Psychiatric Intensive Out-patient Program, or PIOP, was something I got put into by one of the good doctors I saw while in the military. It was basically a two-week long, seven to eight hour therapy group. The "curriculum" used several different techniques such as art therapy, psychodrama, CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy), and just regular talk/group therapy. I think there were six of us.
PIOP was the first time I ever did any kind of group therapy, and I was nervous as all hell. I don't particularly like speaking even one-on-one with someone I know, but this was in front of a group of strangers. Needless to say, Clonazepam was my best friend those two weeks.
The schedule differed a little everyday, and certain things like art and drama were only used a few times, but everyday we started with saying how last night went and then with a kind of warm-up. The warm-up was fairly simple--a family-friendly mash-up of musical chairs and "Never Have I Ever," or a race-type game involving CBT trivia--just to make us a little more apt to talk later.
This was a few years ago, so I can't remember all of it. I do, however, remember getting caught up in other people's therapy. This was after I decided I needed to be a therapist, so I was fascinated by the process.
Basically, one person would be convinced to talk about why they were there and about their past, and the rest of us were encouraged to comment, ask questions, and challenge that person's inconsistencies and distortions. I, being the weird, awkward fuck I am, really enjoyed this part. Listening to their stories and then giving them feedback.
Then it was my turn.
One of them expressed some solidarity when it came to my past abuse, but when it came to my biggest problem, no one--not even the facilitators--know what to say. I was struggling with the concept of self-worth. Not self-esteem, but worth. You can't have self-esteem unless you also agree that you are not simply taking up space and resources with your existence. It was a kind of existential crises that I was dealing with everyday, that no one there had even considered. They took their right to exist for granted. I'm sure it is probably an evolutionary thing. I did eventually figure this out, but that's another post. Basically they told me I "think too much."
Art therapy was fun, but not really helpful at the time. Psychodrama was lame except for a quick moment where I actually believed myself when I said that "I'm not worthless," and CBT and learning the drama triangle were enlightening, but I wouldn't use that until later.
All in all, it was a great experience. Most hospitals don't call it PIOP, but I'm willing to bet a lot have something similar; so if you need it, I'd totally recommend it.
Friday is another check-in, and Monday I'll write more on the whole "self-worth" thing.
Be well!
~ML
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
Monday, July 28, 2014
The Stupid Journey
So I have already talked about my general life story leading up to this point. It was long, depressing, and possibly boring for you all to read it. Now, let me tell you a little better of a story: my string of therapists.
My first one ever was when I was about 16. He seemed friendly enough. This is how our first (and only) session went:
"Hi, ML, I'm Dr. ____"
"Hi."
[insert forty minutes of silence]
"Okay, that's all we have time for!"
"...Al-alright..."
The end.
Yes, this guy decided to go all psychoanalytical on a sixteen year old girl without ever explaining the process. I was already really shy and nervous, why the hell would I ever talk to this guy without any kind of lead? Ah, well, maybe the next one will be better. (Spoiler alert: not really)
The second guy, I saw twice. The first time, mom and I sat in his office and we talked in a really vague manner about what was going on, and then he proceeded to diagnose me with ADD. Then he decided I should get an IQ test (which apparently is a good measure for ADD? I have no idea), just to be sure. I took the test a couple days later, and then the second appointment, he wanted to dive right into my issues for real (after "confirming" ADD)....with my mom still in the freakin' room.
So, no. But I did get to find out my IQ, which was pretty cool.
The next one was a lady. She was older, friendly, and actually seemed to know what she was talking about (in retrospect), but she talked to me like a kindergartner. Literally.
"OMG, hi, you must be ML! Well I'm ____ and we're going to have such a fun time!" What can I expect, really, mom chose her because she was a child therapist. I saw her one more time before I just couldn't take it anymore.
After her, I gave up on therapy for quite awhile. I just went to a psychiatrist for years. I hated it; I would get asked how I'm doing, and quickly get shot down because I'm talking too much. She was somewhat nice about it, but it was still jarring. Eventually, I ran out of insurance and then I moved when my husband got stationed in VA.
I didn't see anyone else until I after I joined the military. First, they put me on some horrible medication; it caused "brain-shivers" so badly that I almost crashed my car multiple times. Then they absolutely denied that a) it would cause side-effects and b) it would cause any kind of withdrawal symptoms (they called it "discontinuation effects" instead). Anyway, I got put back on Zoloft which is what I'm still on now. After pushing for it, they finally let me see a therapist.
This guy was very nice, sensible, knowledgeable, and not even too bad to look at--the only problem I had with him is that he was a newbie, so his idea of the human psyche was fairly inflexible. I am told that my insight is fairly high ("impressive" I've been recently told), and he didn't seem capable of understanding that. He just needs practice. I stopped seeing that guy because he got deployed.
They decided to shove me onto the civilians then. The first one I already mentioned here. She really needed her own bit of therapy and a refresher course in anxiety.
The second one was the miracle lady who made me realize that I should become a therapist myself. I say "miracle lady," because it was through her absolutely terrible therapy that I got over a pretty big hump in my life.
The next pair of people, a psychologist and a psychiatrist, were awesome. They cared, they knew what they were doing, they were easy to talk to (as much as military officers for a little E-2 can be), and they gave me a little more faith in finding someone in the profession to help me once I got separated from the military. It was also them who sent me to a military program called PIOP: psychiatric intensive out-patient program. I'll talk more about that later, but it was a really neat experience (not therapeutic, but neat!).
After them I had a pretty good string of civilian therapists in STL, only to have two of them leave because of job promotion or relocation. Those are, I think, the worst. You develop a rapport, spill your guts, cry a little, then you have to try to start all over again with someone else who you are terrified will suck or move, too.
Now I have a great (probably even the best, for me) therapist who really seems to understand both my issues and my dark, sarcastic humor. She is great and--surprise!--works at the VA. Who'd've thought anything good could come out of that hellhole?
To anyone who still hasn't yet found that "special someone" for your therapeutic process, just know that they are out there--you just have to keep looking for them. It may take a really, really long time (I don't sugarcoat this shit), but once you find them, it is SO worth it. My experience is that those who are actually psychologists tend to do better than social workers or counselors, but this is only me--I could just be a special case.
Anyway, I hope my story has been enlightening, hope-inspiring, or at the very least entertaining. I'd also LOVE to hear your stories--both good and cringe-worthy--so leave'em in the comments!
Keep lookin'!
~ML
My first one ever was when I was about 16. He seemed friendly enough. This is how our first (and only) session went:
"Hi, ML, I'm Dr. ____"
"Hi."
[insert forty minutes of silence]
"Okay, that's all we have time for!"
"...Al-alright..."
The end.
Yes, this guy decided to go all psychoanalytical on a sixteen year old girl without ever explaining the process. I was already really shy and nervous, why the hell would I ever talk to this guy without any kind of lead? Ah, well, maybe the next one will be better. (Spoiler alert: not really)
The second guy, I saw twice. The first time, mom and I sat in his office and we talked in a really vague manner about what was going on, and then he proceeded to diagnose me with ADD. Then he decided I should get an IQ test (which apparently is a good measure for ADD? I have no idea), just to be sure. I took the test a couple days later, and then the second appointment, he wanted to dive right into my issues for real (after "confirming" ADD)....with my mom still in the freakin' room.
So, no. But I did get to find out my IQ, which was pretty cool.
The next one was a lady. She was older, friendly, and actually seemed to know what she was talking about (in retrospect), but she talked to me like a kindergartner. Literally.
"OMG, hi, you must be ML! Well I'm ____ and we're going to have such a fun time!" What can I expect, really, mom chose her because she was a child therapist. I saw her one more time before I just couldn't take it anymore.
After her, I gave up on therapy for quite awhile. I just went to a psychiatrist for years. I hated it; I would get asked how I'm doing, and quickly get shot down because I'm talking too much. She was somewhat nice about it, but it was still jarring. Eventually, I ran out of insurance and then I moved when my husband got stationed in VA.
I didn't see anyone else until I after I joined the military. First, they put me on some horrible medication; it caused "brain-shivers" so badly that I almost crashed my car multiple times. Then they absolutely denied that a) it would cause side-effects and b) it would cause any kind of withdrawal symptoms (they called it "discontinuation effects" instead). Anyway, I got put back on Zoloft which is what I'm still on now. After pushing for it, they finally let me see a therapist.
This guy was very nice, sensible, knowledgeable, and not even too bad to look at--the only problem I had with him is that he was a newbie, so his idea of the human psyche was fairly inflexible. I am told that my insight is fairly high ("impressive" I've been recently told), and he didn't seem capable of understanding that. He just needs practice. I stopped seeing that guy because he got deployed.
They decided to shove me onto the civilians then. The first one I already mentioned here. She really needed her own bit of therapy and a refresher course in anxiety.
The second one was the miracle lady who made me realize that I should become a therapist myself. I say "miracle lady," because it was through her absolutely terrible therapy that I got over a pretty big hump in my life.
The next pair of people, a psychologist and a psychiatrist, were awesome. They cared, they knew what they were doing, they were easy to talk to (as much as military officers for a little E-2 can be), and they gave me a little more faith in finding someone in the profession to help me once I got separated from the military. It was also them who sent me to a military program called PIOP: psychiatric intensive out-patient program. I'll talk more about that later, but it was a really neat experience (not therapeutic, but neat!).
After them I had a pretty good string of civilian therapists in STL, only to have two of them leave because of job promotion or relocation. Those are, I think, the worst. You develop a rapport, spill your guts, cry a little, then you have to try to start all over again with someone else who you are terrified will suck or move, too.
Now I have a great (probably even the best, for me) therapist who really seems to understand both my issues and my dark, sarcastic humor. She is great and--surprise!--works at the VA. Who'd've thought anything good could come out of that hellhole?
To anyone who still hasn't yet found that "special someone" for your therapeutic process, just know that they are out there--you just have to keep looking for them. It may take a really, really long time (I don't sugarcoat this shit), but once you find them, it is SO worth it. My experience is that those who are actually psychologists tend to do better than social workers or counselors, but this is only me--I could just be a special case.
Anyway, I hope my story has been enlightening, hope-inspiring, or at the very least entertaining. I'd also LOVE to hear your stories--both good and cringe-worthy--so leave'em in the comments!
Keep lookin'!
~ML
Friday, July 25, 2014
Friday Check-In
Alright, so how do I do one of these? I guess however I feel like, huh? Don't worry, I'll get better at this one day...
This week was my second week of doing a Behavioral Activation time sheet. Week 1 is just putting down what you did everyday, and Week 2 is all about having a couple goals for yourself: having certain activities that will make you feel like you accomplished something, activities that you just really enjoy, and others that get you out of the house/socializing.
My goals this week have been journaling, writing, and taking my dog on long walks everyday. I had a trip to the grocery store and a trip to a great little coffee shop to get me out of the house, each instance planned for just one time at some point during the week. I also had a couple papers to write (big, final papers for my two summer courses at college). All of this seemed like it was going to take a lot out of me, but I started off excited, nonetheless.
The papers did NOT go well. I did, however, journal everyday (except yesterday, I'll get into that). Writing entails the revision, etc. of a novel I started in 2009. I'm on the third-ish draft right now, and haven't really been doing as much as I would like, this week included.
Blogging was a goal that I kinda made myself, since I just randomly decided to do in this new direction. I have to keep reminding myself that it won't be perfect, and (especially since I don't have an audience right now) doesn't have to be. This reminder should also help out my writing and schoolwork...perfection is something I really need to let go of.
Anyway, blogging--as you can see--went pretty well for this week.
Dog walking has been a little iffy, since it's been hotter than Hades's Ballsack. But what walks we have been on, she's loved--we have a lot more squirrels and such for her to want to murder.
I actually went out quite a bit. My husband has been rather supportive, and he tends to either drag me along for errands or send me out to get stuff. It also helped that I had to go to class (and I can't cook), so I was also motivated by hunger.
Socializing is a lot easier now, too, as I have two extra people living in my house.
So how has Behavioral Activation worked so far? ...Meh. But it's only been one week of adjustment. Like I said, I started off pretty excited (like usual) and really tried hard to get everything done. This excitement and hope gave me a lot of energy, but soon it wore off and I started to slack off on different things. After the paper fiasco, I really kinda just stopped caring again.
But that's where therapy comes in handy: talking through my issues with perfectionism helped me articulate my reasons behind why I put so much pressure on myself, which in turn helps the outside party (aka, Dr. S.) help me find a way to satisfy the needs that aren't being met.
SO
My goals for next week are the same, minus the papers, and adding on a) finding a job (that's not a part of the therapy, I just need monies), and b) finding a place to volunteer. Baby steps, guys, baby steps.
How's your week been? Any goals completed or new ones for the next week? I'd love to hear it, and even if you don't post them, I wish you luck on new ones, congratulate you on benchmarks reached, and know that ones on which you fell short, you will get eventually--just don't give up!
~ML
On Monday, I'll talk about my beautifully dumb string of terrible therapists as even more testament to not giving up, provide entertainment to those who don't need therapy, and hopefully make a nice connection with those who have had similar experiences.
This week was my second week of doing a Behavioral Activation time sheet. Week 1 is just putting down what you did everyday, and Week 2 is all about having a couple goals for yourself: having certain activities that will make you feel like you accomplished something, activities that you just really enjoy, and others that get you out of the house/socializing.
My goals this week have been journaling, writing, and taking my dog on long walks everyday. I had a trip to the grocery store and a trip to a great little coffee shop to get me out of the house, each instance planned for just one time at some point during the week. I also had a couple papers to write (big, final papers for my two summer courses at college). All of this seemed like it was going to take a lot out of me, but I started off excited, nonetheless.
The papers did NOT go well. I did, however, journal everyday (except yesterday, I'll get into that). Writing entails the revision, etc. of a novel I started in 2009. I'm on the third-ish draft right now, and haven't really been doing as much as I would like, this week included.
Blogging was a goal that I kinda made myself, since I just randomly decided to do in this new direction. I have to keep reminding myself that it won't be perfect, and (especially since I don't have an audience right now) doesn't have to be. This reminder should also help out my writing and schoolwork...perfection is something I really need to let go of.
Anyway, blogging--as you can see--went pretty well for this week.
Dog walking has been a little iffy, since it's been hotter than Hades's Ballsack. But what walks we have been on, she's loved--we have a lot more squirrels and such for her to want to murder.
I actually went out quite a bit. My husband has been rather supportive, and he tends to either drag me along for errands or send me out to get stuff. It also helped that I had to go to class (and I can't cook), so I was also motivated by hunger.
Socializing is a lot easier now, too, as I have two extra people living in my house.
So how has Behavioral Activation worked so far? ...Meh. But it's only been one week of adjustment. Like I said, I started off pretty excited (like usual) and really tried hard to get everything done. This excitement and hope gave me a lot of energy, but soon it wore off and I started to slack off on different things. After the paper fiasco, I really kinda just stopped caring again.
But that's where therapy comes in handy: talking through my issues with perfectionism helped me articulate my reasons behind why I put so much pressure on myself, which in turn helps the outside party (aka, Dr. S.) help me find a way to satisfy the needs that aren't being met.
SO
My goals for next week are the same, minus the papers, and adding on a) finding a job (that's not a part of the therapy, I just need monies), and b) finding a place to volunteer. Baby steps, guys, baby steps.
How's your week been? Any goals completed or new ones for the next week? I'd love to hear it, and even if you don't post them, I wish you luck on new ones, congratulate you on benchmarks reached, and know that ones on which you fell short, you will get eventually--just don't give up!
~ML
On Monday, I'll talk about my beautifully dumb string of terrible therapists as even more testament to not giving up, provide entertainment to those who don't need therapy, and hopefully make a nice connection with those who have had similar experiences.
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