Twenty-Three Years

Twenty-three years

Today marks twenty-three years that I have sought help for my depression and self-destructiveness. I actually didn’t seek help straight out. My English teacher noticed I was upset and pulled me aside and saw the marks on my wrist that I had made the night before. She then told me to stay after class, something no teacher has ever told me to do before. She took me to the nurse’s office. We chatted. I told her about what happened at my house the last two nights and how much I just wanted to die. She called my mother, who then took me to the local counseling center. By then, I told them “nothing was wrong” and that I was “okay”. I declined treatment and went on with my day. Daily visits to the nurse’s office became more frequent. I just stopped in to check in and told her what was going on. She wanted me to see someone so the following week I agreed to see the school counselor. Thus started my official journey into psychotherapy.

It hasn’t been an easy road. For the first ten years, I had a different therapist nearly every year. I think the only time I had two years was with the psych resident that wanted to see me or I would still be in the hospital. I went through a lot with this psychiatrist in training. While in her care, I attempt suicide and ended up being in the hospital for two and half months. When she ended her residency, I went to another psych in training. He wasn’t as good as she was. In fact, he was terrible. I felt like he was more my brother than a therapist but when I told him I was procuring more medication to end my life, he asked me if I was suicidal. That is when I knew he was an idiot. I pretty much ended our relationship within a few weeks and saw someone else. She was good, had years experience. But after I had an argument with my sister and she wanted to know more about my sister’s social life than my anger, I ended things with her. I went about a month without seeing someone. I then decided to go back to my town’s local mental health center. I saw someone there for a year and again, she decided to move on after that year mark. We were finally connected and I felt so betrayed. I didn’t think I was going to see another person again. I don’t know what changed my mind. I knew I didn’t want to see someone else at the local mental health center. I wanted to see someone private. I figured they were less likely to leave their practice. And I luckily found my current therapist and we have been together for fourteen years. It is the longest relationship I have had, outside of my psychiatrist. I am lucky that I have had just one psychiatrist for my medication all these years. She does more than just prescribe my medication. She also does some therapy and is my sounding board for the various medical issues that I have. And I can’t wait to see her again in a week after not seeing her for four long months. It is going to be weird seeing her again.

I don’t know why I have stuck it out in therapy all these years, especially when things were at their worst. I have been beyond hopeless and yet my psych team (therapist and psychiatrist) always made me see another day, sometimes against my wishes.