Three strikes

I am officially done with doing anything outside of individual therapy and DBT at the clinic I've been going to. I tend to abide by a three strike rule and they sure as hell fucking hit strike three, all in one month, think that's a new record for some place fucking me over. First they change the groups around and leave me with nothing but shit, then they cancel my appointment to see the new pdoc before I've ever even met the woman. Today was the clincher though.

I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I was all prepared to just blow off my groups, cancel my therapy appointment and sleep the day away. I've been very depressed, angry, tired, just plain fucking miserable. But I convinced myself it'll do me good to get out. That I'd made commitments and I had to keep them. So I shower and get ready real fast cuz I'm running late, race like hell to get there in time doing 80-90 mph despite seeing several people pulled over by cops along my way. The reception I receive? Oh, we're not having any of the groups you attend today because the counselor that runs them is out on vacation this week.

I immediately flew off the handle. I ask why the fuck they didn't bother to tell me this last week when I was there. When my whimpy dickhead counselor "really needed to talk to me about the new group schedule" he could have mentioned it then cuz I'm sure the guy didn't just spring it on everyone on Friday that he'd be on vacation this week. Or even later that day when the whimpy bitch called me to say that the Monday groups were going back to the schedule they were originally at, the schedule I was used to, he could have mentioned something then. Their only response was that they "tried" to let everyone know. Apparently fucking not because I wasn't the only one to get there and be pissed off. I was the only one ballsy enough to go off on 'em.

My guess, by how quickly everyone took a step back away from me, I was well into rage mode before I even figured out I was. I let loose a torrent of obscenities that would put any good porno or Quentin Tarrantino movie to shame. Yelling at them about how fucked up their program is. How I initially got the impression that this was a far better clinic than the one closer to my house, but that I was dead fucking wrong about that. Told them they really shouldn't dick around people that are mentally ill like they've been doing to me in just one week, you never know which one of us is the crazy psycho fuckhead that'll return with a cache of weapons and go fucking postal on their asses.

After my tirade, I storm up to the front desk and ask if by chance my therapist's 11 am cancelled so I could see her early. No go. I had to fucking find something to do until noon. Pissed me off even more. So I got in my car and blindly drove around in a murderous rage until noon.

I gave Ms. N a binder that I'd taken home with me from one of the groups and told her to give it to whoever the fuck runs the group program because I was finished with them. She tells me she'll give them the binder, but that I'll have to call and tell them I'm not doing groups anymore. I told her I ain't fucking calling any of those fucks and if they try to call me, I'm hanging up on them.

She thinks I'm punishing myself by quitting all together. I explained that I was simply avoiding a rage trigger and that I was merely protecting myself, not punishing. I can't tolerate incompetency at all and this is the kind of shit that made me quit a lot of the jobs I walked out of, getting fucked around with. They tend to refer to it as "miscommunication" but when it happens more than once, it's fucking idiots not doing their fucking jobs.

So she wants to know what I'll do to structure my time during the day since I was so pissed last week about not being able to do the Wednesday groups. I told her I plan to sleep the rest of this week away, staying as medicated as possible. Even told her I'm considering reinstating my former D-day plans but that at the moment I'm too focused on getting through my daughter's b-day and b-day party this coming weekend to focus on killing myself just yet.

Her response "what DBT skills can you use instead of sleeping or planning your demise to get thru this painful period?" We've had what...3 or 4 DBT sessions, none really focusing yet on any kind of skills except last week's "staying in the moment". What fucking skills does she think I possess or have magically picked up in such a short period of time with no discussion behind how to use them? I distract as best I can, I try breathing to calm down, they barely fucking work. I still don't know what most of the skills on the sheet even fucking mean. Some I do out of necessity, like bathing & eating; others I do like distract by doing something useful simply because there are useful, necessary things that I have to do now and then. They certainly don't help reduce my misery.

I'm so fucking pissed. I wish I did have a small cache of weapons, I think I would go in there and go postal on those stupid fucks. And here, everyone always thinks I'm the quiet one....big fucking HA to that.