"A Matter of Respect"

As I write this entry, I am listening to "Father Lucifer" by Tori Amos off of her Boys for Pele album.

Last night my mother had a jewelry party at her house and I decided to stay there overnight afterward. My parents both had to work during the day today, so that left me alone with my aunt who was visiting. It is not a good idea to be around my aunt when no one else is home. She becomes incredibly bossy, telling me exactly what to do and how I am not doing things up to par.

My aunt must get some sort of kick out of bossing me around, and the fact that I usually just let her do it. Reason being, if I tried to not do what she was telling me to do, she'd give me a really difficult time and there would be a big fight. It's not what she had me do today, it's the reaction I got following it. She is a perfectionist, and my completed work was not up to her standards. In fact, she had the actual nerve to accuse me of being disrespectful to my mother because I didn't do a good enough job. That is somewhere no one should go. She started lecturing me, repeating: "it's a matter of respect." At that point I thought to myself about what Jeanne would recommend to do in that situation, and so I took off. I left the house as quickly as possible. The sick thing is that before I showed any signs of intending to depart, she asked me what was wrong. I didn't respond because I knew it would just start a fight. The easiest and nicest thing she could have done at that point was to say: "I'm sorry if I upset you" and let everything go.

Luckily for me, my aunt was still in her nightgown and robe, so she could not chase me on my way out to my car. There's been a history of her chasing me. How f^&%'d up was my grandparents' household with my mom, aunt, and uncle growing up. My grandparents, though very very nice to me and my sister, had to have been different to my mom, aunt, and uncle. You know, my uncle Steven, whom I mentioned in my last entry, had undifferentiated schizophrenia and committed suicide. Well, I get the feeling that he was the most sane one of the three. My aunt and my mom are so complex and bizarre, and happen to fool most everyone but me, my sister, and my dad. I am the least fooled though, and so they scare me. My psychologist that I was seeing about nine years ago told me that he could not figure out what was wrong with my mom. My mom actually came to a session with me and my psychologist could not get through to her. Her attitude in the office was as if the whole thing were a joke, and she kept laughing nervously. He told me that if I ever figured out what the deal was, that I should call him immediately. I haven't called him.

After reading this blog entry, and some of my earlier ones, it might seem as though I have been disrespectful to my family. This blog is my venting outlet and they shall never find out about it. In person with them, I am mostly respectful. But when it comes to my therapy and/or my venting, I need to complain. After all, I am sure they have called me 'crazy' and 'psychotic' behind my back more than once. So I suppose we're even.

New therapist, new start

--This entry is dedicated to the memory of my late Uncle Steven.--


So I was finally able to catch up on the sleep I missed from the caffeine high the other night. I also made and attended an appointment with a psychologist from the list my boyfriend found. Her name is Sally and she is a PsyD. Basically a PsyD has trained more toward clinical practice as opposed to a PhD which has trained more toward research. I found through my experience with different therapists that many of my psychologists, all of whom were PhD's, were not so actively involved during my therapy sessions. Most of them, including Dr. K, would nod their head, say OK and uh-huh, and leave all the talking and direction of the session up to me. Jeanne, who is a CSW, was highly involved in my sessions, asking questions and providing a good amount of feedback/analysis. I did look for another CSW, but found none that took Medicaid. Today was my first session with a PsyD.

Sally's methods include Analytic, Family Systems, and Psychodynamic. She has a certificate in Psychotherapy and Psychoanalysis. I remember one psychologist I had back in 2000 had a psychodynamic approach and was slightly more involved than other psychologists I've had. So when I found out Sally's approach methods included psychodynamic, she kind of stood out amongst the other therapists on my list.

Psychodynamic psychotherapy is defined according to minddisorders.com as follows:

"Psychodynamic psychotherapy is a method of verbal communication used to help a person find relief from emotional pain. It is based on the theories and techniques of psychoanalysis. Psychodynamic psychotherapy is similar to psychoanalysis in that it attributes emotional problems to the patient's unconscious motives and conflicts. It differs from classical psychoanalysis, however, in that psychodynamic psychotherapists do not necessarily accept Freud's view that these unconscious motives and conflicts are ultimately sexual in nature."

Today's session with Sally was interesting in that she was asking me about my delusions. Never before has a therapist of mine really 'gone there.' I was hesitant in telling her the bizarre and crazy cognitions that used to run through my head during my psychotic episodes, as I thought if she found them out she would not want to treat me. I once went to a DID/MPD expert and when she found out I had a psychosis problem, she basically had the attitude that I was psychotic, therefore in her mind, helpless besides medication treatment. Sally was actually trying to connect my delusions with what conflict was going on in my life at the time of them. This gives me some hope. Instead of dismissing my delusions as solely neurotransmitter misfirings in the brain, she actually looked for some issues behind them. I truly believe that medication alone will not adequately help me in my healing process. It probably also helps that Sally has had ten years of experience working at Hillside Hospital with major psychosis and depression patients. This is not something new to her.

I am most likely going to continue therapy with Sally, even though the commute is about 45 minutes from my house. It is a bit scary starting with someone new; someone who I don't know too well or trust for that matter. I have not told Dr. K that I am not going back to him and I have an appointment scheduled with him for tomorrow morning that I have yet to cancel. I am not looking forward to that phone call. I set my alarm so I could make the call early enough.

Another bonus is that my new therapist is willing to work with me scheduling-wise if I get a job.

Finally I should mention that I attended a NAMI meeting (National Alliance of the Mentally Ill) last night. There was one at a hospital local to me that I did not know about. It was all family members of those with illness except for myself, but they gave me info about a peer to peer support group that meets on Sunday evenings. I will probably attend one of those peer to peer meetings with my boyfriend. It was kind of strange that about three of the mothers at the meeting had a son or daughter close to my age with schizophrenia and were talking about the challenges they have in their relationship with them. Not all of the sons/daughters still lived with their mom. These mothers actually seemed to care, much more than I feel my mother cares. Perhaps I am not 'giving her trouble' anymore, so that might be why.

My mother had a brother with schizophrenia that committed suicide when I was one year old. I feel an emotional/spiritual connection to him of some sort. Thinking about him makes me sad, and sometimes I cry, yet I wasn't old enough to have really known him. When my uncle drank the poison that killed him (a popular drain cleaner), he was hospitalized and pretty much was dying for 8 days. I found out that my aunt was on vacation, and upon finding this out, she did not come back to visit him. It astounds me. I have found pictures of him ( had to secretly search) and looking at them makes me sad. I wish I could have been there to know him, perhaps to have had some sort of connection with him. Maybe it reflects my wish of someone reaching out to me when I was suffering. I don't really know if anyone could have gotten through to him, but I am happy he got to meet me when I was a baby at the least. If I were to have had a child and it were a boy, I would have named him Steven, after my uncle.