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Anticipation

My Thoughts and Concerns on Seeking a Therapist

By Megan Baker (Left Vocal in 2023)Published 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 18 min read
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Anticipation
Photo by Srikanta H. U on Unsplash

I’ll do it, but I can’t deny that I am second-guessing, well... everything.

It’s one thing to consider to myself that I have more issues than I’ve led myself to believe for years on end; I have dismissed signs, minimized dark thoughts, told myself “it’s just a bad day”. Except… So many days are bad, back-to-back-to-back.

In the handwritten journal I started this year (2021), I described an average day for me as like, “an off-brand of content”. Not the same flavor as a truly content day; a little heavier. Most days are a bit “heavy”. A bit sad - or empty. I don’t frequently consider myself happy and struggle to even identify what does bring me joy. Been this way… shit, years. Decades? Maybe.

In “Context”, I laid out a large number of incidents in my life that made me realize - once I’d put them all into a single piece and saw the extent - that I likely need therapy. My boyfriend has suggested it for years, but I had myself convinced that it was just a few things and I could eventually sort them out myself. Maybe I could, if I felt like tangling with it all for an additional 20-30 years. But I don’t; I am so, so tired.

By Dickens Sikazwe on Unsplash

Tired of never being good enough for my family. Tired of not being good enough for me because I’ve been trying to please those that can never be pleased. Tired of having so much that I need to do and want to do, but can’t because I’m so worn out on all fronts. Tired of everyone saying that I have no reason to be tired: no consistent job, no kids, and I can’t even keep the house in order. What do I have to be tired from?

I’m tired of the really bad days and nights; the ones when I start thinking about ending it. I’ve brushed those off for years, telling myself, “it’s just a bad day; I’ve always lived through such bad days; it will pass”. All true, and somewhat helpful. But as I realized a few years ago…

...most folks don’t have those thoughts.

I’ve had sleep issues all my life: insomnia, trouble “turning off”, night walking (would wake up to walk in the middle of the night for time to myself), odd sleep patterns, bad dreams…etc.

I’ve suspected I’ve had depression for years, maybe decades. I took a semester of psychology my senior year of high school, during which we took all sorts of tests ourselves. All the signs were there. Test results pointed to it. Test results mean nothing if you don’t follow up on them, and I didn’t.

Thing is, I’ve lived with whatever I’ve got for years; I think in certain ways and am only now starting to really question them. Some things I noticed and tried to fix over the years, but this year has shown me that there is so much more beneath. As much as I would love to handle this shit myself... I'm just so tired of doing it by myself. I don’t think I’m stupid - not entirely anyway - but this is more than I know how to handle. The story has been partially rewritten, and this new perspective is dizzying. I need help, and I don’t exactly have a supportive family in regards to mental health.

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So what do I have? That is a damn good question, and one I kinda suspect the answers to, but am… reluctant to find the answers to. To suspect it to myself and my boyfriend of 7 years is one thing - to have a trained professional potentially diagnose me with it is quite another. That’s why, as eager as I am to start fixing these long-time issues that are becoming more and more apparent the longer and closer I look, I have sought to bide myself a little more time. I’ve been avoiding seeking help for so long, and sometimes the best of intentions go astray; I’m worried seeking help will backfire and cause me more harm.

Not completely unfounded, given my history in school, where a counselor or other “helpful” type nearly had child services take me and my disabled brother. And the thing that started it off was based on a classmate, not home issues. I waited for them to ask me about that, but instead they kept asking about my home life; I wish I had been smart enough to tell them outright, “yeah, that poem that is probably why I’m here - you know, the one that was never returned to me - was all sad and mopey because of the actions of a classmate at the time of writing that”. Instead, they focused on home life.

That’s not to say my home life was the best; yes, I realize now how bad it looked to this counselor or whatever they were, but the issue they wanted to know about - that poem or assignment - was not based on my home life. So it’s hard to be trusting of such people when anything I say could be misconstrued - and I am too unsure of when to speak my own damn thoughts on something to them if they don’t ask the right questions. I just sat there and waited for them to ask about the assignment I knew was the likely reason I was there, but they never did.

So my boyfriend and I both suspect that I have depression. I guess it isn’t normal to want to off yourself a few times a year (at least). That I lose interest for days at a time isn’t a great sign, or feel low often (sometimes to the point I think to kill myself). That I've felt these things since I was 7 on - and am now 30 - also lends to it; it’s not just been a short bout, it’s been a lifelong thing. I’ve always managed to talk myself back down, and for years and years have simply chalked such incidents up to “a bad day”. The overall “meh” is broken up with days of disinterest and low feelings.

By Eduardo Vázquez on Unsplash

My partner and I both suspect that I may have some form of anxiety. While I enjoy thinking things to death for creative purposes in particular, my boyfriend often points out that I have worrying thoughts all the time. Sometimes useful, plenty of other times a hindrance. A prime example is if I go watch my special needs brother overnight alone, and he is not feeling well; I have literally messaged my boyfriend that I was too nervous to go to sleep in the event my brother vomited, paced for a few hours while waiting to make sure the medicine given to him helped, and then kept an ear out the rest of the night, fearful he might get sick and choke on it and hardly getting any sleep myself. I suffered what I now realize was insomnia for years in high school - and had a short bout again at the start of 2021. I can’t even sleep well in my childhood room because I am so nervous about the criticisms and endless questions that my parents always seem to have and how I can answer them all.

I suspect that I was a parentified child. I have been expected to help out with my brother with special needs since I was about 7. Feeding, changing diapers, bathing, administering medicine…etc. My parents would go gambling several times a week after a certain point, and I would be stuck in the house with my brother overnight, or else in the hotel room at the casinos over weekends. On one hand, it was the only time I got to (mostly) myself, and I wanted my parents to enjoy time together. On the other hand, well… What kind of childhood is spending weekend after weekend in a casino’s hotel room with a mostly non-verbal sibling? What the fuck does that do to someone?

I suspect I have PMDD - Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder. I have a cycle about 23 days long, and I get maybe one “good” week where I get shit done. I suffer from what I think is one-sided ovulation pains days after my period ends. Usually my “productive/good week” is riddled with thoughts of the horny sort, which is good and bad. Good because, “hey, sweetheart, let’s go to the bedroom…” but bad because, “I just want to get this task finished on one of the only days I’m up for it, so can I stop thinking about this all damn day?”.

Neither of those are involved in PMDD, but are important to note as I do only have one good week, and the rest is classic for the disorder. My sleep starts to suffer - can’t seem to get comfortable and water retention means I’m up once a night for a few days to urinate. I start having food cravings (red meat, chocolate, carbs, and wine) and tend to consume more food than usual. There’s always 2-3 days where I am particularly prone to irritability, about a week out from the start of the next period, followed by 3-5 days of feeling particularly low and disinterested. I will literally sit in a chair, endlessly scrolling for something to watch, and not be interested in a damn thing: work, boyfriend, pets, family, hobbies...etc. Toss in the bloat and awful fatigue, and you’ll find me napping a lot in the days leading up to my next period. I wish I could blame everything on this, but I don’t think I really can.

By Alexander Andrews on Unsplash

The really questionable one for me is whether or not I think I have PTSD or another trauma-related disorder. There is one incident in particular where I think maybe I could have PTSD from it, but I’m not sure if I meet all the boxes, so maybe it isn’t quite that. For over a decade, I buried the incident and didn’t really think about it. Once I started dating my boyfriend though, I felt I should disclose the incident to him. I started thinking about it more, especially when moving, and I would see the shirt that I was wearing that day, which I haven’t been able to bring myself to get rid of or destroy. I wrote a few times about it, and since then, I’ve found myself with some unwanted effects.

First, the “flinch”. Sometimes there’s a small physical flinch, sometimes it is what I refer to as a "mental flinch", and they appear when a few words are mentioned. Sometimes my brain just feels like it freezes at them too, and I can have some unwanted memories pop up. The incident being that I was publicly groped in front of a group of my peers when I was 15, the words have to do with what the guy said when my peers, sensing my frozen discomfort, would ask him what he was doing, and he responded, “just grabbing some tits/titties!” Even if I know the words are going to be used, there is a strained anticipation of the words. If I don’t know or suspect they will be used, that is where I get the flinch in some form and the “error, brain frozen” reactions.

The other physical reaction is when my boyfriend wants to touch me and enjoy me. Obviously, being groped under my shirt and bra 15 years ago….

I have - I think - flashbacks. Sometimes they start when I realize my partner’s hands are getting close to my breasts, sometimes it is fine until he actually does touch them. Rarely can he touch me there without there being discomfort, but I have not stated as much until very recently; I didn’t want to ruin his enjoyment, at the expense of my own comfort, for the last 7 years. There've been times where he could touch me there, and I actually enjoyed it, but they are far and few between. And the contradiction of wanting him to enjoy himself and my presumed flashbacks/freezes makes me want to cry.

Despite video evidence and 10+ reports, the school dismissed my claim and nothing was done for what was done to me, and I hope I never see the guy that did that to me again; I fucking hate him. I hate that my boyfriend now has to wonder if I’m okay when he’s touching me and that I have to wonder if I’m going to be okay with it or have a thought that derails our time together. I hate that I start tensing up when my boyfriend’s hand gets too close. I nearly had what I suspect was an anxiety attack when the guy who picked my boyfriend and I up on a night out reminded me of him - my boyfriend had to check the guy’s name to assure me it wasn’t him. I hate that that fucking guy probably doesn’t regret a damn bit of it or doesn’t even think about what he did, when I have to go through this!

“Just grabbing some titties!”

By Josep Martins on Unsplash

...

I didn’t think the incident had such an impact on me; I did manage to bury it for about 10 years, after all. But once it was unearthed…uncovered…

…well, now, here we are.

I’ve started keeping a dream journal again, and stopped using recreational cannabis during this time so that I can have, recall, and record my dreams. I’ve used recreational cannabis to silence them for nearly 7 years now, as they have always been tiresome and many used to be frightening or stressful - the opposite of a good night’s rest. I figured my future therapist may be interested in that, would probably have me do this anyway, and, well…

...I’m biding my time. I didn’t think I could just jump into therapy after so many years avoiding it, so I gave myself a time-frame. Three months to wrap my head around it. To accept that I'm going to do it. To gather information I think the therapist may want in ways I think they would suggest. Mostly journals. All the personal pieces I’ve submitted on Vocal. The dream journal. The other journal I’m keeping for my moods and what I guess may be triggers, like the flinches. Probably not the personal one I started at the beginning of the year, but sure, why the fuck not at this point?

By Jon Tyson on Unsplash

In keeping these journals, even just two months in, I’ve become more aware of just how many issues I seem to have. It was so easy to dismiss thoughts, until I started writing them down and noticing just how often I have some of them. I thought I was doing well with a lack of really “low” days and suicidal thoughts, because, “Oh, I’ve only had a few nights I wanted to kill myself this year”. But then came the night several weeks ago that I had to write down that I was feeling low - not as low as the days before it, but low. And I wanted to die that night. And I was crying and so, so angry over that groping incident that I've had to think about and write about in these last few months. Before the journal, I'd probably forget that I'd had a night like that so recently within a few weeks; it would be dismissed as just one more in a long line of past bad days. I've had two more days since where I had passing thoughts of, "I want to die", though they were not as bad as the first.

So I’ll do it - therapy - but damn it all if I’m not afraid to.

I’m looking at therapists; actual therapists, not just social workers/counselors. Given some of my past issues and bad experiences with male doctors in general not listening or understanding, I know I want to talk to another woman. But I also don’t want one that has decades of experience; experience is good, but I want someone who maybe isn’t so set in older ways of approaching things. Not too new, but not too tested either. Someone who can maybe relate to my life experiences and know what people in my age bracket are experiencing as a whole, not what people my parents' ages would be more likely to be concerned about. It’s hard to choose though; there’s so many issues many of them deal with, and an equally large number of therapy types - most of which I know nothing about and I don’t desire to look up each one.

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My boyfriend has pointed out that perhaps I should consider meeting the therapist in the office the first few times (chances are, it will take a number to work through the number of issues I have). His reasoning being that she could better understand my body language before - if needed and possible - switching to remote sessions. I’m not opposed. When I spoke to that counselor at school, I folded and unfolded my paper hall pass so many times, I destroyed the ink on it for the information; I have tendencies that a therapist would probably want to see and understand.

I know I’ve been through some shit. But it’s hard to know what exactly I should be looking for help for. And I don’t really know what to expect.

I worry. A lot. After social services looked into my parents and home life from that chat with a school counselor, I didn’t want to seek help for fear that somehow I would be deemed unfit to care for my brother in the future. My boyfriend argues it can only be in my favor for seeking help, but how much does it take to really fuck something up? I can’t fuck up when it comes to my brother; no one else is going to step up to care for him when our parents can’t. I’m equally afraid of being told that I don’t have something; that I don’t have an actual reason for being the way I am. My partner likes to point out that that is unlikely, given some of the behaviors I display.

A few months ago, I was horrified at the thought of being diagnosed and prescribed something. I’m still not really eager, but after family drama on top of all else this year, I’m so tired, and not as opposed as I was. I just want to feel better. Besides, only a percentage of folks wind up prescribed something. Even if I am, side effects might not be as bad as I fear. I can no longer take hormonal birth control after I had a blood clot last time I was on it, and that medicine also robbed me of any libido for over a year despite the short time I took it. I am afraid of having no libido again when that’s the only thing I have going for me - on top of other possible side effects. I don’t want to lose that again and don’t want to take that from my partner.

I am still afraid. Of finding out what I have and what I'll have to do to try to better it. How many things can one person have? More than just the things I’ve mentioned seem to ring with an unsettling familiarity. Do I have a personality disorder? ADHD? Is it actually depression? Or bipolar disorder?

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The weeks are creeping up on me. Soon, it will be January; 2022. I only have a few weeks left of my given time-frame to figure out who I want to try to talk to. To finish writing and posting articles here so that I can work through what I'm trying to say, and point them out to that therapist, if they would even read that. To identify the biggest issues. I guess I shouldn’t worry too much; this is what a therapist should help with, after all. I suppose this would be considered anxious, controlling behavior on my part, just like how I am trying to clean the house before I start therapy too. I want the house in decent order so I can focus on what I’ll have to do, and maybe make keeping up with the house easier. But it’s from anxious thinking and trying to make things go smoother. There’s so much.

The journals should help. Writing things like these should help. Talking should help. Medication if I need it should help. It’s still scary. What other things do I not even realize are going on will I find and have to contend with? What the hell will that therapist say? What do I have, and what do I not have?

I suspect, when I finally pick someone, and I inquire, and we set a day to have a session, that I will walk in with a nervous stomach, a racing mind, a couple journals scribbled with dreams and moods, a stuffed animal for comfort, and my boyfriend in tow for support. Whatever happens, I doubt that I will tell my family - they aren’t supportive in that regard. Any medication will have to be well-hidden to avoid questioning and scrutiny.

By Dmitry Ratushny on Unsplash

I am all at once ready and not ready. I hope finally trying therapy will actually help. I guess I’ll find out soon enough. I gotta crank out a few more things to cover bases comfortably.

And then, it will be time.

I’m so nervous.

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About the Creator

Megan Baker (Left Vocal in 2023)

A fun spin on her last name, Baker enjoyed creating "Baker's Dozen" lists for various topics! She also wrote candidly about her mental health & a LOT of fiction. Discontinued writing on Vocal in 2023 as Vocal is a fruitless venture.

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