I’ve only been to one therapy session before. It was rather recent–maybe two or so weeks ago. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. I made the appointment in a moment of desperation (I tried to interact with a person and it didn’t exactly work out). I though that instead of crying and cutting over it, I would be appropriate and handle my porcelain emotions carefully and not break myself. As soon as I called to make the appointment, I found out that I had to wait like 3 weeks. I lost it after I hung up and ended up cutting myself, which I personally don’t see as the biggest deal ever. After a while I was fine and as the appointment date drew near, I kind of didn’t want to go because I was feeling so good. Knowing that eventually I would crash and end up as miserable as I was before, I sucked it up and went. I filled out those stupid questionnaires to the best of my ability. (I hate when they ask if it’s bothered me that I’ve been depressed and shit like that. Does my depression have to bother me in order for me to get help? Why would something I’ve learned to live with for years bother me terribly?) I made it clear that I was not actively suicidal. And then I saw her. She had this thick accent, maybe Mexican or South American even though she looked white. She said that she read over my questionnaire and my answers and wondered why I was here. That fucked me up kind of bad, askin me why I turned up. She meant it because I didn’t see that much wrong with the way I was feeling, only that I knew I shouldn’t be feeling that way. I told her that I didn’t really know. We talked about how I see things in black and white (I know she was thinking about BPD, I fucking saw right through her, I am very aware of that bullshit). She implied that I don’t really want to kill myself, that my suicidal ideation was a mere safety blanket for me. She kept on asking me if I saw that contradictions in my thoughts, which of course I did. I think about suicide more than anything else, I’m still ironing out my philosophy. I actually discussed one method I was thinking about and relayed to her how it would be impractical, seeing as I don’t have a car/place of my own and am not sure if the Wal Mart sells just the guns or the guns and the ammo (and if so, do they allow you to buy both at once?). I talked a lot, I cried because I am a big asshole baby, and then when my time was almost up she asked me what I wanted to do. I said I didn’t know, although I wanted to tell her that I wanted to be heavily medicated so that I can breeze through my existence as a mindless zombie, as that is the only way I will survive. But I said nothing. She told me that in my life I’ve had no control so that I should make my own decisions and if I wanted to, make my own appointment. That felt to me like a mild rejection, which she should have known to avoid since BPD was on her mind for me. So I was fucking livid and upset and I walked out of there and went home and got to my room and cried. Then my roommate came back so I went to the bathroom and cried. The one time I reached out to someone I got fucking nothing back. I felt invalidated, she made me feel as though I am not actually feeling the way I said I was feeling and that I shouldn’t have those feelings, anyway. The experience was too overwhelming for me. I never want to deal with that again.
4 comments
It sucks that you had that experience with that therapist, but I promise not all sessions happen like that. Unfortunately therapists are people, which means they’re fallible, and not all of them will treat us well and not all of them will be good at their jobs. And not every style of therapy will work for everyone. I wouldn’t give up hope on all types of therapy, but it’s definitely no use going back to that office.
As for the person you tried to confide in, not all people, in fact not many, are going to get what we’re going through. People really just don’t get mental illness or depression, sometimes even if they’ve been depressed themselves. It’s hard to know who to trust and who to reach out to, but at least you know you’ve got SP 🙂
Therapy, they don’t actually care about you. Only for as long as you are in their office will they pretend to. Be very careful about telling them or doctors about heavy/constant suicidal thoughts, some people on SP have been forcibly taken to psychiatric wards, which just fucks you up more.
People don’t like to spare the effort to care about other peoples problems. The only ones who can understand you, are the people who are/have going through similar emotions and life experiences. Although it may be hollow at times, SP is a place where you will find commonality in suffering.
I may have been turned into a misanthropic nihilist but I do care for others who have suffered in life. Rest assured you don’t suffer alone and at the very least I feel your pain.
That therapist sounds like an uncompassionate jerk. I’ve seen some like that too. They judge you instead of helping you. You deserve more. We all do. You are not weak for crying. Be glad you can cry. There were years when I couldn’t cry, only cut. Crying from the heart and soul is like vomiting from an upset stomach. It helps get rid of some of the poison.
I wish I could tell you how to find a compassionate therapist, but I don’t know the answer. What I can tell you is that if a therapist doesn’t seem to care, don’t go back. I had one therapist who ate lunch while I poured my heart out. Later, once my insurance ran out, he told me that I was hopeless. He didn’t think I’d survive more than a year.
That was over 30 years ago. He’s died from cancer since and I’m still alive.
Have you ever listened to Jackson Browne’s ‘Hold on Hold out?’ If not, google it and listen to it. I used to listen to it every night for a long time. You are not weak. You have feelings. Being sensitive, having feelings, can be difficult, but, in the long run, you will be a finer person.
Personally, tonight, I’m angry that all those unfeeling republicans won in the elections. Obama might be President of the United States, but he also has to feel so alone sometimes, not even supported by many in his own party.
Hold on, have faith in your own heart and being.
I wish you well.
Vedura
I myself never believed in getting help. I believed I wanted to suffer and die all together.
But i can see that death isn’t something I want. There are things in this life I feel I still have time to enjoy and appreciate. Not sure if it’s all worth the struggle I face, but I’ve always been a fighter. If I can keep up my strength maybe my life can get better. But i know I can’t do it without help anymore. I’ve simply lost all faith in my own ability to rationalize a way to make my life better for myself. And so I want to give therapy a try for once