Yesterday was the appointment for Sabrina and me with John. It was an absolute nightmare, far worse than I could have ever imagined. Sabrina attacked and attacked, called me a liar, mocked me, belittled me, dismissed anything I had to say, and made it virtually impossible for me to explain myself because she said (screamed) that I always make excuses and it drives her crazy. She was yelling, jumping off the couch, intimidated me, and John did NOTHING. He tried to get us both to apologize and ask for forgiveness, which I did. But not Sabrina, nor would she forgive me. And then he tried to play the session as a successful first step. I beg to differ. I was intimidated, made to feel like a subhuman, and that my feelings don’t matter. John started a list of “forbidden” topics. Little does he know that EVERYTHING upsets her; she can make a conflict out of anything I say. We are not supposed to talk to one another before our next session, he says next week. Bullshit. It will be at least 2 weeks before I can get an appointment.

I am so depressed over this. I have been crying non-stop; I feel like John through me under the bus as he bent over backwards to “listen” to her. I hope he sees now what I go through. I have written a letter to him which I will drop off on Monday. Someone needs to understand that I am suicidal and so depressed. And I can’t wait for 10 days to see John and 2 weeks to see Dr. S. I will surely be dead by then. I am totally paralyzed by this depression. I can’t leave my house. I have totally isolated myself. My house is a disaster. I don’t eat anything but some junk. I am in desperate need of help of some sort, but my “health care professionals” don’t seem to understand. Why can’t they see? Why can’t they listen to me or take me seriously? No, instead of caring about me, John tried to make out that we had a good session. If this was a good session, with Sabrina giving me a sarcastic “Have a good week” and me crying hysterically, I wonder what an unsuccessful session is.

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About mairedubhtx

I am a "youngish" grandmother of 15 year old twin granddaughter who has recently (is a year "recent"?) adopted Islam as my way of life, much to the consternation of my family. I love to read. I love to write. I am writing a book about my decision to revert, about my spiritual journey. I have another blog about stories from my youth, my parents, and grandparents. It's a blog so my OCD daughter will not be able to throw it out when I die. I suffer from depression and anxiety, for which I am treated, so my posts may be a bit dark at times. C'est la vie.
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