I knew that New Therapist wasn’t great at his job when I overheard him tell the insurance company that I was ‘kind’. I’ve been called many things, but I’m not sure ‘kind’ has ever made the list. And to be honest, I was a little offended.
‘Kind’ is one of the last words I would want a stranger using to describe me. Maybe my friends or family, who know that deep down I am kind to the people I care about., but not someone I just met. Kind – how boring, shallow, and generic. Maybe I’ve just gotten too good at pretending to be someone else.
I’m also pissed that the evil insurance company now thinks that I’m kind. Now when I call them and scream profanities they won’t do what I’m telling them to do. They won’t even take my death threats seriously.
I wrote on my involuntary nightly ‘inventory sheet’ that I wanted to see a real psychiatrist. New Therapist acted all offended and asks me what I meant by a ‘real psychiatrist’. What the fuck do you think I meant? I want to see a real doctor, not some third-rate Physician’s Assistant that can’t get a better job somewhere else. This is just reason number 63 that state-funded rehabs are unacceptable.
The program director said something in morning group the other day about us all being addicts unless we were an undercover. I smirked, and I SWEAR she glared at me in her periphery line of sight. They then moved two beds into storage yesterday because there were ‘too many beds on the floor’. One was in my room. Maybe they think I’m an undercover cop or state auditor!
I’m encouraging this to see where it goes by taking ‘secret notes’ while any of the staff is talking. I also start sending letters to a random address near the Pentagon. It could really backfire on me, but as usual, I’m surrounded by idiots, and I’m bored.
Yesterday, I drank a diet pop for the first time in half a decade. I’d stopped drinking it because of the aspartame which is linked to Alzheimer’s disease, something about aluminum deposits building up in your brain. I start hoarding all the diet pop I can get my hands on.
The sooner I don’t know where I’m at or who I am the better.