Mental Health Mondays: I'm Afraid To Open Up To My Therapist

As many of you know, I see a therapist and a psychopharmacologist. I’ve been working with Melfi for a year and 4 months now and with Elvira for about a year I think. Both of those periods seem like a long time and they kind of are, but during that time I’ve not been able to completely open up with either of them. There’s this sense of distrust between myself and my mental health team. I’m afraid to open up with them; to share myself wholly with other living beings. I know they’re supposed to be there to help me, but I don’t know all the much about them. I don’t have a complete picture. How am I to trust these women with what could be the keys to my undoing when I barely know them? I have more of a picture with Melfi as she’s told me about her personal life, but Elvira keeps it pretty tight-lipped. Pretty much all I know about Elvira is she’s conservative, yet somewhat fair and likes slip on shoes like flats. What is it with women and flats? Melfi wears them too. They seem like they’d be counter productive in the rain and not all that comfortable or supportive. What the fuck do I care? I’ve never worn them and I never plan to. I’ll stick to my trainers, thanks. I don't want to surrender control. I don't want to be weak or vulnerable. I don't want to re-create the climate that allowed me to be abused and victimised like I was as a child. I'm afraid that if they see a weak spot in my armour, they'll stab me where I'm weak. I know they're there to help me, that I have an illness that I can't battle on my own, but I'm still afraid.

I also don't want to be taken advantage of. I don't want to be a marionette as I've been in the past. Like a sponge, I've soaked up all of these previous experiences and used them to build up better walls of security. All I've ever had is myself and if I fully lose myself then I'll have nothing. I will cease to exist...which is something I often wish. I'm completely contradictory in this sense. I don't want to be in this invisible agony, yet I'm terrified to let go of it. It's been the only constant in my entire life and the thought of change, of recovery, is unsettling, sometimes to the point I want to just pull my hair out and cry. I don't want want to be defined by others by this illness, yet I've done just that; defined my sense of self by it. It's not all that I am and in the times when I feel the sorrow lifting and the void is almost full, I'm a completely different person. I'm engaging, kind and warm. I've also used my illness as another layer of defence. Using my outbursts as a way to keep people at arm's length, so they don't know what's really wrong. I've lived almost all of my 26 years in the shadows. 

I realised that in the entire time that I’ve been in therapy, the past 7 years, I’ve never once cried in front of a therapist. I’ve never been able to let them see the little bit of vulnerability I have in me. I’m always putting on a front. I’m somewhat ashamed of what lurks beneath the borderline manic mask I always wear. I find it extremely difficult to talk about the way I feel about myself. I almost gagged when I actually admitted the words to Melfi a few months back. “I hate myself. Almost everything about myself. Its as if I’m filled with this toxic black goo.” Upon realising what I said, I cracked a smile and said, “Well, I do love my sharp wit and intellectual capabilities. Oh, is that the time?  I’ll see you next week at our usual day and time.” And slid out the door before she could ask me exactly what I meant. What did I mean? I guess I wanted to put it into a  physical perspective. I wanted to assign a visual site of being to the feelings that fill me most often. I wanted to separate myself from it. I didn’t want it to be a part of me, despite it really being part of me, living inside me.  I wanted her to see it as something entirely separate from me. 

I avoided the topic for weeks. I’d slipped and exposed myself. I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I wanted to hook her in again. I sensed she was getting bored with our usual setup and I wanted to draw her back in. Leave her with a cliffhanger. I didn’t want to explain it further to her and I still don’t.

Today, almost 6 months later, she asked me about it. “Are the lower moods like the black goo?” Honestly, after most of the shit she’s forgotten that I’ve told her, I was surprised she remembered the part about the goo. “No. The goo never actually leaves me.” “What?” “Even when I’m upbeat and confident and full of myself, that black goo of underlying depression and self-hatred is there. Its always there. It never leaves me.” "How do you mean?" "No matter what I do, in the back of my head there is a voice telling me that it doesn't matter, I don't matter. It whispers to me that I'm a constant joke, that I will never be good enough. There's this warped sort of emptiness that echoes through me." Her body language completely changed and she drew closer to me. Her tone was the softest I'd ever heard it as she said, "Dan...." I couldn't talk about it any further. I felt painfully vulnerable and exposed. For the first time in her office, I wasn't cocky or putting up a front. I pulled my knees to my chest and shut down. She didn't push it, either. She'd seen how quickly I can become defensive and volatile. 

I know what some of you must be thinking; ‘But Dan, you expose yourself here on Mental Masturbation. You talk about your personal struggles with depression, anxiety and mania.’ That’s true I do. I share many of my experiences here and offer the little tips that I’ve picked up to you guys. Sometimes they’re the little things that you don’t learn in therapy, but from living with a mental illness for almost two decades now. I’ve struggled with thoughts of self-hatred for almost my entire life. Thinking back to my earliest memories, I always felt uncomfortable with myself. I hated how I looked, how I spoke, how I always seemed to be the odd one out because of my interests. I’ve struggled with self-harming behaviours from the age of 11; some have been used as methods to cope with intense feelings of depression, isolation, euphoria, self-hatred, anxiety and nervous energy. Sometimes they’re impulses I simply have control over. Sometimes I just have to tilt my head to the left, snap my fingers twice and smack my head a few times. They’re the oddest little ticks. They don’t flare up too often anymore, mainly when I’m extremely stressed. I know the physical movement and the pain from said action will hurt me, distracting me from a situation at hand. My brain knows that it’s becoming overburdened and it needs to chill out so it sends a signal to my arm and down to my hand to slap my leg. For a moment my attention is drawn away and focused on the slap.  I’ve struggled with racing thoughts, upbeat perspective, the feelings that I’m invincible and nothing can touch me an that I need to take a risk. Risking it all because I had a thought or idea has caused a few grade-A fuckups. These thoughts started happening around the age of 13 for me, laying low for a few years and then sparking up again when I was 16. 

Sharing on here is different for me. I’m somewhat protected by a thin layer of anonymity. You see me, you know parts of me, but you don’t know enough of me to paint a complete picture. And most importantly, don't hold any sort of authority over me.

I need to be able to open up. It's an important part of the process. I've been through a lot of therapists in my time. It's okay to tell them you don't vibe with them. You need to find someone you can work with, someone you're comfortable with. Telling your therapist you may want to work with someone else isn't going to offend them. They're there to help you with your mental health and make sure that you get the best care available to you. It's an important fact to remember that some therapists are shit and some are good; it might take some time to find someone who you can work with. It's also important to remember that just because your mate's therapist is good for him/her, doesn't mean that their therapist will be a good fit for you. Listen to your needs and don't worry about others opinions. I've had some shit ones and some that I couldn't open up to like I've mentioned in this blog. 

I’m thinking I might actually end this series. I’m drained doing it and, really nobody cares. No one reaches out and or offers support, which was the entire purpose of this. I’ve tried to be there for people only to be blown off in favour of others. I’ve reached out and offered support to those who said they’ve needed someone. I’ve tried to make meaningful friendships and connections and it’s just not working for me. It’s been a struggle for me to come out and say that I struggle with mental illness, as I was constantly bullied throughout my school years for being a “psycho”, “mental patient” and all kinds of other names, a lot of them directed at my self-harm that other kids would see or if I’d lash out at someone. My own family gives me shit about being bipolar. “It’s all in your head.” “You’re fine, you’re just lazy.” Yes, because I love curling up into a ball under my desk while I drown in a sea of emptiness.  I can’t talk to them about the struggles in my life. It’s hard for me to open up because of this and the views on mental health outside the home. It’s hard to find people who you can properly trust when you’ve lived a life of abuse and neglect. This blog was supposed to be a catharsis for me, but it’s only made me feel more worthless and alone. 

I’m tired of internet personalities or internet “famous” people talking about mental health and being called brave or being told they’re loved and valuable, while I get told I’m an attention seeking fuckwit and that I should just kill myself. I’ve endured comments and negativity for so long, but I’ve finally reached the breaking point. It was more than just the hurtful comments from random people, it was my close mates never thanking me for the support that I’ve given them. It’s having them say that some internet celebrity helped them get over their depression, eating disorder, what have you or they’ve been inspired to get professional help because of them…Excuse me? What the fuck? Who’s been there for months and in some cases years? Giving support, love, money? Putting things aside to help? That’s gutted me the most and for me, for my mental health, I can’t be apart of this anymore. Sorry, I’m not one of the beautiful people. Fuck all of you.