Wow. I thought I’d had the worst day of my life back in June 2012. hahahahahahaha (that’s maniacal laughter). May 23, 2013 was even worse. It started out as a pretty good day. I didn’t have to talk myself out of bed into the shower, I didn’t worry myself silly to the point of tears at work.
Got home from work and ate lunch, then went to see my oldest daughter and one of my grandkids. Sweet. Got to therapy and the poop hit the fan. I had misunderstood something my husband had said the day before, and he brought it up first thing in therapy. It made me mad because I felt like he had said it and then decided he should rethink it and brought it up in front of our therapist to sort of put me on the spot.
So I got ticked and asked him why he had told me one thing on Wednesday and now was acting like my response to unfair. Our therapist jumped right in and started badgering me. From there, it went straight to hell. I ended up leaving the session early because my therapist said he had told me B.S. in my private session and when I said, “It was all B.S.?” he said, “yeah, B.S.” So I left.
I mean, wouldn’t you if someone you had been paying to help you had just told you he had been feeding you crap?
My husband came out of the office about 15 minutes and wouldn’t get in the car with me. He wanted to walk and calm down, so I went and got a Coke and came back and picked him up. He didn’t want to talk, so I just said there had been a misunderstanding and I was sorry. He still wouldn’t talk. We drove home in silence. At some point, he must have said he didn’t know if he would come home that night. When I stopped to buy gasoline, he got out of the car and walked away. I started home and broke down. Called my best friend and went to her house to sob my eyes out; stayed there for a few hours trying to figure out what in Hades had happened in the therapist’s office. I know I felt like the therapist was berating the heck out of me just for the hell of it.
My husband did come home, but slept on the couch. I didn’t sleep hardly at all. Came downstairs and asked my husband if we could talk. “No!”
At this point, I felt sure my marriage is over. And I really felt like the SOB therapist had encouraged my husband to leave me.
I tried to go to work, came home, went back to work, took 2 Benadryl to try and sleep. Woke up and felt horrible, physically and emotionally. Called my best friend, went to her house again, sobbed again, tried to figure out what had happened again.
Got a text from my husband. Went home to see him and he told me he loved me.
Here’s the problem; I have borderline personality disorder. My therapist has told me I have to stop making assumptions and listen to what is actually being said. So that’s what I did. He affirmed that he had been telling me B.S. in our last private session and so I left.
But my husband told me today that the therapist was using a particular approach for someone with my disorder. Which I think is crap. I took what he SAID as what he meant. I don’t understand why I’m supposed to try and decipher whether or not my therapist is telling me the truth.
I am trying to believe that my husband is back because he wants to be. The timing of all of this garbage couldn’t be worse. I’m in between the one-year anniversary of our best vacation ever, and the day my husband got arrested. My world has been in little bitty pieces during the last year and it has been painstaking to put pieces back together. And so my therapist picks a great day to be a jerk. My disorder aside, he was a jerk. I’ve been seeing him for 6 months; you’d think he would know me better by now.
I am going to be dealing with the repercussions of this for a while. It’s really sad because, on Wednesday, I’d had a couple of little breakthroughs. I’ve now taken about 10 steps backwards.
So, this is a vent blog. Amazing how much my insecurity got reinforced because of the “method” my therapist decided to use. I’m just thankful my husband is here and we’ve had a good day.