In   May of 2007,  I was reviewing some paperwork the Therapist had prepared to send in to my insurance company. Paperwork that I had to sign prior to submission. I had not seen my chart, not once had I read the notes she charted each week. She seemed nervous when she handed it to me, and she said in a quiet voice, “I wrote it in pencil, so if there is something you disagree with we can talk about it.”

It was a one page document, how much information could be on it?
What the therapist had written was this:
severe PTSD symptoms, depression and anger.  Sleep disturbance, recurring suicidal ideation and increased self-injurious behavior.  ETOH consumption increased as a result. Acting out in therapeutic alliance – issues with safety and trust. Eating disorder continues but not life threatening.
Patient needs assistance with distress tolerance, containment and emotion regulation as well as support around poor self care and self destructive behavior patterns.

It was as though I was reading an assessment about someone else, and whoever it was – I sure felt sorry for her. That woman obviously had *crazyhead*! The reality that this clinical assessment was about me didn’t soak in until days later.

As I review the above list from May of 2008, I wonder what changes the therapist would make if she had to submit this paperwork today.  I wonder what she would add, not what she would delete.  I wonder if the assessment would be even less favorable than the picture she painted of crazybrain above.  I wonder if I will ever feel whole.  I wonder if I will ever be good enough.