Method to the Madness

It was so hard when I first started therapy. That one hour felt so long when I initially thought of it. I couldn’t imagine what I could say to this stranger, since usually I was at a loss for words when meeting someone new.

I entered the room, sat, and looked at this person who would assess me, but didn’t feel judgmental at all. Her presence was calm, and despite her not speaking a lot, I felt safe and secure.

Over quite a few months, this person would listen to me and being seen and understood was so addictive that all the things that had been hidden for the longest time were coming out of me, and I couldn’t hold them back anymore.  It would seem that it was not a matter of not having something to say, but a lack of people to listen. In the therapeutic space, not only was I contained and all my feelings were accepted, but I was supported in feeling them. I had moved from not knowing what to talk about to not being able to stop talking, and then moved into deciding in which direction we are going to go with discovering who I was. At the end of the day, coping with different situations was a matter of skill as far as I could understand it.

I had always been a person who introspects. Sitting with myself and analysing a problem was my go-to, but now I had a sounding board to help me identify flaws in my reasoning and what I still needed to learn. It is very Coraline-like in a sense, except the “other mother” was supportive, gave good advice and didn’t shame me when I made a mistake. Even physically looked quite similar to my own mother, to be honest. It wasn’t conscious at first, but now that I am thinking back on it, it was clear as day, and maybe that is what helped us connect so easily.

We started by meeting every week, and I got permission to feel absolutely miserable and evolved to meeting every two or three weeks so I could present my research and my progress. It was very much an opportunity to right the course if adjustments were needed.

It seemed that everything had a perfect rhythm, but the circumstances made it so that our partnership had to come to an end. I had been explained why it had to be this way, and I had been allowed to adjust to the reality that was to come. It was very scary to think that I had found a safe space, and now I am losing it, and I might need to go back to a period of scarcity.

I had hoped that I could get recommendations for other therapists, but I was told that it is too personal a relationship for that. I must find the person who was right for me. When I felt strong enough, I let her know that I was ready to step into the world and she could let go of my hand.

For a time, I was just fine. I was able to have a routine and fit all of the healthy habits that I needed for managing myself effectively and efficiently into my way of dealing with life. I was stronger and more stable than I had ever been. All was looking up until the email came that we all had to go back into the office. Not for the time that we had been promised of three out of five days, but we would have to be back four out of five and as soon as possible. All of this for the culture.

I found myself back in the office feeling alone and disconnected. Exposed in the middle of a room full of people who were not communicating and connecting. I felt that we were alone together. All of us were hyperaware of the door opening, meerkats in corporate headsets. All of us were alert to every little change, and the days felt long. We were allowed a period of adjustment before fully ramping up to four days a week, but it felt incredibly hard to be there. I felt drained, I found myself bursting into tears at the end of the day and rewarding myself all the way home, knowing I would have to go again in a couple of days.

I didn’t know how I could be so weak. I had gone to the office for five days a week, I had been resilient, and now, I was barely able to sit in this place with people I  had known for years. I felt like I had no friends in the room. Experiencing my emotions in real-time made me unable to cope.

I tried to find another therapist to help with this new challenge, and I have been told that I should ask my GP for a referral. I set up the appointment, discussed the situation, and for once, I received real feedback about the state of affairs. I was told that, despite the fact that my problems were real, they would not be a priority for a system that was struggling. That I would probably have my file sitting in a pile for a couple of months, and then I would be refused. I was then sent to speak to charities and see what they could do.

I looked online and found a few and called them. I was told that they could do two to four sessions. Which is something, but it is barely enough time for someone to understand the problem, let alone find a way to address the situation. I decided that there is no point in wasting their time.  

Next up, I tried to contact my Employee Assistance Program provider. I called them, and I opted to do the six sessions rather than have individual conversations. That meant they had to outsource to another company that would match me with a therapist. Asking for help is one of the hardest things, and this has tested me as I had to chase them and advocate for myself. I did have the support of my mental health first aider, and he has given me strength because once again, I was not managing with everything alone.

With this new therapist, I have had to follow a different format. We would assess my situation every two sessions, and she has brought about two revelations. One was that there is still an aura of mourning in me, which was bizarre because I was very clear where I stood with my ex; I stood with it, and it brought the revelation that it was not mourning the loss of him but the loss of his family that had also been mine. Their love and their support, the parts that were missing in mine that they fulfilled, were gone, so I didn’t have only one breakup; I had multiple little ones to boot. Parts of my life that I cherished, and I will not be able to keep because of him. The second one was that while life might fill my glass, I am unable to effectively empty it until my cup overflows, and I end up burnt out. Valuable information, but alas, our time was ending, and when I had to go through my final evaluation, I was doing worse than I was in the beginning. Not her fault, just my health is also becoming a factor and adding to the hardships. Her final questions were if I was likely to take time off, to which I said that I would, but not stress leave, just annual leave. I assume that it was very much against her goals because she seemed upset and disappointed with my replies.

Again, here I was without a therapist but facing a new concept. MENTAL HEALTH PRIVILEGE! Some people can maintain their positive attitude towards life with ease.  They know how they can manage hard situations. They know that if they talk about their feelings, they will not be looked at as weak or seen as a liability. I have to fight my demons every day before I get out of bed, and, exhausted, I have to go and face the same challenges as everybody else, but not with the same skills. While I am not starting from a good mental health position, I  realised that I did have privilege, though. I had the money to access mental care professionals on my own.

One of my friends was doing therapy, and I asked if I would be able to do sessions with her as well. As that was not possible, as it would interfere with my friend’s process, I received a recommendation, and thus, I would switch from Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) to Jungian psychoanalysis.

While CBT deals with the conscious mind and looks at patterns in behaviours to help navigate situations, Jungian Psychoanalysis looks at both the conscious and the unconscious mind and the integration of them to further understand oneself. It looks at dream analysis, and it delves into early childhood emotions in order to find the source of emotions.

When I first heard about dream analysis, my first reaction was that I would not be able to do any of that because I don’t dream, but I do love props. I bought myself a dream journal so Ican document my dreams, and a dream dictionary to help me interpret them. Such a lovely treat to look beyond the veil and read the energies, just like tarot and see if it is trauma or just a wild imagination. As soon as I thought it, I had the wildest dreams. I kept on dreaming about keys, losing them, finding them, receiving and for some strange reason, I kept on dreaming about rabbits.

On meeting my new therapist, I found her to be a comforting presence as well, also resembling my mother, but a younger version of her this time.  This version was about my age, and she was a version of me that knew how to deal with life and what comes up. It did feel like she was the cast member that joins in the sixth season, and I worried that she wouldn’t understand me. I was trying to convey years of sessions into an hour. To explain where I am, who I am and how far I have travelled.

I was excited to start this new journey. I felt that it was coming at the right time. This change in strategy was going to propel me further on my way. I would be able to talk and dream my way to accepting who I was and see how I came to be that way. Since in the first part, I got to know who I am, in this second chapter of my life, I would perhaps learn how to love myself and be comfortable living in the confines of my mind.