On therapy and therapists Part I

It feels like an age since I last wrote on here though it has only been three days. I kind of miss not writing every day but I must admit I do not have the emotional capacity to do so!

A lot of things have come up in the past few days, yet I have still felt this strange emptiness.  The feeling that I have opened myself up to the world and have nothing left to give.  It scares me.  However, given the amount of talking I managed to do in therapy today I see that me running dry of thoughts and words is a highly unlikely phenomena -  in the near future at least!

Therapy. 

I haven't really spoken much about therapy and the people who have helped me get to where I am. I don't think this is the appropriate place to write anything in specific detail, but I suppose a brief understanding of what has helped me in a therapist/client relationship may help others to see what could make therapy work for them.

I think I should start off with a confession.  The therapists and consultant I see today are not the first professionals I met.  Actually, they weren't even the second or third.  I am embarrassed to admit that at last count I had seen 26 therapists and consultants on a one to one basis.  [I would like to add that when looking at this mathematically, this has only been an average of 3.71428571429 per annum (though I don't think the .71428571429 person could be considered a person).]

Over the years I managed to build up a wall.  A wall barricading anyone from getting in, pushing away anyone who wanted to help me.  My fear of talking to someone and letting a stranger in took a hold on me, not allowing me to say a word in my sessions.  I have no idea what it was that motivated me to go each week.  I would literally spend an hour sitting awkawardly on an armchair in silence. Any questions asked were answered with the 'I don't know' button that drove my therapist to distraction.  I was desperate for help but could not say a word.  Over time we came to a mutual agreement that maybe the relationship should come to an end.  Consequently I was referred onto someone else who worked in a 'different way'. And so it went on.  I saw him and then her and then another her and another him.  But no one got me.  No one understood me.  The majority I ended up giving up with and a couple actually gave up with me.  One particular one didn't even last one meeting!

I must have seen all sorts. Young and old.  Rich and poor.  Counsellors, psychotherapists, Cognitive Behavioural Therapists and candlestick makers (Ok, I added that to check you were still reading).  I saw the wise and the [IMHO] not so wise. The eccentric and the downright weird.  Each had their own method, their own character (and their own price). But nothing changed.

'For when the student is ready, the teacher will appear'

It wasn't until I was ready that I was able to get the help I needed.  I needed the desire to get better.  It got to a point in my depression that I realised I could not get any lower and that the only way was up.  My life changed once I found somewhere I could unload.  Somewhere I wasn't scared of letting the truth out.  Being able to say anything that came into my mind.  Once I tore down the barricades, things only got better.

I am a cynic.  I was always known for my cynicism and sarcasm.  My glasses were only ever half empty, never half full.  I could never understand why therapy was the answer.  How would it help for me to blurt out everything that was going on in my head to some stranger who only really cared because that was what he or she was paid to do.  I detested those therapists who tried to second guess me.  I was the queen of cynicism.  I have a feeling that most of the therapists I saw over the years probably had to have their own double session of therapy after seeing me.

Putting the cynicism aside was the beginning of the road to real recovery.   I (wrongly) believed for all those years that because I was the one who got myself into the mess in the first place, I was the only one who could get myself out of it.  And don't get me wrong, this still holds true - no one can change you or make you better.  However, we must be able to receive help.  Someone who has a broken arm will still need a specialist to keep an eye on it, a physiotherapist to get it moving properly again and  a cast to heal the bone and protect it.  Therapy is no different.  It is a place I have spilled every part of myself out. I have had debates and arguments, I have cried, laughed and shouted.  The past two years have changed my life not without thanks to my most amazing support network.

Without me bringing down the barriers I could have spent the rest of my life searching for that one person who could help me.

Therapy doesn't mean admitting a weakness.  If anything it is admitting a strength; the strength to admit that you are not perfect and that sometimes you need a little support.  We all do.  And as a therapist once said to me; 'there are only two types of people in the world, the ones in therapy...and the ones in denial'.  It made me laugh mainly because I feel it is true in some ways.  Not that I believe everyone should be in therapy, but that 'no man is an island', and therefore no one can fight for life on their own. 

I know that whatever I say I can't thank my family and friends enough.  The same is for those professionals who have helped me get to where I am.  I hope that with this blog and my website I can continue to show all how far I have come and how I could never have done this without them.

So much to write on the topic, but think it is time for bed.

To be continued...

Any questions, just ask! 

Xx