His cold office with the dank washed out white walls were lined with cases of books that might have given someone a feeling of security trusting their care to him, or that perhaps he might have known of what he spoke. That is, if he didn't so quickly open his mouth and spew utter shit.
It's a typical psychiatrists office with a large dark wooden desk- perhaps oak, but very well polished, but the books catch dust, and when I could tell they hadn't been so much as even glimpsed at in the last two years I've been seeing this man- I should have known better than to trust him, and that is entirely my fault. He slumps in a grandiose swivel chair all day looking largely uninterested as each client tapers in and out of his office, none coming out looking too pleased. Yet we all continue to come back- stuck within our haunting routines believing he will help us because he is supposed to.
I am crazy. But that is not at all why I go to see this man. I am crazy for subjecting myself to the awful treatment of this buffoon for what in March will be two years, and who has yet to fully admit I have an eating disorder. It took until I was finally hospitalized on an eating disorder unit with an entering pulse rate of 38, a potassium level of 3, and a weight that frankly could have killed me for him to bat an eyelash. Friends and family around me knew, and deep inside I knew, but I would never admit it to myself, and was told by this man for two years I was perfectly fine- so much as at one point that "he didn't see it as a concern." This was the last time I saw him in October... I was hospitalized in November.
I had to see him this morning, and knew he had received my discharge paperwork from the hospital, only to discover like his dusty books- my file of over a week was untouched. Asking me how my semester ended, he had no idea I had been hospitalized- or treated for an eating disorder, or about Hershey's program. Further, he continued to not touch my discharge file upon his computer. To feel so cold, and uncared for in a business that only cares about the money- which is not what this is supposed to be about. It was quickly obvious- I was simply another body he could bill for his paycheck. Quite disposable. He only asked if I was eating now, or if I was "fixed," asking me my diagnosis, amongst other inappropriate questions that showed his obvious ignorance in working with eating disordered clientele. He asked my mood, and said I could not be apathetic, I was either good or bad. He ordered me back in four weeks as he shooed me out of his office, taking no regard to my constant care I'd be receiving at Hershey, or the fact I would be starting class that day, holding above my head his utter control over me and my medication- warning me if I did not miss classes to come, he would not refill anything.
I write this because I am frustrated. Within a world of caring, gentle kind souls, I may denigrate myself- but I damn well know I am worth more than a number, and some egoistic mans exercised control. Especially in his incompetency. I write this as a girl who has been bruised and pushed to the curb over two years, and who will now kick this asshole to the curb as well. I write this in hopes someone else reads this, and if they are experiencing something similar, they gather the strength to leave and not endure the abuse of someone so awful in their care, who simply does not care. No one deserves to be a bill- and everyone deserves to be well.
It's a typical psychiatrists office with a large dark wooden desk- perhaps oak, but very well polished, but the books catch dust, and when I could tell they hadn't been so much as even glimpsed at in the last two years I've been seeing this man- I should have known better than to trust him, and that is entirely my fault. He slumps in a grandiose swivel chair all day looking largely uninterested as each client tapers in and out of his office, none coming out looking too pleased. Yet we all continue to come back- stuck within our haunting routines believing he will help us because he is supposed to.
I am crazy. But that is not at all why I go to see this man. I am crazy for subjecting myself to the awful treatment of this buffoon for what in March will be two years, and who has yet to fully admit I have an eating disorder. It took until I was finally hospitalized on an eating disorder unit with an entering pulse rate of 38, a potassium level of 3, and a weight that frankly could have killed me for him to bat an eyelash. Friends and family around me knew, and deep inside I knew, but I would never admit it to myself, and was told by this man for two years I was perfectly fine- so much as at one point that "he didn't see it as a concern." This was the last time I saw him in October... I was hospitalized in November.
I had to see him this morning, and knew he had received my discharge paperwork from the hospital, only to discover like his dusty books- my file of over a week was untouched. Asking me how my semester ended, he had no idea I had been hospitalized- or treated for an eating disorder, or about Hershey's program. Further, he continued to not touch my discharge file upon his computer. To feel so cold, and uncared for in a business that only cares about the money- which is not what this is supposed to be about. It was quickly obvious- I was simply another body he could bill for his paycheck. Quite disposable. He only asked if I was eating now, or if I was "fixed," asking me my diagnosis, amongst other inappropriate questions that showed his obvious ignorance in working with eating disordered clientele. He asked my mood, and said I could not be apathetic, I was either good or bad. He ordered me back in four weeks as he shooed me out of his office, taking no regard to my constant care I'd be receiving at Hershey, or the fact I would be starting class that day, holding above my head his utter control over me and my medication- warning me if I did not miss classes to come, he would not refill anything.
I write this because I am frustrated. Within a world of caring, gentle kind souls, I may denigrate myself- but I damn well know I am worth more than a number, and some egoistic mans exercised control. Especially in his incompetency. I write this as a girl who has been bruised and pushed to the curb over two years, and who will now kick this asshole to the curb as well. I write this in hopes someone else reads this, and if they are experiencing something similar, they gather the strength to leave and not endure the abuse of someone so awful in their care, who simply does not care. No one deserves to be a bill- and everyone deserves to be well.
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