That was the last time we talked to each other.
My long-term boyfriend called and asked why I had stood him up on the very night we were going to discuss marriage. But, I didn’t remember making any payments. My statements arrived in the mail with credit balances and two identical payments about 2 weeks apart from each other. I benefited immensely from his experience and knowledge.ĭuring the next year, I was confronted frequently by actions I had taken but didn’t remember. He kept a very small private practice on the side. In addition, he was a clinical professor at a renowned medical school and director of the PTSD clinical team at the VA Hospital. I didn’t want medications, and he was willing to simply talk, although most psychiatrists do only medication management. I continued therapy after my initial appointment with this psychiatrist, and I was lucky. It also began my journey into hiding my experiences because of the stigma and my confusion. Thus began my journey into experiencing dissociative states. But, it’s also used in psychiatry, and I wasn’t happy to learn that it fell under the category “abnormal psychology.” Once I got home from the appointment, I looked up the term “fugue.” It’s a musical term. “F U G E or F U G U E?” I asked him unsure of the spelling. I had the car keys in my hand! I don’t know how I got there! I don’t know where the 4 hours went.” I don’t know how I got there! I don’t remember driving there, but I was there. When I got in my car, it was 4 hours later. Then I was out on Shelter Island on a walk. My heart started racing, I could barely breathe, and I was pacing back and forth in my bedroom. He said, ‘Oh my god! They are trying to fire you! Call your attorney immediately. “I was on the phone with a friend and telling him about the harassment at work. “What was the ‘WOW’ thing?” the psychiatrist asked me. In the yellow pages, this man had his listing under psychologists who treat trauma. I was angry with the way my healthcare provider had treated me, and I was willing to pay out of pocket for help. I was sitting in a small private office for an initial appointment with a psychiatrist. He just stared at me and said “WOW!’ Then he told me I could see someone else if I wanted to make an appointment.” He was packing up his office because he was leaving. But on the second appointment, I told him something that happened to me the previous week. He diagnosed me with PTSD on the first appointment. They assigned me to an intern because I wasn’t suicidal. “I tried my insurance, Kaiser Permanente, for therapy.
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