I began my day by getting ready for work. I did not dread the day as I used to, especially considering it was a Monday. This day seemed a little more tolerable. Maybe the new medications were helping me after all. Today was a big day for me though, because today was the day I would meet my therapist. I took my doctor’s advice and sought out a therapist for counseling. Finding a therapist within my insurance company’s network was quite a tedious process. First, you must call a counseling hotline number provided by the company. A “counselor” chats with you and probes you to see what type of counseling you will require. After several days of playing phone tag with the counseling service, they finally provide you with a therapist in your area. My therapist was only a five-minute drive from my office, so that seemed very convenient. My boss warned me about attending a therapy session during a work day with intentions on returning to work. She was worried I might be too shaken up to come back. I assured her I would be able to handle it. I’ve been through the worst, right? Piece of cake.
I can’t find the place, damn it. The directions were quite clear, but I still wound up sitting in the wrong office. I texted my therapist to let her know I was here in the waiting room, and she responded with, “You’re in the wrong building…”, crap. I finally make it to her office. Her office is a tiny house right behind the office I was originally in. It is an older home, complete with a therapy dog named Maddie. My therapist is seasoned. I am not opposed to seeing an older counselor, I mean, she’s been around for a while and has probably seen a lot. Her experience may hold the knowledge I need to help me through this hard time. “Have a seat”, she says as she places her hearing aids into her ears. Well, this looks promising.
The session began as I expected it would. My therapist asked me general questions about myself, my family, my job, etc. She then asked me why I was there. I explained to her that my doctor referred me due to my depressive state and my mania. When I used the word mania,she rolled her eyes and asked me why I would use that word. I told her that I could not think of a better word to describe the way I feel. She then began to ask me to give her a few situations that have me feeling depressed. Oh, where to begin. I began with my heavy alcohol abuse and reckless lifestyle, including a heartbreaking and unfortunate affair, then I added my career suicide to the mix. I began telling her the story about wanting to drive my car into the trees and she stopped me. “My dear,” she says, “You do not need counseling right now, you need serious help.” She then begins to tell me that she wants to admit me into the hospital to help stabilize my crazy. Okay, she did not use those exact words, but she may as well have. She insinuated that I was subconsciously committing suicide by starving myself…. the nerve of her! I told her I would go, with no intentions on following through with it, and she called my bluff immediately. She encouraged me to go see my doctor since I refused to go to the hospital. That, I will do. I am so panicked at this point and I would say anything to get out of this woman’s house. As I am leaving, she informs me that she will be contacting my doctor to let him know the right course of treatment for me. My Lord, this woman is trying to have me committed!
I got to my doctor’s office and signed in. I called my hubby right when I left my therapy session and he packed up his stuff at the office so he could meet me at the doctor’s office. He is always so worried about me, that loving man of mine. I did not even try to stop him. I needed him. Why would my therapist scare me like that? What if she is right? What if I am starving myself subconsciously to end my life? So much confusion and paranoia right now! Wes, my hubby, showed up before I was called back from the waiting room. He sat there with me as I attempted to whisper the full details of what happened into his ear. He was confused as well. “Mrs. Daniels”, the nurse calls out. Thank the Lord. There is nothing worse than being trapped in a waiting room, full of people, while you are crying about something extremely personal. “What brings you in today?”, she asks me. I respond with, “My therapist told me to come see my doctor so that I can be admitted into the hospital”. My doctor came right in and said I wasn’t going anywhere, not unless I truly felt like I might hurt myself. My weight has dropped down to 113 pounds (I am 5ft 7in, so 113lbs is extremely underweight for me) and my blood pressure was high, just as it has been over the last few visits. I am falling apart. My doctor probes me for details regarding my visit with my therapist. I told him everything.
“You overwhelmed her. You are a very overwhelming individual.”
My doctor understands me, so he knows that I unleashed my twisted life onto that woman. No wonder she wanted to admit me into the hospital. You would think a seasoned counselor, like the woman I met with, would be better equipped to handle overwhelming individuals. I mean, she has been around for a long time and must have worked with all kinds of different personalities. What kind of therapist can only handle simple situations? Why would a less complex individual even need therapy? I guess these are questions I will never know the answers to.
Meds and Chill
My medications have been changed again. My doctor explained to me that we are still going through the process of identifying the right medications to balance out my chemical levels. He increased the dosage of my antipsychotic, he insisted I keep using the muscle relaxer, and then he added an anti-depressant and a nerve pill. I have never been on so many pills before. I have been prescribed numerous medications in the past, but my stubbornness never allowed me to follow through with treatment. None of this seems natural to me, and I have never been a fan of “big pharma”. My doctor also recommended I use a psychiatrist as opposed to a psychologist or licensed counselor. With the types and dosages of medications he has me on, a psychiatrist is now completely necessary for treatment. I have always been so hard-headed when it comes to therapy because I have always felt like it was more of an endless money pit than productive treatment. I give in though, because I cannot keep going down the road I have been on. I do fear that one day I will sink into that dark hole and never come out again. I love my family too much to ever hurt them that way. So, today I will take my meds and chill…. and again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day….. Will I ever feel normal? I do not think so. What is normal anyway? Life has the potential to be so beautiful. So here I am, living it one day at a time. I will say this, I feel better today than I did yesterday. As my doctor would say, “That is a small win, and I’ll take it”.