I was in therapy with MA. I was having a hard time. Cereal was on the wall distracting me from MA. My eyes read Cereal front and back 6 times.
I changed seats 8 times. MA had to shift her seat to look at me.
“What’s that?” I asked her. I listened carefully.
“A baby dying” i whispered.
MA gave me a look. “There is no baby dying”
I knew there was. i heard footsteps.
“Lock the door” i said quietly.
“Your ok” MA sighed.
But i wasnt. I moved the chair in front of the door and plopped myself down. The room was silent. Not one voice.
The session ended. I raced out the door out the main door to the car my Uncle was waiting for me.
I saw a young Mom pushing a baby in a pink stroller. I knew it was THEE baby. I predicted she would die. today. i can predict things.
When I started therapy at the age of 7, I just started getting anxiety.
I was VERY shy. I couldnt look one in the eye.
I started intense therapy at the age of 15. I saw my therapist once a week.
I looked S in the eye and regretted it. I KNEW she could read my thoughts, I knew it!!
So she saw into my soul and that made me panic. She must have known all my secrets!!
I freaked myself out. SO i stopped talking in therapy. I mean, i wasnt silent, but my answers were one or two words.
I tried several therapists in my lifetime.
I got over the looking in the eye thing. I can proudly say now, i can look ANYBODY in the eye!
I currently have an AMAZING therapist.
“This is the part where Barbie dies” I told my therapist. I set Barbie on her dream houses roof and let go. She fell 3 stories and i clapped.
“She’s dead” “Now can i have a sticker?” I asked Beth.
“We still have 28 minutes” Beth told me.
I was 8. I recently started therapy. It was originally for having divorced parents…but ended up dealing with anxiety and voices.
I remember that day. I am not sure why, its stuck in my head.
Beth and I played Skip Bo. I got bored easily but didnt want to be rude. FINALLY the session was over and I got my much awaited sticker!
It took a few minutes to find THEE perfect sticker.
I picked a kitten, but didn’t wait it to scratch me. So i ended up with the butterfly. Beth gave me a hug, Dad picked me up and we went home.
Typical day back then.
“Why do you have so many sculptures in your office?” I asked Dr G. I looked around the room. There were sculptures of people being hung and caught on fire. It gave me an uneasy feeling
“Do they bother you?” Dr. G leaned back in his chair. I looked at him suspiciously.
“No” i said out flat.
He wrote something in a little red notebook.
“How have the voices been?” he asked me. I shrugged. He waited for more, but i had nothing. I just met this guy, how can i trust him?
It was a terrible session. After our session, we shook hands and I left.
He was my very least favorite psychiatrist i ever Had EVER.
My knee jiggled as i waited for my therapist. I was in the waiting room reading a Peoples magazine.
It had been a hard day at school. It was that week i got the rep as being a drug addict.
“Emily” Stacey called me. I set the magazine on the table and stood up. I followed Stacey to her office.
My knee jiggled again as I chatted with her. All the sudden i burst out in laughter. She looked at me suspiciously.
“Are you on something?” She asked me. I looked her dead in the eye and said NO.
Somehow, hearing voices came up . A topic i had NEVER spoken of before that day.
I casually mentioned Peter, a Hallucination.
I told her he was talking to me, in my head.
“That’s not normal” Stacey frowned. After my session, DAd came in. She told him she was concerned.
She recommended me seeing a psychiatrist.
So i did, a week later I saw Dr D. It was then i heard the word schizophrenia for the first time. I was told I had it.
To me it sounded so scary!!
Life just got tougher and rougher each day. Sometimes I wanted to give up, but i didnt.
I love therapy. I go weekly. Its the only 50 minutes a week where i can talk about ANYTHING i want!
My therapist S is AWESOME. She’s 70 years old. She has purple hair and tons of cool jewelry.
She is honest and trustworthy.
I have a lot of issues to address. I feel like i missed out on life growing up.
Instead of partying, clubs and such, i was locked up in psych wards, adjusting medication.
I never once went out on a Friday night.
I never had a REAL job, never went to college.
No boyfriend, no kids.
I want to get out to do more to keep me busy.
Yep, you only live once..and i am not living!
The only thing i dont like about therapy, is when the therapist takes notes. I feel like they are going to show what we talked about to other people.
I cant picture my therapist having her own life. She has a family, a home, a life.
Its like she was made to talk to me. Is that strange? IDK.
I am having therapy once a week for a couple months. Its the one time a week that i could talk about anything Id like!!
I love it.