Fucking therapy

I love my therapist. 

Well I did.
I might hate her now. 

Yesterday, I was really proud of myself, told her how I was feeling and ended up in the ER for 'suicidal threats and behaviours'. They let me out. I emailed her to see if I could talk to her today specifically about ways I could lift my mood and strategies to get through the holidays. 

Did I get help and support? 

No. 

I got a fucking lecture. 

I got told that I don't have my priorities right. Well too bad it's my life. 

I was accused of lying because my university timetable got changed. I don't control the fucking schedule.

Apparently I'm not committed enough to recovery. Well I'm 18, live alone and choosing to see you every other week, so I'm pretty damn sure that I'm trying. 

I really want to cancel my appointments in January. 

I don't want to go back. 

More triggered then ever. Every time she tells me I can't do something, I want to spit in her face and say watch me. 

So watch me she will. 

I will be skinny, smart, successful and powerful. She did do one thing right. I have motivation to live again because I need to prove her wrong. 

-Niqi

xoxo