I wasn’t going to post today, but this just landed in my inbox (yes, he’s still blocked):
I was diagnosed with PSTD on Monday, also chronic depression. The counselor, who is an expert in both, says I’ve been affected this way since my first accident. The official psychiatric diagnostic manual requires about five indicators from a list of about fifteen. I pegged the chart, with all fifteen. Good news is, this fine woman tells me she has cured every case of PSTD she has had, which includes five years of treating soldiers on a base in Southern California. A cure means a 100% healthy emotional life. Hard to imagine.
Today I went to the Lincoln county mental health clinic to see what they have to offer. They are much closer than the other option, which is an hour away, in north Lincoln City.
Some nice people here. And I think visits to them might be covered by my insurance. I’m not one to change in mid-stream, but we’ll see. I talked with a counselor for an hour and every few minutes, she’d politely interrupt to say “that’s another symptom of PTSD”.
The psychologist I visited today has a note on her white board that says “be grateful to everyone”. I am grateful to you, for kicking my ass so hard I finally did something.
Hope all is well for you. Give Sabu some love from me, please.
Ain’t that sweet? 11.5 years of torturing me has led him to this epiphany today. He’s grateful. He has an official diagnosis.
Big fucking deal. I told him all of this years ago, but my opinion isn’t worth the paper he uses to wipe his ass, even though I was living with the fallout and begging him to do something about it.
Is this supposed to be an excuse? An apology? An open door to reconciliation? WTF? Am I supposed to feel guilty for leaving now? Should I now view leaving as a great humanitarian act instead of the flight for my life that it was? “100% healthy emotional life?” Should I go running back for that? Again, WTF?
I can’t tell you how pissed off this poisoned missive makes me. No diagnosis in the world excuses the way he treated me FOR YEARS! He doesn’t get to nod and say, “well, I suffer from PTSD and depression and that’s why I was such a dick to her. She should have stayed and helped me…” Oh, hell no!
Fuck you, narc. Fuck your “diagnosis.” Fuck your finally taking my advice and getting insurance and treatment. Fuck you for thinking you could interrupt my Fabulous with your narc bullshit.
Just. Fuck you.