Before I File it Away: Letter from the Ex Therapist

The date on the letter is 3/15, the date on the envelope from the postal service is 3/19. So about a month this thing has been sitting in my ‘to be filed pile.’  But I wanted to share and post about it before putting it away somewhere, probably not to be seen anytime in the near future, if at all, until I sort through to trash some stuff.

Just to explain a little: The policy for the DBT program I was in, if I can explain it right. Basically if you miss 4 appointments in a row, you’re out. Well if you’ve been reading, you know why I didn’t show up and it’s not acknowledged in the letter.

It felt a bit like being gas lit when I read it…as if she expected me to show up. WT actual F?

So, here’s what the letter said:

Dear Tiger (LOL…she didn’t really type that on the letter. But that would be cool if she did.)
Due to your failure to attend scheduled therapy sessions on 2/21, 2/28, 2/7* and 3/15, per department policy, I have transferred your case back to case management. In the future if you wish to reconnect with a therapist you can do so by contacting case management. In the interim, please continue to see your psychiatrist and take your medications as prescribed. I hope you are doing well.


Shitty Therapist with Codependency Issues (She didn’t sign it like this, but it would’ve been cool if she had.)

A bit insulting and triggering. I know it’s a form letter and all, but I don’t take medication. And she knows that. No wonder I put it in the pile for a while.

It belongs in a pile all right!

It’s not all that surprising, but it still hurt. Like I just blew it all off for no reason.

*Pretty sure that’s a mistake. I would say that I’m sure it is because of chronological numbers and all that. But I don’t want to make any assumptions here. It’s probably supposed to be 3/7 NOT 2/7.


Anyone Know Anything About the Logistics of Reporting Bad Therapists?

Now that some time has gone by, I’m doing some serious thinking about reporting the two therapists from my DBT group, one having been my individual therapist.

The one who was the active asshole in the incident was not my individual therapist. My individual therapist however, did just stand back and allow it to happen. The passive one. (Codependent I would say if I ventured a guess as she seems to give a lot of fucks what people think of her.)

I’m not going to tell the whole story again. I wrote two posts about it back when it happened. It probably needs some work but you can read about it here and here.

I have found some pretty decent information about how to report, as in what to say, which is to keep emotion out of it, don’t educate anyone and just stick to facts of what happened.

Thing is, I’m not finding much info on where to go or how much time I have to report it. I know there is a statute of limitations, which I need to find out first.

I’m in PA. Southeastern PA. I don’t live in the nearest city and did not receive this shitty treatment in the city. Therapy happened within the same county, but two different towns.

Another thing that really annoys me (well not REALLY annoys but annoys me a little) is that almost all the info on reporting therapists for abusive behavior pertains to sexual abuse. Which is good! Don’t get me wrong. That is worse than what happened to me. I fully acknowledge that. I read a story or two on that happening and just reading about it is traumatizing. I would be beyond devastated if that happened to me.

I was not sexually abused by these therapists. But they still caused me a lot of distress and even saw the distress that I was caused. I  I was emotionally abused and I would also put the incident under psychological abuse. That is what I want to report. What they did was not sexual abuse, but it was still quite harmful. And if they behaved the same toward someone else, someone younger, someone in an even more frail condition than I was in, well, it could have some irreversible consequences for that person. And if my reporting that could stop that, well, I feel that I should do that.

In addition, I feel that this could be a necessary thing for part of my own healing process. I have been walked on and treated like crap my entire life by so many people and frankly I’m tired of people getting away with it because I “let it go,” walk away with my tail between my legs and never speak up about this kind of shit.

I don’t necessarily think that what happened to me is cause for either of the therapists to lose their licenses, but  I do think their behavior needs some attention. Although it’s true I would not have wanted to have been stopped from running out of the building at the time, my desire to do so could’ve been doused by knowledgeable and decent therapists.  Instead I drove home (a half hour drive) crying uncontrollably.

Not only was I not treated correctly by the therapists present at the time, my trauma and I were not taken into consideration one iota when some elusive team I have never met decided that I was the one who needed to make amends to be able to continue attending the program.

If nothing comes of it, I at least know I did my part in bringing attention to their very irresponsible behavior.  And if I was the mother of a kid who this happened to, you can bet I’d make a bunch of noise and probably would have already reported it.

Personal Girl/Woman Stuff: A Bit About Neglect

There is something to be said for staying in a fog of depression, agitation with the present and irritability with the people around you that didn’t cause the trauma.

There are aspects of it that make things easier. You don’t have to feel the pain of the events that come to mind during moments out of the fog.

You don’t have to ruminate on it and think it to death trying to feel better about it. Trying to make sense of it. Trying to think and talk it away to yourself.

It just feels better to keep those memories at bay because it hurts too intensely to realize the depth of neglect in important aspects of your life as you grew into the self you would never actually know.

No wonder so many of us turn to drugs, alcohol and people who use us. Anything to dull it. Anything to just escape the fact that we weren’t loved.

The above thoughts come from remembering that I was expected to stay at the house when I was 13 (in 8th grade) while my parents were still at work, while my siblings could go do whatever the fuck they wanted outside the house. I mean, I could be around the house, but not two blocks away where my (supposed) best friend lived at the time.

Thing is, I didn’t usually ‘stick around.’ And if I did it was because my friend was there with me.

I got paid 5 bucks as allowance for this each week. It was plenty to keep me in cigarettes (yep, I smoke at the age of 13) but that was about it.

What could a 13 use money for? Well, clothes for one thing. I had clothes. My mother met my needs for the necessities for the most part. But I liked to go to the mall and there were times that I saw things I would’ve like to buy. I wasn’t spend crazy though. I’m just talking about an album here and a pair of jeans there. Not a lot of shit that I didn’t need.  It would’ve been nice to have a bigger collection of music (albums). But I was pretty much convince that asking for more than what I was already getting would just be responded to with a no. So I didn’t usually ask.

The thing though that really hurts though is that as I was coming of age so to speak. My chest grew pretty rapidly, like over night. I’d had a trainer bra in my drawer for a couple years that I hadn’t touched but it finally came to the point that I could not deny that my body had changed, as much as I had not wanted it to at that time.  I was very subconscious about it and I remember one summer I would walk around the pool (at the swim club we belonged to), with one arm folded over its opposite shoulder to try to hide myself, until I got into the pool.

That trainer bra though, I wore that thing out and I’d grown out of it long before I wore it out.

So where was my mother at this point? This woman did my laundry. She’d have seen the bra wearing out, getting holes in it. And then she would’ve noticed my body and that I had grown too big for a fucking trainer bra! I was a kid and not comfortable with such a big change. I still wanted to be a tom boy and that had been made difficult. I didn’t want to grow up quite yet. I wasn’t ready. I was embarrassed by my body’s changes. And I wasn’t comfortable bringing it up to my mother.  She was the adult. She owed me the reality check.

Eventually of course I finally admitted to myself that I had to do something other than wear a trainer bra. But I keep thinking about how mothers are supposed to gently nudge a young daughter into that reality. She could’ve said something like this: “I think it’s time we get you out of that trainer bra. Why don’t we go shopping for some bras that fit.”

I’ll admit that my memory isn’t perfect and she may have done that.  But I do remember that I was wearing that one trainer for way too long.

Magnesium: Depression

I stumbled upon a book at the library a couple weeks ago after going there to simply get out of the apartment. As I sat a table, after writing something out in my journal, I perused the bookshelf nearby. I saw a book called Magnificent Magnesium: Your Essential Key to a Healthy Heart & More.  I debated on getting up to get it out from where it was wedged between the other books. I thought, “I’ve already read about and listened to stuff about magnesium.”

The thing I’ve run into when taking it in the past, is that it makes me tired and super groggy in the morning. Of course there’s the GI issues too, but sometimes that’s a good thing. Besides, I’ve learned since then that there is a sweet spot when it comes to magnesium and each person is different when it comes to that.

I decided to grab it because I believe that it would not have been standing out to me if there wasn’t something in there I needed to read and know. It got my attention in the first place because of the subtitle. The heart palpitations had been a problem again, with all the stress going on with dick face speaker boy here. So I went for it. (Sorry for the vulgar language. Whenever I even think about that asshole next door I get a sudden case of tourettes. Not being funny either. I’ve never been so disgusted with another human in my entire life like I am about him. And I’ve been through some shit.)

So back to Mg: I have read about plenty of things that I’ve put into practice and then stopped for various reasons.

I already knew that magnesium is calming, and with the rage, anxiety, irritability and agitation, I wonder why I didn’t keep pursuing magnesium. And in actuality I have…off and on.

So after reading most of this book, I started taking it again. I already had some magnesium citrate (Calm brand) so I finished off some capsules I’d made a while back and then made more.  And that was before I came to the part in the book where the author explains the ailments it helps other than heart issues.

So just below is the part where he describes how it helps depression. I found it interesting and a big reason to continue taking the supplement.  When I make capsules I have no way of measuring so I have no idea how many milligrams is in each one. I just take one when I feel the need.  And just a minute ago I felt the need after writing about noise-boy. My heart actually went into arrhythmia. From what I understand the heart and adrenals (which release stress hormones under stress are quite closely related. But then again, everything is connected in our bodies so…)

I wanted to share this here for my own benefit but also for others because those of us who have any effects from trauma at all…well depression is usually part of that. I hope this can help someone. There are other common ailments that the author covers in short sections that are helped by magnesium: asthma, chronic fatigue and chronic fatigue syndrome, chronic pain, fibromyalgia, headache and migraine, gastrointestinal problems, heavy metal toxicity, kidney stones, osteoporosis, premenstrual syndrome and sleep disorders.

All this being said, I am not claiming that magnesium is the end all/be all. I am finding that this time around, it’s helping…a lot. I don’t mean that I’m cured and I no longer effected by the effects of trauma. I’m just saying that at this point in time after having taken it and struggled through some morning grogginess, I am feeling less rage, less anxiety, especially when driving, less agitation, less irritability, and a bit more organized thinking. Oh, and it calms the heart palps within a half hour and usually less, generally.

The following is quoted from the book mentioned above.


“While magnesium is certainly not a complete solution for depression, research does indicate that it can be very helpful for easing the symptoms, potentially resolving them completely and reducing the risk of their recurrence. In fact, because of the mental health benefits magnesium can provide, Dr. Emily Deans, a practicing psychiatrist, referred to it as “the original chill pill” in an article published online by Psychology Today. As she wrote, “When you start to untangle the effects of magnesium in the nervous system, you touch upon nearly every single biological mechanism for depression.”

Magnesium helps to protect against depression in a number of ways. First, when present in the body in optimal amounts, it regulates the activity of both calcium and glutamate, which are found in the synapses between the cells of the nervous system, or neurons. Among other functions, calcium and glutamate serve to activate a part of the neurons called the N-methyl D-aspartate (NMDA)receptor, which plays a role in both memory function and the ability of the synapses to adapt in response to nerve impulses. When levels of magnesium are low, calcium and glutamate build up, triggering the NMDA receptor too frequently.  This excess activity in the NMDA receptor is correlated with higher rates of both anxiety and depression. In addition, this activity can also lead to neuron damage or death. As George and Karen Eby write, “Without magnesium, the neuron operates much like an automobile without brakes, blasting calcium through the synapses, causing great harm to the brain, with severe disruption of thinking, mood and behavior.” (Bold mine.) Sufficient levels of magnesium prevent this cascade of events from happening by regulating the calcium and glutamate that cause the initial damage.

The second way by which magnesium protects against anxiety and depression has to do with its ability to buffer the effects of stress. As this chapter shows, long-term exposure to stress can result in sleep disorders and chronic inflammation, both of which are independent risk factors for anxiety and depression. In addition, the brain’s memory center, the hippocampus, is particularly sensitive to the stress hormone cortisol. When exposed to excess levels of that stress hormone, the hippocampus can become damaged or even atrophy–waste away. Recent studies have shown that this smaller or partially impaired hippocampus* (asterisk mine: see below) is highly correlated with major depressive disorder.

How can magnesium help? As explained previously, magnesium helps regulate cortisol, effectively buffering the effects of stress and limiting the toll it takes on your body and brain. In a research paper, the Ebys examined multiple case histories of patients who suffered from major depression, and found that all of the patients experienced rapid recovery in less than seven days after using 125-300 milligrams of magnesium with each meal and at bedtime. They also found that magnesium supplementation improved related mental illnesses, including traumatic brain injury, headache, suicidal ideation, anxiety, irritability, insomnia, postpartum depression, cocaine, alcohol and tobacco abuse, hypersensitivity to calcium, short-term memory loss and IQ loss. Clearly magnesium has enormous significance for the treatment of psychological disorders.”

*Hippocampus Functions Brief overview of what the hippocampus is and what it does. There is also suggested further reading at the end of this short article.

I think that the hippocampus is a huge key to the healing of PTSD whatever form it takes.

Also, here’s a link to descriptions of the different types of magnesium to help you decide which one might be the right one for you.

Kicking Myself for Not Doing this Before Yesterday: Spoke to a Lawyer

I talked to a lawyer yesterday. He’s a (sort of) friend. I know him through an old boyfriend from years ago and he had helped with something a long time ago. And then I recommended him to a friend of mine for something he’d needed a lawyer for. I recommend him every time someone mentions or asks about a lawyer.

I wish I had called him way back in October, when speaker-boy started his bullshit.

Of course I could sue, but it would take money up front apparently.  What I could’ve done from the beginning is inform my landlord (Nasty) about the noise disturbance/nuisance.   Which actually I did do.

Her response was that she had not noticed it and that if it bothers me to go talk to him.

Now I believe more than before that she is full of shit.

Because it’s in the lease that tenants have the right to peaceful enjoyment of the property, it is actually her responsibility to take care of it.  Being a landlord, I’m willing to bet she knows that. Also, she’s proven time and time again that she is a denial and deflection freak. So to pretend she didn’t notice the noise (loud ass banging noise right next to our windows?) Yeah, right!

If I’d spoken to my lawyer friend earlier, I would’ve known this and could’ve texted back to her bullshit response. “Actually, whether you notice it or not, it’s happening, and infringing on our peaceful enjoyment of the apartment that we are renting from you. Peaceful enjoyment is part of the lease that you are responsible for holding up. Having this noise nuisance next door is indeed your responsibility to have it stopped. Because of speaker-boy and his big banging noise next door, you are actually in violation of that part of the lease, more so, if you do nothing about it.”

(She could’ve sued the owner of the building. Actually the first step would be to have a lawyer send a letter to the owner/RE company office and tell them to have it stopped.)

To a knowledgeable text response from me, I’m sure she would’ve still come back with a reply that once again deflected any responsibility, but at least I would’ve gotten across that I know what the fuck the law is. In addition, by that time, we were month to month so there wasn’t and still isn’t much leverage on my (and B’s) part.

(The presence of the noise actually would give us the right to break the lease. But that would also involve a lawyer probably too.)

If speaker boy was still making as much noise as he was before, it might make sense to put that shit in writing even this far along. (But again there is a leverage problem.)  Also, at the moment, he has quieted down…to an extent. And I’m always afraid to say anything anywhere, anytime to this effect, because I tend to have that jinx cloud following me around.

So tonight when that fucker gets home, he’ll probably blast us again. I don’t doubt it will start up again at some point if he doesn’t get out.

Recap here: I was eventually able to find out the owner of the building over there, that houses that asshole, but not only did it take a while to find out who owns it, it also took awhile before speaker-dick got any type of message, through the apparent thick skull that sits atop his shoulders.

And still, it’s obviously still not quite clear to him. He still drives in and out with the noise blasting loud from his car and then turns it off. Thing is, with the shit he’s already pulled, for as long as he’s pulled it, I don’t want to hear a single fucking peep out of anything he owns that makes any kind of noise.

It’s just common courtesy anyway to turn it the fuck down before pulling into the parking lot coming home and not turning it up until you are out of the parking lot when your leaving.

I mean, what the fuck is so hard about that?

So I’m thinking I’ll be calling the RE office again or maybe I’ll email the woman (contact) about it and see if that eviction I was told about is still the plan. (I’m willing to bet it’s not.)   And let her know about the continuing loud noise since, even though it’s usually a short amount of time, as he turns off his car, it’s still long enough and loud enough to wake someone up.

Reblog: A poem my friend Bethany wrote for me

A tiny fairy rested her chin on the edge of a lily pad A few strands of the curls of her hair straightened as they stretched in the current of the water She wrote words with her small fingertip In the blue Her letters disappeared In the breath she blew The water rippled It always […]

via Poetry : for my friend sleeping tiger — NOT MY SECRET…the journey towards healing from abuse

I made a comment about the photo above and said, when I was little and would see a lily pad, I would imagine myself really tiny and sitting on it. Bethany came up with the above poem.

Click the link above to read the whole thing.

Comments closed here, please visit original post at the author’s site.

Flood in the Basement

I shouldn’t write about this because it pisses me off so much. But I’m keeping record of the asshole downstairs that owns this shit hole and takes no responsibility for any fucking thing.

See, I told you I was pissed. When every other word is fuck then that’s how you know I’m pissed. So pissed I could spit in the face of the person I’m so pissed at.  Fuck this asshole.

B was on his way out and had already started some laundry.  He was supposed to be going to a pet store to get some cat litter but had to stop and clean up the flood the washer/basin caused in the basement.

This is the second time this happened here.  And it’s because the evil bitch is too lazy and cheap to keep up with the pipes around here.

NOTE: We have never had this problem before, either collectively or apart. If I include all the places that had a washer and dryer that I’ve lived in with my parents AND by myself and with B, that’s NINE places (not including this shithole) and NEVER one single flood from a washer.

B has lived in less places but has also never experienced this. Until now.

So who and what is the problem exactly??? Well according to Nasty, not her.

There is also an same with the ducts that push heat and air. We have an apartment full of dust. ALL THE TIME. I can dust and the next day there is a layer of dust all over everything.

I know dust is a thing. Things get dusty. But again, I’ve lived in 10 places, with my family, by myself and with B. (One place didn’t have a a washer and drier.) And never a flood.

B texted her to let her know there is a problem and that the basement flooded. Why either one of us bother, who the fuck knows because she just throws it back on us as if it’s our fault.

Why are we even still here?

Fuck this! If you don’t see me around here for awhile, I’m getting myself together to get out of here and live someplace more pleasant. Enough is enough. For fucks sake!

Dog in the Distance

For a few hours (or maybe it’s 2. Idk, I lost track.) there’s been a dog barking incessantly, somewhere around here. It’s not next door. Thank the gods for that. I’ve had my share of that shit too.  And it’s far away enough (knock on wood) that when I turn the fan on, I will not hear it.

This is a sound I hear often around here and I wonder, who the fuck leaves their dog out so late at night to bark for hours on end? It’s cruel to the dog. But let’s forget about that for a second…just for a second and let’s talk about the surrounding humans stuck listening to it.

What is so wrong with you that you have no fucking consideration for other people, including children being kept the fuck awake after midnight because of your rude ass? Because you have something against taking your dog inside where it belongs. With you. You don’t HAVE to let him sleep in your bed. A cozy dog bed right next to yours will do just fine. And I bet it won’t bark either.

And another question: How the fuck can you yourself even sleep with that incessant annoying barking??? How?

And why the fuck would your next door neighbor put up with that shit? HOW can they put up with that shit. I can tell you, I lived next door to an asshole who left her dog out 24/7…literally. Not joking, and no amount of white noise, loud fan or ac unit could drown it out from right next door.

It’s unacceptable and I just don’t get how neighbors don’t put your ass in its place.

There are people out there who think that if you’re a person who loves dogs then it’s ridiculous to complain about such noise.  I told a couple ‘friends’ that years ago one night while we were hanging out and they looked at me like I had three heads when I told them I can’t stand incessant barking.

I was so confused. One of them actually said, “I thought you liked dogs!”

Um…how does that statement even make sense. So if I love dogs that means I’m supposed to love the incessant (non-stop) of a loud bark?

That’s ridiculous.

Parents? Do you love the loud screams of your kids when they don’t get their way? Yeah, probably not so much. But by the logic above, that means you don’t love your kids at all.

As I said, ridiculous.

I should’ve used that argument (or question really) with my friends. Both are parents.


We Didn’t Do It

I couldn’t.

The appointment for Ozzy’s euthanasia was today but instead I cancelled and asked for more pain killers for him.

I was originally going to go for the ones she’d given us before because they seemed to work pretty well for him. They gave him a break from the pain it seemed to me and he was able to sleep. He was not bothered by whatever it is inside his bladder that sends him to the litter box about every ten minutes.

But when I called to cancel the appointment, the vet herself came to the phone and suggested a stronger one since Ozzy is more in a state for hospice care. So that’s what we picked up.

B and I just gave him his first dose.

This morning, as the time crept closer this, I became more and more apprehensive.  He is so alert and doesn’t seem to be on the edge of death at all.  Maybe I’m in denial. Maybe I don’t understand the seriousness of it.

I just realized that I wasn’t ready.

There are other factors, but having him euthanized the day before the anniversary of my father’s death…well, it just wasn’t an option for my psyche.

Kitty is still eating and drinking and even getting underfoot when the food is being dished out. So still having an appetite seems like a sign, to at least give him (and us) a bit more time.