Tag: therapist

Why do I Need Therapy?

I woke up from oblivion and asked myself, why do I need therapy? I think I am doing it more out of obligation than for help. Sure, it’s nice to talk to someone every week. I just don’t know if I should continue or not. I know that I will feel a certain kind of loneliness without therapy. I have been doing this for fifteen years now. I still wonder if me paying her to talk is worth it. I feel really worthless and guilty for some reason. My head is foggy from the medication and I need to take my psych meds before I go loopy again. Withdrawal from oxcarbazepine is not pleasant as I found out on Wednesday.

Sure, therapy has helped me with things and stuff but do I need it? Can I stop therapy and be okay. I have my blog to write my feelings down and vent. Course, it is not the same as venting to someone on the phone or in person. Lately, we have been trying to work on self-care. I have never done that before. I have taken “mental health” days off work, more than I should have. I just couldn’t handle it and my therapist kept pushing me to take some time off of work. But then I was working 50-60 hours a week. I miss being well enough to work that many hours. In the end I was working either 20-32 hours and I was a 40 hour employee. I had to use my earned time to get 40 hours. Within weeks, my bank of time ran out and so did my job. I was deemed disabled and unable to do my job by some committee that I have no idea who was involved in. And I certainly wasn’t invited to share my experience with these people. But there went my job that I have been working in for 14 years. My psychiatrist thinks that there is no way I can work a job anymore with my back situation. That was kind of reassuring for me. And my therapist thinks the same way..

I know mentally I have been up and down and all around. My therapist knew that I was going to oblivion tonight and though she was concerned, didn’t really try to stop me. She didn’t like what I was doing, but she knew I needed an escape. I slept really hard, a good seven hours straight. Now I am foggy as hell and kind of hungry. I don’t know if I should have the yummy red velvet pop tarts or Oreo’s thin golden cookies. I am a sucker for sugar cookies.

I knew my oblivion was not going to be permanent and my therapist knew that. I have texted her what I was doing all weekend. I deleted the messages on my phone in case I really didn’t wake up or tried to go to the bathroom and fell down the stairs. That was my only fear. The password on my phone is easy. It’s my niece’s birthday and my sister knows this. She knows because I told her when my niece wanted to use my phone for games. Unfortunately, I have had to delete the games because my phone is out of fucking memory. I have 16 GB and it’s all used up. I had to also delete the FB app because it was taking up a good chunk of memory. I use my web browser on my phone to check FB now.

I feel like I am obligated to be in therapy because I owe my therapist money. Though, if you think about it, the more I see her, the more I have to pay. Thing is, I don’t think I am being “analyzed” when we talk. I know things are harder on the phone than in person. I get that. But shouldn’t my words be scrutinized? I am just thinking out loud here, throwing my thoughts on this computer screen. Sure, we talked about Hyde and the dealings he is making and we talk about my suicidality but really don’t have a plan. We just go by my word that I won’t kill myself. I am not saying I need a new therapist. I am just wondering if I truly need to talk to someone every week.

I am not saying that I am stable enough to be without therapy. I just wonder if I am just wasting her time and my own by talking. She gets that I have been injured by father’s narcissism and we try to work through that, course it goes in one ear and out the other sometimes. I just can’t retain what she says because it hits me a certain way and I can’t deal with it at that moment. I do a lot of self-reflection after therapy so I write down what we talked about and such. I had started to keep a notebook of what we talked about but this week I didn’t keep notes because of my damn narcissistic father. All we talked about was his medical needs and how stupid he is about understanding what is going on at times. Sometimes he gets things and sometimes he is out to lunch. I don’t understand why I have to tell her the details of my father’s dilemma. It just takes up so much of our time that we don’t talk about anything else.

I feel like the only reason I keep going is because I am obligated some how to talk to her. I don’t know why I feel like this. It’s like I have to humor her to stay in therapy. We talk more like we are friends than a professional relationship. I am not saying this is wrong or anything. Sometimes I like this and other times I feel like we are doing something wrong. Lately we have been talking about self-care, something we have never really talked about in the whole 15 years we have been talking. My taking the Neurontin was part of self-care because I really needed sleep and to zone out. It might have been in excess but the dose that I took I knew it wasn’t lethal. If I had taken say my trileptal at that dose, it might have been a different story.