Since I’m in this need to spill lately I think I’m going to keep going with it and see where it gets me. I spoke a lot about my family in my last post and again as much as I love them and would never trade them for the world, I am really hurt that they cannot accept the personality differences between us, which is really making my quite uncomfortable at home and keeps me quite emotionally unstable.
I think without realizing it that was a major role in why I ended up really seeking help. I mentioned previously that I had recently started seeing a therapist. That happened because I was in an extremely dark place right before that. I’ve always had thoughts of suicide. I have a history of self-harm and I’ve had my fair share of self-hatred, guilt and blame. I don’t always identify where they come from or why, but towards the end of May I went to Dubai for about a week with my family. Now I stayed at a colleagues house because I knew I wanted to take that opportunity to party and enjoy my time, I wanted to drink and do whatever I couldn’t while I was at home. And so I stayed at a colleague’s house –who at the time I thought was a friend- another story for another day, and partied and had my fun. When I returned I hit a really low point. Partially because being in Dubai and having that freedom reminded me of what I had when I was living alone and what I was missing out on now that I’m living with my family. Though I wasn’t a party animal, I don’t really enjoy clubbing and I’m not sleeping around with guys or bringing them home, I still miss that sense of responsibility and freedom that I don’t have living at home. I used to have to remember to buy groceries, pay the bills and rent, and ensure that nothing is broken. And from a freedom aspect, I could go out whenever I want, I could come home whenever I want and I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. It doesn’t mean I was abusing it. Doesn’t mean I was doing things to the extreme, but I was comfortable. I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. I didn’t have to go out to drink, I wasn’t worried when I went out to be seen by someone else, and I didn’t have to force myself to be surrounded by people and force a smile and be exhausted all the time. So basically being reminded of what has been taken away from me since I left put me in a way worse depression than I had been in. You see because I’ve been here, I gradually began to convince myself that all that I go through is normal, but it’s not and it took me being taken out of the atmosphere to remember that it isn’t. Anyway, cutting to the chase I relapsed and self-harmed again. I cut myself for the first time in about two years. Once I did that I was in paranoia that someone would see my scar. Then I began to drink a little more. Drink and drive when I knew I shouldn’t. Thoughts of crashing my car into a wall were getting stronger and stronger. And one night I came so close to doing so, but I hit the breaks. A week later I took some pills with alcohol. Now I guess a part of me didn’t want to die, because I didn’t take enough pills. I took about 6 or 7 sleeping pills with vodka. I threw them up shortly after. Nothing happened. I fell asleep for a 18-20 hours and woke up the next day and went to work. No one knew a thing. The next weekend I was out with my friends (a topic I will discuss shortly) and I was drinking, a lot. And I guess I told her. I told her that I tried to kill myself. I guess I didn’t give her details, but I still gave her something. After that she began pushing me to seek some real help.
I’ve always thought about going to get help. I booked a few appointments with psychiatrists but then cancelled. I wanted to talk to someone, a professional, but I was always afraid. I have a huge fear of judgement. Whether it be someone I know or a total stranger. I’m also not a talker, so I always felt it would be weird to be the one who’s doing all the talking. I’m also paranoid, what if someone knew I was going to see a psych, would they judge me, would someone ever find out what I say in these sessions? What if someone ever read the notes the psych takes? What if my parents find out? And a million other questions. So I take appointments and I cancel, or I don’t show up. There were two times where I even got to the clinic and while outside the door I called and cancelled. I panicked. But this was different, I was terrified, I was panicking like no tomorrow, I was shaking, and I don’t remember anything about my first session except that I was so nervous that I signed a paper with the date as 2017. That is literally all I remember. I think I’ve had 6 sessions so far. It’s been really helpful to be honest, but I sometimes have questions after the sessions. The thing is by the time the next session comes I would have a million other things that have happened during the week that I don’t end up asking.
For example, I want to ask her why she’s doing this? I don’t if it’s appropriate to ask, but does she know how to deal with these issues from experience or just because she’s learnt it? Does anyone else have access to her notes? What does she think of what I’m saying? Is she judging me? I honestly feel like my issues are stupid in comparison to other people’s issues, does she think that too? Can she tell if I’m hiding something? Does she feel uncomfortable when I discuss certain topics? I know this is her job, but why should I trust that she won’t share my story with someone? I mean I get the whole I’ve taken an oath, but that doesn’t stop people from breaking that oath. Does she go home and discuss shit with her husband, boyfriend, girlfriend, sister, mother, father, colleague, or whoever else?
Sometimes I get the urge to ask her some personal questions. I know that it’s probably not appropriate, but I feel like for me to break that fear of trusting her I need to know her. But then again, she’s my therapist; she wants to keep her life separate from her patients. Sometimes I wonder, does she get sick of hearing about everyone’s problems? Does she not get sick of hearing everyone complain? Sometimes I’m complaining about the stupidest things, imagine her going through that with a million other people. Does it not get her in a negative mood? I feel like I’m a burden, on her on my friends, on whoever I share my issues with, does she feel like I’m a burden? Again I get that it’s her job, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel like that, does it?
Anyway, overall as scary as this has been and as much of a whirlwind it is until now, I think it has been a good decision. I’m glad my friends pushed me to seek help, and I’m glad it’s with R (gonna call her that for the sake of confidentiality). I still worry, I still have panic attacks sometimes when I go, because I still feel weird being the one doing the talking, especially to someone I don’t know. I feel too exposed and I’m afraid of both the judgement and the confidentiality aspect. I’m afraid someone will know. I think that the more I’m telling her the more I’m afraid because every time I return, she knows a little more and there’s more at risk for me. But at the same time, the more I go, the more change I see. A part of me has gotten a lot of comfort by going and talking. Clearly I want more of it, which is why I’m here writing all this and contributing so much. I think because I’ve never done the talk until you drop thing and have always kept it inside, I never knew how much of a difference it makes. Plus it really helps when the person listening somewhat understands what I’m saying even if she may have not experienced it herself, probably heard it from someone, makes me a little more okay with it. Knowing that I’m not the first. I mean you kind of know that before but it’s just more comforting when someone actually says they know of another similar case. Not mention it’s opening my eyes to a lot of things that I’ve over looked for a long time. And seeing that is allowing me to deal with things I didn’t know I had to deal with.