Counseling Saved My Life Twice

The first time I saw a therapist was because I was deeply clinically depressed.  I was in my early thirties and could hardly function.  It was only because of my two young children that I forced myself to get up in the morning and take care of them.  I ended up separating from my husband and eventually divorcing him.  But, I was still depressed.  Now on my own with shared custody of the kids life became better and worse at the same time.

When a person is depressed, it is hard to accomplish anything.  I had stayed at home with my kids to rear them and my husband was the breadwinner.  After leaving him, I got a job as a receptionist and because I shown myself to be smart and capable, "other duties as assigned" became the norm as more and more work became a part of my responsibilities.  I vividly remember sitting at the typewriter messing up an address on an envelope and my anger exploding.  I could no longer deny that I really wasn't doing okay.

I found an LSMW that was part of a Christian organization that charged the hourly fee on a sliding scale.  My charge for each visit was $5.  That should give you an idea of why my salary was making it hard to make ends meet.  I was reassured that religion was not a part of the therapy so I made my first appointment.

I found my way to the church and Elaine's office.  I knocked on the door and a short old lady opened the door, smiled, and asked me to come in.  This woman looked like my grandmother.  How the hell was she supposed to help me?  She ended up being probably the wisest woman I have ever known.

She said that I needed to see her twice a week and then as time went on we could discuss tapering off to once a week and then eventually I wouldn't need to see her at all.  I had no experience with this type of thing so I didn't understand that this meant I was in a serious state.  I agreed to it only thinking about how the $10 a week would impact my finances.

After a few sessions she suggested I go on an antidepressant.  I balked.  I can do this.  I only need to figure it out.  My brain power alone can do this.  Elaine persisted and kept pointing out how the feelings I was expressing and the moments in my life that I shared with her all pointed to me needing to take medication. Plus, if I was able to figure this out why hadn't I already done it?

One very difficult afternoon I finally had to stop denying my need and accept her advice when I saw an image of myself in my head.  I was at the edge of a precipice.  It was very dark and very deep.  I looked down into it and I knew if I let myself fall into it, I would never come back.  I would go crazy and lose myself forever.  I had been holding on to sanity by my fingernails for a while and was doing so because of my children.  I had to admit the will to continue to be strong on my own would not last.

The next visit I had with Elaine, I told her what I saw and that I agreed with her - I needed an antidepressant.  Even in the midst of my emotional pain and barely hanging on, I could see she was relieved.  I can be a stubborn SOB so she had her work cut out for her and this must have given her such satisfaction and solace.  The part of me that could still think straight realized she had been scared for me.

Elaine told me about her supervisor and how she is required to keep him abreast of her clients.  He was a psychiatrist that could write scripts and he would await my call to see him.

Rose and Jeff cont.

She was happy yet scared.  How selfish was it of her that as Jeff faced the surgery that he needed to save his life she was worried about how she would once again continue on making a life for herself without the one she loved.  She thought back again and compared the two.  Now was different from then. 

She had loved Tim with every molecule of her body.  From the first time she saw him, something fantastical and strange happened and she felt complete.  Those feelings of searching for something, needing something else that she couldn't make sense of always playing like a recording on repeat had left her.  They just weren't there anymore.  That is why on that day when he was drunk and took the car keys she thought her life had ended, too.  She thought she would never recover from the loss and the guilt but mostly from the pain.  The pain was what was overwhelming.  That part of herself that she finally found and reveled in as it snapped easily into place into her core had been ripped from her.  Before meeting him she knew she was missing something but it was undefinable.  After that awful night she knew exactly what it was that she was missing and that she would never have it back.  The incompleteness drilled deeply through her heart and kept going until it made a cavern in her soul.  That was why she could hardly get out of bed.  That was why she didn't care if she ate.  Her cat, Lovey, was the only companionship she could tolerate.  Her therapist was the one that pulled her up and helped her to find herself again.

Rose heard Jeff's footsteps as he reached the screen door.  He walked as if he were a much larger man.  "Hey, Sweetheart.  You OK," he asked as he looked at her through the mesh.

Rose swiveled in the chair and got up.  "Yep.  Hungry?"

Happy Birthday To Me

Just putting one foot in front of the other is laborious.
Just breathing is hard.
How does one push forward when the wheel on your wheelbarrow is cripplingly bent?
No amount of glue, duct tape, or mending can close up the gash.
The cherished memories are rammed by the hurtful ones causing explosions of flames creating burnt-edged holes in my heart, mind, and soul.
My North Star has gone missing.
My blanket guarding me against the cold was lifted by the storm.
Happy Birthday to me.

Rose and Jeff prologue

She could either stay curled up in a ball on her bed or start her day. One would lead to catharsis and the other to more wallowing in the pain she already felt. She looked out the window and saw the sun and blue sky. The cat, which was perched on the end of her bed, got up, stretched, meowed, and jumped down. She watched the feline haughtily walk out the bedroom door. If the cat could do it, so could she.

Today was going to be the start of the end. She unfurled herself and laid her head back on the pillows. As she looked up at the ceiling, she claimed this day the end of guilt, the end of remorse, and the end of anger. Her eyes quickly filled with tears that overflowed onto her cheeks, ran down the sides of her face, and tickled her ears as their descent slowed and pooled. She made no sounds. She stopped sobbing so long ago. Somehow someway she was going to make this pain stop. She was going to find a way.

She wiped her face with her hands and sat up. She had lost weight because she just hadn't had the energy to eat let alone cook anything nourishing. She felt weak and her long brown hair was a tangled mess. Her t-shirt hung off of her shoulders. She lifted her arm, smelled her armpit and said out-loud to herself, “Gross.”

The cat ran back into the bedroom and flew onto the bed coming to a quick stop in front of her. She couldn't help but laugh. She reached over and petted her. She loved the sound of her cat's purr. It was like a little motor boat and the rumble of it represented happiness.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed the picture of him on the dresser seemed to jump out at her. With a sharp intake of breath she refused to again be consumed by her emotions. She forced her eyes from the photograph over to the mirror and this time gasped with disgust. “Oh my God,” she said as she turned to the cat. “Lovey.....how can you even look at me?” Lovey answered by rubbing against Marcia's arm.

She walked to the bathroom and peeled off her t-shirt and underwear balling them up as she threw them into the already overflowing hamper. One arm of her t-shirt peeked out from under the lid as if it wasn't ready to say that final goodbye. The tiled floor felt cool under her feet. It felt solid and sure. Lovey jumped onto the lid of the toilet and watched as Marcia turned on the shower and tested the water temperature. She reached over and tickled Lovey's head prior to entering the stall.

The spray of water hit the top of her head as she bowed under its stream leaning with both hands on the shower wall. A flash of memory assaulted her. “You bitch!” He was slurring his words as spittle sprayed from his lips. Shit. Breath. Breath through it. Let it happen and then let it pass. And so she did.

She walked back into the bedroom naked and wet from the shower. She no longer felt dirty but she knew the memories would still cause her to feel unclean. For how long was anyone's guess. What did the therapist say? Everyone grieves at his or her own pace. What a crock of shit. Well, maybe it wasn't but she figured she was partly still in the denial stage slowly crawling into the anger stage. She would rather slide directly into the acceptance stage as if she were a baseball player sliding into home base. This was hard work talking oneself off of the ledge.

As she picked up her dirty clothes from the floor and tore the 3-week old sheets off of her bed, Lovey sat in the chair by the window watching Marcia's progress. She was an easy taskmistress and only cracked the whip when hungry.

Marcia flung everything into the laundry hamper. This time the lid stayed open like a huge yawn. Laundry will be the next thing she does. Right after getting dressed. And eating. And then blow drying her hair. Whatever.

She walked to her dresser to grab a pair of underwear out of the top drawer and his picture assaulted her again. “Dammit!” She assaulted his picture back by picking it up and deep sixing it into the trash can with such force that the wooden frame flew apart and the glass cracked. “Fuck you!” Yep. She definitely was moving into the anger phase.

She was breathing hard from the exertion when the next memory lit up her brain like a grenade's blast. “Oh my God. Oh my God,” kept repeating over and over in her head as she wiped the spittle off of her face. His gait was unsteady as he weaved his way towards the back door grabbing the car keys nearly ripping the hook out of the wall. She ran up to him and demanded them back. He was in no shape to drive. All at once he was upon her choking her with his free hand. “I am not drunk!”

Her heart pounded in her chest and sweat dripped from her forehead into her eyes. She realized she was sitting on the floor with no clear memory of how she got there. Lovey walked over and meowed as she rubbed against Marcia's hip. Jeez, she still hadn't gotten dressed. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is what the therapist had called it. Panic attacks. She was learning all kinds of psychological lingo now. This is not the education she wanted but she definitely had paid for it.

At the breakfast table she drank her first cup of coffee for the day. As the coffee hit her empty stomach she almost threw-up. Toast would work. She ended up eating 4 pieces loaded with strawberry jam and butter. Mmmmmmm....sugary sweetness.