Christian Violation

In chambers where secrets are meant to stay

Where whispers of healing should gently play

A line was crossed, an oath undone

In the name of care, the damage begun

A tale of two souls, each bearing their weight

A search for solace, a quest to relate

Yet bias, like shadows, can darken the light

Transforming compassion to judgment’s blight

At twenty-five, I stood at the brink

Spoke of a night with friends, I would drink

But laughter turned to worry, concern turned to blame

As labels replaced my radiant name

“No release was signed,” I thought in dismay

Yet my truth was shared in a careless display

A drink with a friend, now an arrow of guilt

In a world of mistrust, my spirit was tilled

From psychologists lips, a decree was made clear

“Addiction,” they said, dismissing my fear

But who would believe in the weight of the soul

The battles we fight to feel somehow whole?

Bipolar, they said, with a furrowed brow

Yet what of my rights? What of me now?

The kindness I sought turned to chains of disdain

Where empathy falters, only judgment remains

But still, in the darkness, a flicker persists

A voice that reminds me of hope that exists

For though they may label, I’ll rise from the fall

A spirit unbroken, I’ll answer the call

For healing is complex, a journey that bends

And true understanding begins when it mends

I’ll challenge the biases, break through the stone

And reclaim my narrative – this life is my own

I had this, "Christian" therapist once. I never felt comfortable around him, but I knew I needed therapy. I was in my late 20's and running a daycare. Which, I often had to bring the children to therapy with me. This was one of the therapists that never listened to me, and was supposed to be Christian and all full of compassion. I told him several times that it's hard for me to just talk, so I need to be asked questions, and that's how I would open up. He never asked questions. He would just sit there in silence. (Heartrate getting a little fast while typing this. This is when we take a look at the why. I'm a little triggered-for me, this is another instance of someone in authority misusing their power) This is also the therapist I had my mother come with me to once. Very reluctantly, might I add. The woman always claimed I needed help, but hated attending things with me. This is the therapist where in session with my mother I said, "I feel like you're trying to take my son away from me."

To jump right into the traumatizing details that made me feel like I need to write this poem and process, is one conversation we had. I was talking about spending time with my friend on a weekend. Her daughter and my son were with their fathers so we decided to have some drinks. He asked if I got drunk and I said yes. He asked if I intended to get drunk and I said no.

A month later I called my psychiatrist's office because my anxiety meds were denied a refill. When I called the office, the nurse lady said, "You have an alcohol addiction, so we can no longer renew this prescription." Of course I was pissed and yelled at her, which only added to their suspicion, but whatever. So, I could never find out where that came from. Until I got the idea to request my medical records. Turns out the loving, caring, "Christian" therapist contacted my psychiatrist, without my permission and without my knowledge. I did not sign a release for him to speak to them. He wrote the worlds longest note about how I have a, "History of alcohol abuse," how I intentionally got drunk the other night, and I'm an addict. Of course, there's nothing I could do about it, because the psychologists documentation was written that day, and that's enough to back up his claims about what I told him. Even though he did NOT have my permission or signature to speak with my psychiatrist, that didn't matter. Of course I complained, of course no one filed a claim or helped to protect my rights. I was just a bipolar alcoholic, right?

Like yesterday's post with my neighbors who like wine, so what? Our children were with their fathers. I was safe, wasn't driving, and responsible. That's the only instance I ever spoke to him about drinking, yet, he was able to find my psychiatrist and write a 3 page word document on why my psychiatrist should stop prescribing my anxiety meds. I should mention that my heart rate is now 127 BPM. Why? Because I was constantly silenced throughout my life. My rights have been consistently violated, not protected, and not advocated for. I've never had rights. At least never had them protected and enforced. I'm triggered by how I was treated, and can connect each and every dot to each and every, "Out of control" behavior I exhibited. Then I can see how others viewed me and why they treated me the way they did, although most of the time unethical and illegal. I can see how early childhood, the things my father did, the men that hurt me, and how my mother treated me allowed my behaviors to spiral, and how those behaviors were literal screams for help without me knowing I was screaming for help. Whenever I would get in trouble I would say, "I don't know why I did it." I wasn't lying. I literally didn't know. I was subconsciously screaming for help. The system failed me, as it fails so many people. Which is why I'm working my ass off, killing my body, not having a social life, having no time for self care, losing my hair and weight rapidly, so that I can pay my bills, become a social worker and STOP THIS from happening to other people. I'm triggered because I grieve for the life I deserved, and grieve for the hurting girl that had no idea what was going on, and all the people that told her she was worthless, stupid, dumb, out of control, selfish, and more. I'm feeling that girls feelings, and I'm allowing myself to feel it right now and process, but as soon as this is posted, I will be talking very large sips of my ice cold water to calm down my nervous system. That's part of the process in my healing. My heart rate will go down, and if I need to reprocess this incident later, the effects will be less. My heart rate may rise, but it won't be as intense, and I'll drink my water again, and continue to post about it if necessary until it no longer bothers me.

Picture of a therapist dressed as a clown, because this is not how therapists act. This was completely unethical, illegal, and immoral. I wonder who else this, "Christian" therapist has done this to!?!

#Unethical

#Illegal

#HIPPA

#JellyRoll