A few days after the incident where the clinical supervisor left me a message leaving her name and agency name I received a letter in the mail. My sister picked up the mail which is out of the ordinary. I usually do it. A few days after she picked it up I sorted through it and find a letter addressed to me from the agency. I know this by the return address.
As I stared at it in horror it I realized why. A few weeks before the group I participated in a few months ago ended, the facilitators asked us to write an encouraging letter to ourselves. We gave the letters to the facilitators to mail to us sometime after group ended. I didn’t want to do it. For two reasons. I hate writing that kind of thing to myself. Especially when I feel less than encouraged by circumstances. Secondly I didn’t want anything mailed to me with the agency’s return address on it. But I finally relented and wrote a short paragraph on the condition they would send it to me without the return address.
Apparently they forgot.
Then today the phoned rang. Thankfully I had the day off, my sister was out and my mother was taking a nap. I was busy and had to let it go to voice mail. I few minutes later I checked the call display and to my once again horror it was my pdoc. And of all things his secretary left a voice mail wanting to change my upcoming appointment. The office never phones me and I’ve asked them not to phone with appointment reminders or anything else for that matter. I promptly deleted the message and the number off the phone. I can hardly think about it if I hadn’t been home to catch the call before my family heard it.
Paranoia set in. I panicked somewhat. Or maybe a lot.
I started cleaning. Cleaning and throwing out almost everything I collected over the last few years of therapy. What if this stuff was found by accident? What if I died and all this was discovered? Mostly an unreasonable reaction I’m sure. I threw away all the articles my former t had given me, all the articles that were handed out in the few groups I’ve been in. I threw away my care plans, reviews, etc. I shredded the letters my pdoc wrote to my GP that he always gives me. And I shredded the letter he gave me stating my various diagnosis.
I took the time and with each thing I tossed I asked myself if I would regret it later. The answer was mostly no. I’m sure most of the articles are found on-line anyway. I only kept a few things that have some meaning to me. These I put in a nondescript box.
It’s hard being in the closet about therapy and my past. It takes energy and some creative lying to try to keep it all under wraps. I don’t like it but I’m just not ready or able to change this. I have no courage. I’m not a stigma buster.