9 Months On Medication

It’s been a while since I checked in regarding my treatment for my mental health! The last post was in September after my dose increased.

It’s been 9 months now. Time for an update.

This last week, I requested a different formulation of the medication. Instead of the slow release, I wanted the instant release. Because the medication also works as a sedative, I take it before bed and it helps me sleep, among other things. I wanted to get a more “set” bedtime, since I can go between 2 and 4 hours after taking my medication before I pass out.

I’ve also gotten back on birth control. After a few months on the higher dose, my periods got very, very heavy and uncomfortable. My PMS also worsened. I have a blood test on April 3 to see how my levels are. There may be a chance I’m anemic or close to it, so my doctor and I are going to check that just in case I need to start taking supplements.

I’ll also be following up with counselling, since I haven’t started that and I’ve been on the waitlist for 8 months.

The antipsychotics are great. I really do like them. They don’t make my life perfect, and my moods aren’t always balanced at a nice in-between. But I feel more able to work through my highs and lows in a much more accessible and healthy way now.

The downside, and part of why I wanted to switch from slow release to instant release? My eating habits have been affected. I have EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified) and after taking my medication each day, I found myself getting into a “munchie” state of mind—one very similar to when I indulge in some marijuana or liquor, neither of which I use regularly. (This weekend, I’m actually 3 months’ sober from alcohol and 17 months’ sober from marijuana!)

On account of the binge eating, and the holiday bulge because of Christmas and New Year’s, I’ve gained some weight. I’m trying not to let it get me down. I know bodies fluctuate and I know that my healthier lifestyle choices will make an impact on my body. I didn’t exercise much through the winter—my bedroom wasn’t set up to let me comfortably do home workouts, and I like to jog outside, but the weather was always too cold or icy for me to safely go running.

Now that spring is around the corner and the snow is melting, and now that I’ve finally, after almost a year, set up my bedroom to let me do all my different activities, I’ll be exercising more regularly. And hopefully the instant release medication will help me get better control and awareness on my eating during the day, as opposed to mindless and drowsy bingeing at night.

The last 9 months haven’t been the greatest in terms of life events or reaching my goals, but the medication has helped a lot.

Therapy Diary: 10 Weeks On Medication

I started medication on June 29, so it’s been exactly 10 weeks on these antipsychotics. It’s been incredibly good. I’ve felt like I can complete goals now, without something blocking my brain or telling me I should feel worthless or like I should give up all the time. The first 6-7 weeks were probably the best, but it’s not like recently has been bad!

Today I saw my doctor about adjusting the medication, and at the end of September I’m doubling my current dose (which is really low) to one that’s a more common amount for treatment.

I’ve felt more stable the past few months than I have in years. I’m sleeping more, my brain isn’t on overdrive half the time, I don’t feel useless the other half of the time. I’m really pleased with how I’ve been progressing—to the point I think I’m better and don’t need the medication. But that’s the medication talking. I feel more normal because of it.

I’m not entirely better—I had a… crisis, I guess, on August 30 that really shook me up because I hadn’t felt like that in months. Then I remembered that the way I felt that afternoon was the way I felt weekly, on average, and I can’t fathom how I survived through it that frequently. And I can understand why something like my crisis is serious and should be taken seriously—like it should have been every other time it happened when I was unmedicated and not in counselling.

These 10 weeks have been great. I’m looking forward to the next few months, how I progress, and all that stuff. I can safely say that getting medication, even without a formal psychiatrist’s diagnosis, has helped me.

Basically, it’s been 10 weeks on medication for bipolar and my doctor said I looked happier, my brother and dad say I’ve been more consistent, and my goal completion is a testament to my emotions.

Therapy Diary: Week 1 On Medication

Blue and white paint splattered and dripping down a black wall.

At the end of June, I saw my doctor to get referrals and support systems underway for my mental health. I haven’t seen a professional for my mental health since April 2016, and my mood and motivation were all over the place. I know that I need additional help, so seeing my doctor to get a referral to counselling or psychiatric treatment was necessary.

So, I have the counselling scheduled! Sort of. They need to do an intake appointment, which is on July 31 (far away, I know, but it’s pretty speedy for where I live), and that isn’t even like… the start of counselling. My doctor started getting referrals processed for me to see a psychiatrist for a formal diagnosis of my situation, and gave me a prescription for a low dose of medication to help me out. It has a sedative property to it, which is partly why this specific drug was prescribed: I have awful sleep problems.

It’s been 1 week since I’ve been on the meds and… I’ll be honest, I’m not sure if they’re doing much. I’ve kept a journal to record when I finish eating for the day, when I take the pill, when I feel sleepy, and when I fall asleep. I’ve discovered that the sedation effect comes into play when I take the pill on an empty stomach, or 60 – 90 minutes after eating my last meal. I’m still not getting a balanced amount of sleep—it ranges from 5 hours to 12 hours—but it’s still only the first week.

I’ll admit, I like having the routine of taking a pill at the same time every day. That’s something I liked when I had the birth control pill. Having the routine of taking my medicine, then brushing my teeth and washing my face, helps set me up for bed rather than waiting until it’s bedtime to do those things.

My period started the second day of the medication, and with how my hormones affect me, I’m unsure what’s from the medication and what’s from hormones. I normally have a very good day when my period starts (which is really weird, I know; I’m all happy-go-lucky, then oops, menses!) and am either dissociated or lethargic during my period. I have been a bit lethargic some days—as in, I’ve been sleeping more—so it probably was a combination of the medication and hormones.

Since I’m on literally the lowest dose possible of this medication, there’s also the possibility that it’s not doing anything or I’m not feeling it. I definitely felt it the first day I took it, but it’s hard to know if it’s doing anything if I’m not also experiencing side effects.

There are a lot of side effects, as there are with… anything.

One of the less common ones is experiencing symptoms of infection, such as fever, sore throat, coughing, and I started experiencing that on the 3rd. However, my brother was sick, so I could actually be sick (again!)—in any case, it’s basically gone today.

I’m hopeful that medication will help me, though, even if this one doesn’t. I’d prefer if it did, since I wouldn’t have to switch and try new ones. But I know one of the other side effects is weight gain, and I don’t know what I’ll do if that happens to me. I’ve been trying to lose weight for 4 years. I was weighed when I saw my doctor, and I was back at my highest fucking weight again. Granted, I don’t think I’m carrying as much fat as I was 4 years ago—but I’m still unhappy with my body, and how it looks and feels. I’ve managed some workouts this first week (cardio, strength training), but it’s hard to exercise when the temperature is high. I’m susceptible to heat exhaustion and need to be careful doing any exertion in the summer.

Anyway! This first week has been… okay, I guess? It’s still really early on, and I need to be aware of patterns moreso than immediate changes. I’ve also been reading a lot of forums where people talk about their experiences on this medication, and it feels like I’m in the minority. I don’t feel like a zombie, I don’t have a lot of side effects, and my mood seems fine. But I go through periods of “fine” moods, and then experience highs and lows (AKA bipolar, which is what my doctor and I suspect)—which is why I saw my doctor. I need more balance in my life, and all the yoga, jogging, meditating, journalling, and healthy eating isn’t doing enough. There’s something wrong with my brain, and the medication is for my sick head.

Opening Up About My Eating Disorder

I’m not going to get into how my disordered eating arose, or why it began, or whatever else I think started it. The beginnings don’t matter in this case. I want it to end.

It’s easy to self-diagnose an eating disorder once you become aware of it. Maybe I have a specific eating disorder that a professional could inform me of—whether it’s binge eating or not—but the fact remains: I have an eating disorder. Sometimes I binge. Sometimes I purge. Sometimes I eat and I’m like “I have more energy now!” and carry on with my day.

I’m obsessed with how I look. I’m obsessed with the food I put into my body. I’m obsessed with nutrient information. And those obsessions aren’t necessarily a bad thing. They can be a motivator—a way to improve self-esteem, get stronger, and be knowledgeable about what you eat—if there’s a positive drive. But when looking at myself, feeding my body, and reading nutrient labels, the underlying emotion is guilt.

I can’t eat anything without being ashamed for eating it. Nobody else shames me these days—I distinctly remember people criticising my eating up until I was 16. Tuna salad… yogurt… Someone always had something to say to tell me I was doing it wrong, or at least in a way that let me know they were judging me.

The pattern of shame and guilt has continued, even when nobody comments on my eating. Sometimes people do, and I ask them not to; it’s a trigger for me. Even a simple, “Oo, hungry today?” or “That looks so delicious,” can remind me that 1) people see what I eat and 2) people have judged me for it. A well-meaning comment doesn’t mean I’ll take it that way. It’s hard to outgrow associations in your formative years.

I could eat two boiled eggs, half an avocado, and a banana, and I’ll find a way to feel ashamed and guilty for eating.

Let me repeat that:

I’ll find a way to feel ashamed and guilty for eating.

What kind of life is that to live? Not being able to eat without berating myself and feeling like I’m doing something wrong?

“Feeding myself is wrong.”

“Eating this is bad.”

“I should eat something better.”

There’s so much morality attached to my eating habits and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of feeling like I’m not allowed, like something is forbidden, like this plateful is taboo. Those adjectives are so fucking abstract anyway—wrong? Bad? Better? There’s a comparative to them that I don’t acknowledge. If there’s a wrong, there’s a right. A bad, a good. A better, a worse.

The right is eating. The wrong is eating something that will hurt you.

The good is eating. The bad is eating something that will hurt you.

The worse is bingeing. The better is eating.

I recently got out of a binge cycle that made my mouth sore, my stomach upset, and my intestines ache. Getting out of my head and focusing on my body is good enough to tell me that I made a mistake.

It’s a mistake I don’t want to make again, or at least not as often as I did.

I’ve been trying for four years to break out of my disordered eating. In 2014, I made some progress. In 2015, I made some progress. This year, I haven’t made much progress. But I’m determined now to truly break away from it.

I’ve set up a book for helping me through this. In it, I’ve listed some goals:

  • Overcome bingeing
  • Develop a healthy relationship with food
  • Create awareness with my body

I’m trying to relearn my hunger, and it’s worked incredibly well the past 7 months. I let myself be hungry before I eat, especially when I know I have 1) easy access to food; and 2) good food coming soon. To me, there’s no point in trying to “maintain” a level of hunger that isn’t hungry. So many places for health and eating suggest snacking and meals in order to bring down levels of hunger so you’re not hungry.

Why? Why should I stop feeling hungry? Why should I dash that gurgle in my tummy away?

Unless I’m lightheaded, dizzy, weak, sluggish, tired, or anything affecting my activity, there’s no reason to chase away the hunger so soon. I’ve come to enjoy it. It’s a small conversation with my body, with my organs. I’m not going to deprive my stomach food when it wants it. I’ll just do it after we’ve had a little talk.

I’m also not going to punish my body with workouts, whether it’s cardio, strength training, or yoga. My body is strong and deserves a place to show off its strength: that’s where exercise comes in for me. It’s a celebration of my skills. A way to remind my mind that my body can do things that my mind said it couldn’t. In a way, my body gives the middle finger to that corner of festering guilt and shame. It says, “You see this? You see what I’m doing? You never believed in me. You have nothing to refute this strength.”

It’s impossible to refute the strength of my body. My mind and willpower are the ones who need to change—not my body.

I talk about my eating disorder, and how the guilt and shame of eating has ruined my happiness.

Therapy Diary: Day 7

Blue and white paint splattered and dripping down a black wall.

My first short-term therapy session was on January 15 and the last was on March 18. It’s been two months since I last saw my counsellor and I can definitively say that even this short amount of counselling was helpful.

What’s Changed?

I’m doing more yoga and I’ve been approaching it differently than I did last year. There’s something more to it now. Before, it was focus on shape and form and getting a pose correct. Now, I focus on how it feels: how I can feel my strength or my weakness; my inhales and exhales. In particular, I can feel a connection between all of my body parts. Yoga has been one of the best practises I could have chosen, since it drastically lowers my dissociation—though I still struggle with it.

I’m also more aware of what sets me off/what triggers me. In particular, what triggers my anger and my panic attacks. I can’t even describe how this has helped me be able to even deal with life. From talking to people to running errands to sitting alone, I’m aware of my emotions and understand how to express or disperse them.

What’s The Same?

My depression is still fairly the same. I’m not that happy and barely anything gives me joy. But I’m trying not to dwell on that, on how I should be, or how I want to be. I know my friends have noticed it, and I’m trying not to talk about it because it’s a cyclical conversation. I’ll start talking about being depressed and it increases. This isn’t something I’ve learned to resource/cope with/deal with/etc. Pick a synonym.

I’m also still struggling with my dissociation. It isn’t as intense as it was in January, but it’s still around. I feel like the film on top of a stew left to cool on the stove. Like, I’m still part of the stew—or my Self—but it isn’t the same. I can’t simply stir the film back into the stew to have a whole stew—a whole Self.

What Next?

I’m going to be completely honest here: I don’t know.

I do not know what to do next.

I know I still have a lot of work ahead of me, but I’m not ready to take on more. I’m just going to continue doing what I’m doing and hope that, little by little, something else will change. I guess there won’t be anything new to do: simply practising what I’ve learned in the hopes it’ll become habit or second-nature instead of a conscious effort.

Therapy Diary Day 7

Therapy Diary: Day 6

Blue and white paint splattered and dripping down a black wall.

Pre-Session

I woke up at 6:45am because someone was being loud outside the house, on the street level below my window. I take too long to get back to sleep, but I wake up to my alarm and snooze it—not because I want to keep sleeping, but because I want to do some light yoga to help get my body awake. And not as stiff.

My morning prep is routine and a bit of a blur. I make a cup of coffee—instant, hazelnut flavour. Measured meticulously so I don’t fuck it up and make it overly sweet or bitter or watery or milky. It’s divine. Cheerios for breakfast, along with a banana.

I’ll do the dishes when I’m back. I’ll probably be five minutes late for my 11:00am appointment, but that’s okay. Better late than never.

Session

I feel like I’m relaying everything I’ve learned. I still haven’t mentioned to her the various hallucinations that have started cropping back up. I’m not ready. But she remarks on the differences I’ve told her, and encourages me. She gives me some more advice, as she normally does, and all I can think about is my pride.

I say, “I don’t know,” a lot, and don’t feel bad about it.

We talk about the past, the future, and my memory. I get more advice on a technique to deal with my childhood trauma—and the things that trigger it—in order to help with my thought process. That kinda cognitive behavioural stuff, y’know.

I’ve been being kinder to myself and it shows. My dissociation is still strong, but I said it was more like I was attached to my body as a balloon on a string, instead of my body dragging along a suitcase. She enjoys my analogies. She’s big on them.

Since I’ve been doing yoga daily this week, I think I’ve been more mindful and present in my body. Starting off, she said we would be working on mindfulness. At first, I thought it was that mumbo-jumbo about “being present” and “being here” and “being aware” that doesn’t have a specific recipient. Present where? Where is “here”? What am I aware of?

But that was the point. I’ve learned how to be more all-encompassingly mindful. I’m more aware of others and I’m more aware of myself. I’m not so much in a fog as I once was.

I talk about my former room mate (who she later said was “Satan room mate” and I laughed), my boyfriend, and my bunny. I know that having my rabbit with me has helped me put to practice what I’ve been taught.

Everything goes back to the same system of roots. The same seedling that grew into a tree, strengthened by the many events and situations that developed its foundation and how deep it planted itself. I’m encouraged to sow new seeds and nurture them.

I haven’t made as much progress on my psychosomatic connection, but that’s okay. There’s no rush to an “end” since this is all stuff I need to continually practice and refine. The sparkly feeling in my shoulders is back. I’m more aware of where my emotions sit in my body—the physical reaction to my feelings, to put it simply. I just don’t know what to do with it.

This session progresses really quickly.

Post-Session

I have another cup of coffee because holy crap this instant coffee tastes so good. I’m less disoriented today than from previous sessions. We didn’t reschedule immediately, so I’ll have to make an appointment at a later date. I’m not sure when I’ll schedule it for, but I don’t want to simply not reschedule.

This has been too helpful to neglect. I don’t think I’ll “regress” or anything like that. I’ve learned too much and grown and changed so much that doing so—going back to how I was—would be literally impossible.

The rest of my day is incredibly productive. Work work and school work get done. I even make some progress on taxes.

Starting this therapy was an act of self-love.

Therapy Diary: Day 6

Therapy Diary: Day 5

Blue and white paint splattered and dripping down a black wall.

Pre-Session

I’ve had a gruelling morning. My co-worker and I were attempting to make some changes on our employer’s website—something that should be easy for me—but ran into obstacle after obstacle after obstacle. All I’m gonna say: if you hire a third party to register and set up your website, make sure you save the credentials for logins to your registrar and host. Fuck. We had hoped to relax after an assumed quick fix by watching a movie, but didn’t have time to do so.

I’ve been plagued by migraines all week, but today has been alright. Some slight discomfort, but nothing as terrible as Monday or Tuesday. Last night I didn’t sleep very well, unfortunately. The initial stages of falling asleep seem to be the most difficult for me, all the getting comfortable and feeling restful. On top of that, my sleep was broken up a bunch.

Initially, my session was scheduled for last Friday, but the headcold I had came first and I prioritised sleep above therapy. It was a good decision. The offices then bumped my appointment up an hour—a small scheduling error on their part—and I’m glad for that. Means there’s less time for me to build up any nervousness.

Today, I plan on telling my therapist that I’m not sure where to go from here. That I feel like I’m talking in circles. A few of the exercises she gave me have helped immensely, so I want to get more of those. They’re concrete. I can work with them more easily than with abstract thought mechanisms.

In my class yesterday, my professor gave me the best definition of Freud’s id, ego, and super ego theories. I think I’m going to mention it to my therapist. I think my super ego is overdeveloped, in a sense, and has suffocated both my id and ego. Like an iceberg turned upside down.

I’ve also been dwelling in a lot of dissatisfaction and discouragement. And I want to mention how terrible I am with setting goals and my whole attitude toward them in general.

We’ll see what happens. I have about an hour to kill until I need to go to the building. I chose the 3pm slot instead of the 2pm slot, since I figured I wouldn’t face the dilemma of “Do I knock on the door? Should I wait elsewhere?” if the 2pm slot remains free—which it might not.

Maybe I should do some yoga. Or take a shower. I definitely need to eat lunch. I’m still nervous, but this time because I’m not sure where or how to continue. But I know that the best method to resolve this is not to just stop going—it’s to mention it to my therapist. The key is communication, after all.

I’ve been craving junk food all week. Maybe I’ll get something tonight. But maybe I won’t.

Session

I arrive a little late and the door is propped open. A gentle knock. The standard routine—she signs me in and I remove my coat and boots. Lotus position.

Head nodding. Some resources to reference back to. I feel very good about myself.

I’m understanding more this time around. My nerves have dissipated. I don’t think I’m ready yet to dive into one of the techniques she’s had me go through each session, but it’s in my mind and I’m aware of it. That’s already a step in the direction of utilising it. It’s like a habit I have to pick up.

A good analogy. Praise. A sparkly movement in my shoulders.

She sits beside me to explain the resources and it’s the closest we’ve ever been to each other. Her winged eyeliner is on fleek omg. All of our interactions have been in this dim room, her a few feet away in one chair or the other. I’ll re-type these sheets when I have some spare time this weekend. One of them looks especially helpful, but I want to change the format. I’ll give the current column set-up a try, since there’s no harm in trying it that way. But I get the feeling a mind-map layout would work better for me.

Nebulous thoughts.

She moves my awareness elsewhere and it confuses me. I realise how comfortably out of my body I’ve been this week. My emotional reactions have been stunted somatically. I think that’s the next journey to take.

2 weeks until the next one. I think the time to process and experiment and put in effort by myself will help me.

Post-Session

I think I’ll treat myself to some greasy, carb-filled food today—simply because I want to and don’t feel bad about wanting it. Maybe a buffalo chicken poutine from a small restaurant around the corner.

Since I didn’t cry this time, and I don’t feel shaken up or moved around, I can dive right into some schoolwork I have.

Progress. Onward.

Therapy Diary Day 5

Therapy Diary: Day 4

Blue and white paint splattered and dripping down a black wall.

Pre-Session

I woke up late. I had a meeting with my employer and co-workers beforehand. My appointment is earlier in the day, which is alright. I don’t have a chance to feel anxious for the session. But I also don’t have much time to get ready for it, either. I eat breakfast and shower late, and then arrive 5 minutes after my appointment is supposed to start. At least this time around, the door is open and I don’t feel awkward approaching it.

Session

I have trouble focusing and being present. Some of what I say feels like verbatim repetition of earlier sessions, but again: patterns. The time flies by quickly, despite the long bouts of silence from me. In a way, my counsellor helps guide me through a meditative exercise. I tell her often that it is difficult, and that having difficulties learning something new makes me feel frustrated. My crying this session is less violent. Just tears and a head-filled sadness and emotional release.

I talk about my body image issues and receive tools for combating my hyper-critical thoughts and judgements about myself. She emphasises balance over removal of the thoughts.

A bridge analogy. Fluidity between extremes. A flow and an ebb between deep sea and shallow shore, rather than a metronome tick between left and right. I think of the moon and its cycles from full visibility to full shadow. Something in me feels peace, but I don’t know where and have trouble accessing it.

Post-Session

I feel like I learned the most in this session. It will be three weeks until I’m in here again, the dimmed light and green walls making me feel almost safe. Instead of leaving and feeling a little disoriented, unsure, and emotionally shuffled, I have taken away knowledge. I am more aware of how to be mindful.

I return to my journal, left closed after the page from the first session. I want to make lists and find the thoughts I need to balance out the ones I currently have. There is effort needed. Pure effort. A desire to make a change. Learning how to try has been one of the hardest lessons for me to start, let alone master.

I can think of a future.

I am motivated to look forward to something.

This is definitely progress.

The fourth session in my therapy experience.

Therapy Diary: Day 3

Blue and white paint splattered and dripping down a black wall.

Pre-Session

I don’t want to go today, but it’s too late to cancel without needing to pay a cancellation fee. I don’t know why I don’t want to go, but I’m not thinking hard on it.

I know I’m doing something good for myself. I am reminding myself to be patient, to be kind to myself, to be mindful of how I express and feel and react.

When I arrive on the hour for the beginning of my session, the door is closed. The meeting room adjacent, with its windows and boardroom table and multiple chairs, has a few people sitting around in it. I hesitate outside the door. Should I knock? I knocked last time, but something tells me I should stop. I kill time by going to the bathroom and then come back. My instincts were right. I hear voices near the door and it opens. I give a small smile to the person coming out of the door, and feel awkward standing right outside. I know how it feels to walk out of that room. She smiles but I can tell she was crying. I know the puffy face. I still don’t know the protocol. Perhaps, for future sessions, I’ll wait around, be a few minutes late, and see if the door is open when I arrive.

Session

At this point, I feel like I’m repeating myself. Didn’t I say this before? Didn’t I relay this information already? But these are patterns, not verbatim repeats and replays. And all these things I feel, all these parts of me, have one source. Not multiple sources. There are roots in a poisoned ground, and all these shaking leaves, these rushing winds past branches, come up from those series of roots.

I am a computer and my files are being defragmented. I am being rearranged, and it’s taking time, but once the process is done–not forever, of course; it will require maintenance–but once it is completed this first time, this long-haul and messy process, I can access things more easily.

There is nothing inherently wrong with me. I have just been broken so many times without any repairs.

Metaphors, analogies, comparisons. Because emotions are hard to talk about.

Post-Session

When I return home, I notice Netflix has added Inside Out. Watching it—this was the first time—was a serendipitous moment. Content from my session lined up with this beautiful, fantastic, and (I believe) important movie. I feel a bit better. I don’t do much else for the day, but that’s okay with me. I need to be alone and let my emotions do their thing, my files rearrange, my branches shed their leaves and regrow.

Still nervous and scared.

The third session in my therapy experience.

Therapy Diary: Day 2

Blue and white paint splattered and dripping down a black wall.

Pre-Session

I’m nervous again but I get the feeling that this is normal and will possibly lessen as I get more comfortable with this interaction and entire shift in mindset.

Before my session, I run a few errands. It is 3 minutes before my appointment time and the door is closed. Last session, it was propped open. I am nervous, hesitate, then lightly knock on the door. My hands are overflowing with my overcoat and personal effects—I thought I would be late and rushed to get here, despite the fact that the two places I went were in the same hall. I am grateful for the “Just a sec!” response. I put things away and the door opens.

Session

I feel confident.

And I know I’m faking most of it.

I try to pay attention to some things, but I am hyper-aware of myself and how my gaze blanks out straight ahead of me, toward a filing cabinet and a poster that has Comic Sans in the titles.

We are always growing, changing, and learning—even the people who are unkind, or seem to judge and reject us.

Sit with an emotion to see what it does.

Be kind to yourself.

I blank on things to say and talk about. I don’t know why, but I’m not going to explore the why. I’m only going to explore what I want to talk about. For next session, I hope I can remember the ones I forgot for this one. And I hope I can have the courage to mention the ones I was still too afraid to mention.

Post-Session

Am I a fake? This is all pointless and I’m failing at it. I can’t open up enough. I can’t get comfortable and let myself do this. I feel blocked and resistant and I don’t know why. I think a part of me doesn’t want to get help, or be helped, or learn something about help and being helped.

And of course I blame myself for this. As if something is wrong with me, when really there isn’t anything wrong or different or abnormal. Everyone I know has mentioned the difficulty of starting therapy.

I still feel like I’m the only one doing something wrong.

Even safe spaces have adjustment periods.Therapy Diary: Day 2--Blog post about my personal experience going into therapy for my mental health. Day 2 = The second session.