Fragmented

It’s no secret to me that my therapist of 3 years has little regard for my, and indeed, most psychiatrists. When I replied to his query about how my last appt. was with him – “He was his usual twit self”, D shook his head in almost a sad way.

I told D that, as usual, his routine question of “Are you going to go home and kill yourself?”, left me feeling acutely suicidal and deserving of such. My shrink also has the annoying and persistent habit of using a kind of stamp to “sign” whatever piece of paper he’s making notes on. He stamps his notes at various times during my 5 to 10 mins. with him but it always makes me feel like a dismissed child. Be gone, I tire of you.

D – “He’s more like an accountant. He’s got that new building to pay for, in fact, he has 2 offices with dozens of therapists and staff to pay for.

I see my shrink for 10 mins. every 2 to 3 months. He touches on different medications that in his opinion are all fairly similar – “Can’t say one is better than any other”. He rarely asks about any symptoms except drug side effects if I’ve been weak and agreed to try something new to me. I told D – “He doesn’t know me. How could he?”

D – “It used to happen that some of the psychiatrists would call me monthly to check up on and discuss our mutual clients. No one does this anymore. In fact, there isn’t a psychiatrist in this county that I like to refer people to.”

I told D that I feel sad for and certainly disappointed by my shrink. I can’t believe he went into psychiatry to end up like this, to not know the people he’s trying to help. “It’s all fragmented and the pieces (myself and all the other people) are scattered everywhere.”

D asked me – “How can it be fixed?” I don’t know D but, seriously, I’m scared. Doc

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