So I totally broke down two nights ago about, well, everything that’s happened. Mom and dad finally got their asses in gear about finding me a treatment for PTSD. I am apparently limited to this one treatment place because I live in a part of the state where people are rich and they don’t accept insurance! So fuck me. Seriously it’s a bitch when you go looking around and they are like, “Well , first session is $900 but then each session after is $500.” Yeah…. bitch, not everyone is filthy rich.
I laugh at doctors who fucking cost that much because who the fuck are you helping? Only the rich! What about the people who are comfortable or less than comfortable or who really can’t afford as much? What about everyone else? Doctors say they want to heal but when they cost $900 for a first session I just say that’s bull.
I am angry if you couldn’t tell. I don’t necessarily want to go to the treatment place I went to yesterday or a first session. This place was better since it only cost $150 for a first session but they don’t fucking take insurance. And my session sucked. I hated it. I wanted to fucking yell at the therapist person.
I get it, get a history. So I told her about Owen, and Monster, and Peter. So we spend most of the session talking about Peter. Peter! Peter from freshman year. Like wouldn’t she want to know about Owen more? I’ve already done EMDR with Peter, I’ve overcome that sexual assault. The only thing that I didn’t overcome with that was the fact I was in a relationship with Ethan at the time. That’s the only part I still need to work on.
This place believes in detail. Saying something like, “He went down on me” isn’t satisfactory. She would correct me by saying the body parts and what the body parts were doing. The detail she asked for was absurd! It was three years ago, I don’t remember in such detail, plus the fact that I was high as hell and drunk as fuck for the first time in my life.
She just made me SO uncomfortable about it all. Like ask me about Peter? I can tell you certain memories from that night, the way I am fine telling it. That’s fine. I’ll tell you. I’ll be a bit embarrassed about it because its intimate details, but I’ll tell you because you’re my therapist.
Also you would think that a therapist would respect boundaries, and see that their patient is uncomfortable. You would think that a victim of rape who had no control then, would get some control in the fucking therapy room. But no… guess not!
I just had to vent about this because I for one think it was the worst therapy session of my entire fucking life. And what’s the difference between this place that costs $125 a session versus my therapist down the road from me that takes insurance and the co-pay is $15? Seriously? My therapist that takes insurance does EMDR so she knows trauma. So seriously?
I just have so many questions that aren’t or haven’t been answered. It’s been three weeks since I’ve gotten home from school and we are just now looking into treatment. It also seems that this stupid place that doesn’t take insurance is my only option because of the fact that I don’t think my insurance plan includes out of state, and that everything around us is absurdly expensive with no coverage.
Do doctors want for people to get better? Do they want to help? Then take insurance or lower your fucking price! By doing those things you cut out so many people who need the help. It just infuriates me because I know if I’m struggling with this, I can just imagine how many other families struggle with this.