was trying to tell her this. I haven’t known the woman all that long, but have felt safe with her. I have called her many times during a crisis, such as the night I wanted to jump in front of a train and while having a meltdown when out of Melbourne. I told her about the nurse I wrote about here and she was one of the first people I debriefed with about my hellish marijuana trip. She was there in the car after an upsetting appointment with my case worker and she held my hand and advocated for me. While usually I hate being touched or am completely indifferent to it, I felt comforted by her touch. I always felt she got me fairly well, yet on Thursday she just told me that it’s a “decision” to brush my teeth, as though I am just being lazy. People seem to think I am more in control than I actually am. It’s not exactly like I enjoy going to the dentist each time and needing more and more fillings. If I could look after my teeth I would! Suddenly something snapped in me, like it did with my psychologist. I think this is what they call “devaluation” in the BPD world. I lost all respect for her and all sense of safety too. She went inside and gasbagged to the waitress while I sat there feeling like the world around me wasn’t real and that life was a dream. I didn’t even feel alive. When she came back out I didn’t feel much better. She said some things to me but it all washed over me. She morphed into some kind of demonic monster spitting words at me through her big mouth. It reminded me of when I took the marijuana on the farm and thought the people looking after me were raping and killing me. I “heard” Margaret, the lady who owned the farm, saying all these sadistic things to me. Suddenly she seemed outright evil. After this day with my disability worker, I withdrew from her like I’ve withdrawn from my psychologist.
This week I started having some very disturbing dreams again. One night I dreamt I was being raped and killed. Another night I couldn’t breathe and didn’t know if I was awake or asleep. I tried to make my way to the door of my bedroom and to my mum’s bedroom as I needed help. I guess I’ve been losing all sense of safety in this world.
Maybe it was a premonition I had about my disability worker, but I’m glad I did emotionally detach from her because this evening she terminated with me over text. It still hurts, as deep down I did like her still. She simply said her schedule had changed. “I’m hoping this text lands with you super well” she writes. Is she out of her mind?
“Of course this bombshell this evening doesn’t land with me “super well”.” I wrote back.
“I deserve an explanation. 1:30 on Thurs was our time together. If something big has come up and you need to change it fine but surely you can fit me in another time. You are no longer studying so I thought you had some free days. I don’t get where all this is coming from. The other week you assured me you weren’t going anywhere. I had begun to open up to you and it’s not fair you drop me and by text too. But sadly that is what I’ve come to expect from mental health workers now.”
I’m proud of my growing ability to stand up for myself.
I’m afraid I can no longer trust mental health workers. For some reason I used to feel safer with them than equals, but now I think they’re just as bad, if not worse. Whether professional or peer, man or woman, no one is safe. There is another NDIS worker who I really like, but I don’t think I can work with him after everything I’ve been through. I asked him if he’d like to be friends instead, but sadly he didn’t feel comfortable. Tonight, I wrote one final email to my psychologist. I told her about my disability support worker terminating me.
“I’ve had it with all of you!” I wrote.
“I deserve more than these scraps of love which I’ve gotta pay hundreds of dollars for! I am not a piece of trash to be used and disposed of when it’s convenient or when you no longer work. How can I know the same is not going to happen with you next? You’re all dangerous. I’m not coming on Monday. Just leave me alone.”
Now if I’m lucky I will get some sleep.