Today I saw *MY* therapist. I have been so angry all week long. Angry at the world, really. And I started to let some of that anger go when I talked with her. I've told her all week how invalidated I felt by the psychiatrist here. I felt like he didn't care what I thought *I* needed for me. I was just a number, just another mentally ill patient in need of a diagnosis (AKA label) and some medication.
I'm not a number, I'm not a label, I am not a diagnosis. She gets that. She knows my struggles, my continuous self-hate and anger that overpowers all other feelings inside of me.
I cried so much my eyes are still burning. And she just sat with me. And it was enough, just to know that she was *there*, to go on for another day. And to quiet the angry girl inside my head.... at least for now.
(well, my therapist - and a DEAR, DEAR blogging friend - you know who you are! :-)
