I have been miserable since Tuesday's therapy appointment. I'll hand it to New Guy - at least he's not mean-spirited. Even so, you can't quite call someone 'high maintenance' and then try to act like that is not a disparaging comment. I'm not that clueless. Anyone who shares this culture with me, was born and raised in it and does not live under a rock knows that this is a pejorative statement. What's worse is that this happened AFTER he addressed the emails I sent him between appointments. Because of the dissociation, those emails were all I had to go on when he asked about my week. We talked about how difficult it is for me to even get myself together enough to get to therapy in the first place and how the need to do so causes further dissociation because I usually can't get myself out the door without it. He very graciously told me to keep sending the emails so we could use them in therapy. He was very nice about it. And then he agreed with my husband about my 'high maintenance' status.

So. Let me get this straight. I am welcome to send emails and to reach for help when I am made desperate by flashbacks, but then I will be called names for doing it. No thank you. I'm not going to do that.

And as for the husband. Yes, I know he loves me. I love him, too. He is a good person, but that doesn't mean I will let him disparage me. Yes, he will bring me food when I am too sick to get it myself. He will drive me to therapy. He will do what he can, but then he gets to call me names for needing help. No thank you. I decline to participate in anything passive aggressive. Anyone who has anything shitty to say to me about my problems needs to man up and come right out and be sincere instead of calling me names and being flip and sarcastic.

I have been living off of Boost (liquid nutritional supplement - a food substitute) since Tuesday. I can't make myself ask anybody for anything, even when I can't get out of bed. My husband made his special homemade pizza last night and I felt guilty and worthless for eating a piece just because I was not the one who cooked it. I have lost five pounds and I don't care. I needed to go out and do a couple of things, but I was not well enough to drive and I felt too weak from not having enough to eat. I cannot ask my husband to take me anywhere. I'd rather die. This includes therapy. There is no way in hell I am letting him take me there anymore. I have to figure out how I can drive myself all the way to Tampa and back all alone. I'm not sure I can. If I manage it, that will probably be all I can manage and I won't have anything left with which to participate in therapy. Which is just as well because I won't be sending anymore emails because of how bad it would make me feel, so we won't have a starting place anyway.

I looked for a therapist closer to home so I could drive myself. I contacted him to lay out the issues and see if he might be able to help someone like me. Turns out he can't. I'm guessing it's because he figured I'd be too high maintenance. There are only a few therapists nearby that have any experience with my issues and this was the last one. I have nowhere else left to go.