Open Letter To My Therapist

Dear You-Know-Who-You-Are,

I don't really know how else to say this, so let me just be blunt: I called today to cancel my next appointment with you, and I won't be coming back. Standard operating procedure in these cases is to say, "It's not you -- it's me," but I'm not going to lie. The problem is you. It really wouldn't be fair to either of us for me to pretend otherwise.

When I first came in to see you, I told you that I was dealing with stress, anger, and infertility issues. Well, I tried to, anyway, but I'm not really sure that you heard any of that, because you were busy for most of the first two visits telling me the history of the EAP and trying to figure out what paperwork you needed.

I'm not sure whether you picked up on this when I mentioned it that first week, but two of my biggest pet peeves are disorganization and inattention to my needs. You have demonstrated advanced skills in both of these key areas over the last five weeks. Please make a note of this so you won't be surprised when you get my evaluation from the EAP people.

And I hope it will come as no shock to you that I feel like my treatment so far has been a complete and utter waste of my time. There are about eleven million other things I could have done with my time that would have been more productive, including but not limited to bathing the cats, leveling my mage, and stabbing myself in the eardrum with a rusty butter knife.

How are you able to diagnose people when you don't take the time to talk them about their problems? I still don't know how you were able to determine what is wrong with me. After three visits with him there, you can't even remember my husband's name -- hell, last time, you didn't even remember my name, and I'm your freaking patient!

So I hope you will understand that I am leaving your care and looking for a talk therapist who will let me, you know, talk. My personal mental health is my top priority, and as a mental health professional, yours should be too. It's nothing personal (well, OK, it kind of is); it's just me looking out for Number One, because someone has to.

I really appreciate that you referred me to the psychiatrist, and I intend to keep that appointment next week. I am also glad that you sent me to my regular doctor in the meantime, because I am already feeling better. My dreams are totally wacko, but I'm sleeping long enough to have them. Prozac is an amazing pharmaceutical product.

But that's the glitch, you see: I don't want to be taking anti-depressants. Not really. I understand what they do, and why they work, and how they are sometimes the most appropriate treatment option, but didn't you write down in your chart that the last time I took this medication it made me want to kill myself? Don't you pay attention?

I guess it's good that I got to see you under my company's EAP benefit, because so far I'm not really out any money except for the $5 for the Rx and the copays at the doctor. God knows I would have put up more of a stink if I was actually paying for this heinous level of care. But still: I am very disappointed in how wretched a therapist you have been for me. Epic fail.

Or, to put it in shorter words that might get through your ridiculous little stories: QUACK.


PS -- I am not sorry about saying that kids are over-prescribed drugs for ADHD, and I will never take it back. Stick that in your little hippie hashpipe and smoke it.

No comments:

Post a Comment