Therapy

[cranialspasm]

I’ve never understood why some people have such a stigma about therapy. I guess that is because it has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. It wasn’t something that I was always experiencing, but I remember sitting in the waiting room reading Ranger Rick and Highlights magazines as my brother went in for sessions to diagnose his hyperactivity. I also remember a few years later going to a different therapist and sitting in a turquoise walled tiny little shoebox waiting room with my homework waiting for my mom to finish her therapy sessions.

Originally, I thought that this was a visit to a magician. Though my brother was never forced to take medicine, there was a sense of resolution and then I don’t remember ever having to spend time in that therapist’s waiting room again. Therefore, he was cured. Magic. When my mother went to the therapist there was a magical scroll that he handed her at the end of the session and we would drive up to an apothecary where they would translate it and hand her a magic bottle. A bottle of green and white pills. Magic.

Therefore, I had put therapists on a pedestal. For the longest time I held them in such reverence, until the day that I was forced to see a therapist that I didn’t agree with. It goes without saying that I was a shitty teenager. It goes without saying that the whiny angsty teenager stereotype is both accurate and annoying. I WAS that stereotype.

After hurting myself, failing suicide attempts, and cries for help… Well… I got help.

I don’t remember the therapists name, I just remember that when I was talking to her she would take copious notes and also ask me how I felt about a lot of things. I found that at the end of the session, I didn’t remember anything about the session and I left with a prescription. Once I thought it was a magical scroll, but at that moment I realized that I was being prescribed pills when I had attempted to overdose and realized how messed up the entire situation was.

Then I turned into obstinate teen Ali and brought a notepad into the sessions. I asked the therapist how my depression was affecting her and whenever she would try to relate by sharing a bit about herself I would also try to delve into her life. After two sessions of that, she determined me “cured” and ended the sessions.

For awhile, I thought that I had beat the system and that I had shown them who was boss. Then the sadness continued. It got worse with each passing year and I found that I needed some way to release all of the pain that I was feeling. Around that time, the internet had exploded and I opened a blog. I started to post incredibly private things to a forum, hoping desperately that someone I didn’t know would be able to relate to what it was I was going through. What I neglected to understand was that because all of my thoughts were public, ALL of my friends had the ability to read how I felt about them at any given point.

I was a fat girl that thought so little of herself she had set herself in a particular mode. Only the friend. The girl that couldn’t be loved. I spent my time watching all of my friends experiencing relationships that were passionate and tumultuous and on the outside looked like the romance novels I buried my nose in for so long. I RESENTED them for it. After all, one of them was dating the guy I had a crush on EVEN though I expected her to know that from my assurances that I didn’t.

So with each posting on the blog, I was essentially setting fire to bridges that I hadn’t even crossed yet. The structure of friendship was roasting under my feet and even though I held the matches in my hand I figured that it was their fault and that they should have been impervious and that the structure was only burning because they weren’t managing their own damn bridge. The fault was never mine in my brain. After all, I was only sharing the thoughts that I was having. How could I be the villain by sharing my true feelings?

Yep. Teenage bullshit. After alienating all of my friends, I found that my social circle evaporated. Finding new friends was never an issue for me. I’m a bit of an extrovert (with crippling self doubt, but I’m loud regardless) so pulling in a new group of friends wasn’t hard. Recognizing that people apparently do not like it when you announce their idiosyncrasies to the world wide web, my blog was generalized under a private name. I honestly don’t even know the name of it now.

Through a series of unfortunate events, I found myself sliding deeper and deeper into depression and since I was so turned off by my previous experience with therapy and medication, I had no idea where to turn. I felt strong enough to recognize how I was feeling and was able to write it down (some of those diary entries are so embarrassing I think it would be funny to share).

It wasn’t until I realized I had to go to a therapy session for gastric bypass surgery that I found out that not all therapists were the same.

An hour session changed my outlook on the whole idea of therapy and now I find it a helpful hour of every month. I walked in with an enormous chip on my shoulder. She had me fill out a questionnaire and then we sat and talked for awhile. We laughed, I cried, and at the end of the session I asked if she was taking any new patients. She said that she typically didn’t due to the hectic assessment schedulings she had been taking part in, but she would be happy to take me on. She told me that I had the uncanny ability of recognizing how I was feeling and being able to explain it so she could understand how my brain worked.

I have been attending therapy regularly since 2009. It isn’t a cure to my depression, but it’s a lot safer than writing all of my feelings on a facebook status, twitter account, or loading my blog with the toxicity that is churning around my brainpan. I still write. I still try to figure out what the cause of my depression is and what I can do to fix it all. A part of me knows that there is no ultimate fix to depression unless I’d be willing to submit myself to a lobotomy.

[manuel_moe_g]

Thanks for writing this, cranialspasm. You write very well - I can tell you are well read - it is difficult for me to read the on-line writing of somebody who isn't well read - somehow their English just hurts my brain (lots of people say my English hurts their brain, though, so I shouldn't throw stones .... )

The internet is a dangerous place, I worry for my daughter. I am pretty open on the internet with my identity and my story because I refuse to play a part in stigmatizing mental health diseases - but I have that luxury because I am in a position of power as an established adult. So I am glad you are not cutting off social ties with social media postings.

I never found a therapist I am comfortable with. I associate a bad therapist with defeat and anxiety and severe disappointment. It scares me.

Resentment of friends... realizing that depression & anxiety is a lifelong challenge... man, I know these feelings well.

Take care, all the best, we are all excited to read more of your writing and we all want you to love yourself in the way you deserve! Cheers!

[manuel_moe_g]

(bless the programmer of the Lazarus web browser plug in - I would have lost my posting otherwise, but good ol' Lazarus kept a copy (whew!) )

http://lazarus.interclue.com/

[dare i say it]

I have been attending therapy regularly since 2009. It isn’t a cure to my depression[...]I still try to figure out what the cause of my depression is and what I can do to fix it all. A part of me knows that there is no ultimate fix to depression unless I’d be willing to submit myself to a lobotomy.

I struggle with these kinds of thoughts myself. Will I ever be "normal", what does it mean to be "normal" and so forth. I'm curious, what would it mean to you to be "cured of depression," i.e. how would you define that?

[cranialspasm]

As much as I hate to admit it... there isn't a cure for depression. There is simply an ability to acknowledge when you're depressed.

[dare i say it]

I'm just floating this out there as an idea. What about not identifying ourselves as permanently different from most other people? What about getting treated for depression so that we can have fully functioning lives?

[manuel_moe_g]

Yeah, in a lot of ways people who successfully manage their tendency for depression have a set of capabilities that "normal" people could never dream of possessing. For example, I could never give up on somebody who hadn't given up on themselves, but "normal" people seem to do this very easily. And "normal" people don't realize how debilitating a self-destructive sense of ego and pride can be. Things like that.