The Mental Health Care Plan and I

Female public psychologists/psychiatrists have very long waitlists.  So, the psychiatrist I am referred to is male.  We establish early in our meeting that I do absolutely not want to talk to a man. 

I cannot afford to see someone who is not a male.  For this reason, I am introduced to the Mental Health Care Plan (MHCP). 

I understand this as the government’s effort to fix my troubled mind (and thus improve my life) in 10 hours or less every calendar year.

My mind is fixated on my soon to be improved life.

Year one starts off shaky. 

Psychologist one (MHCP 1, Session 1) does not do long term therapy.  And she does not do childhood trauma. 

Three psychologists (and three precious sessions) later and I can very speedily spot the candidates who will fail the trauma-therapist ‘test’. 

The ten sessions are thus speedily wasted by mid-March.  Leaving nine point five months of stirred up emotions and flashbacks before the arrival of MHCP 2.  

I question whether ten sessions or less is appropriate for me. 

The MHCP assures me that it is. 

MHCP 2.

Strategic, the psychologist and I are more careful with my precious 10 sessions. We will spin this out so I can have someone to talk to ALL year.

However. The psychologist, her mental health superior to mine, does not have attachment issues. She does not understand that appointments spaced weeks and weeks apart fuel my existing inability to maintain emotional connection – to anyone. I am also a suspicious person. Eight visits in I am still in the ‘let’s establish a therapeutic connection’ phase of treatment because she is a stranger. An abuse survivor, I have trust issues.

The MHCP had not anticipated that.

MHCP 3. 

Same psychologist. I realise that time poor, I am going to have to talk rapidly if I am ever to tell my story.  I have a long story. 

Talking rapidly, I successfully re-traumatise myself by ripping raw memories out of my mind and hurling them at this lady who I still do not trust. 

My heart starts hurting from little strips torn off it and thrown crumpled on her floor. 

This is not safe therapy.

My increasing self-harm leads to her unappreciated suggestion that I should be further medicated.  Our relationship ends. 

Not mine with the MHCP though.  I conclude that the MHCP just does not understand trauma.  But still we soldier on together. 

Because it is now a battle where neither of us will give in – who will leave first?

MHCP 4. 

Different psychologist.  I choose one issue from my life and seek therapy just for that – surely I can completely address ONE life difficulty in 10 sessions. 

I choose workplace bullying. 

But, when I attempt to talk about just bullying, childhood trauma pours in like sewage. The issue cannot be addressed without addressing trauma. 

And 10 sessions just won’t do it. 

It dawns on me – the MHCP and I may never resolve our differences.

Time passes. 

I tire of saying to therapists “I can no longer pay you and nor can the government.  See you in a few months, perhaps”. 

And if we do reunite, we struggle to re-connect.  Sometimes we cannot reunite - they move, or we do not ‘click’, they do not do trauma, I am difficult to engage.  And, strangely, many therapists believe that therapy should end when the MHCP does.  There are now therapists scattered around Australia who know bits (but not all) of my story.   

The faceless and time-limited voices from Lifeline now provide my therapeutic care - my desperate effort to deal with the inconsistency of off-again on-again therapy. 

Like a faulty lightbulb in my dark, dark night. 

I admit that I never have to beg and plead.  The assessments are easy. 

The government consistently agrees that I deserve all 10 sessions. 

But. I stop asking for MHCPs.

I accept that the MHCP and I have failed to establish a working therapeutic alliance.

Busting to talk,

I trudge on, Pandora’s box heavy on my back.

With a lid which won’t quite shut.

This version written Dec, 2019