I’ve spent the last 4 months climbing up a steep mountain, slipping a few times on the way but managing to hang on and keep climbing. I feel like I’ve just lost my grip and fallen all the way back down to the bottom. This time though, I’m exhausted, bruised and beaten. I don’t feel like I have any strength left to keep fighting – I feel helpless, useless, desperate. I’m back in a really dark place and my torch battery has just died.
I woke up this morning having drunk a lot last night with the guys across the road. Rather worryingly I didn’t have a hang over. We had a really nice evening and I went to bed actually looking forward to my therapy session this morning. I woke in a pretty good mood, had something to eat and a cup of coffee and went to see the therapist. I was fine. I started talking and said that I was concerned that although my mood has been pretty good for the last few weeks which was definitely a good thing, I felt that the underlying depression was still firmly in place and that all I have been doing for the last few weeks is hiding behind one of my barriers – fending off all the bad stuff and the bad thoughts – merely maintaining a pretence of happiness in order to keep myself out of that black hole. I said I was concerned that the drugs weren’t really helping, apart from perhaps enabling me to build this barrier to hide behind. He said that I was expecting too much too quickly, that therapy doesn’t work in such a short time span, that it is something that would take more like 4 years of therapy. That revelation shattered my happy barrier into a million pieces and I lost grip of the mountain and started falling. I repeated ‘four years?’ incredulously and pointed out I only had 6 sessions with him. He said ‘yes’. I said that I couldn’t afford to pay for therapy and he said ‘can’t you?’. I looked at him with my mouth hanging open and said ‘no I really can’t’. He then said ‘well what about all the money you spend on alcohol and cigarettes?’. My head was reeling by now and I said that they were the only bloody things that brought any pleasure to my pathetic life.
To be honest the rest of the session is all a bit of a blur. We talked about my low self-esteem and before I knew it I was admitting that I loathed myself. He said that most people he sees have the opposite problem – that they blame someone else… anyone else but themselves for all their problems, but that I needed to stop blaming myself for everything. My head is still in freefall. He asked me to give an example of something that I hate about myself. I told him about my Journeys Into Rage and how I despised that part of my personality – that since my teenage years I had promised myself to control it and never let myself become like my dad who can’t control his temper. He asked why, that perhaps it was ok to have a temper tantrum. I looked at him agape and said ‘never, ever will I give into that, it is something I am deeply ashamed of and a characteristic that I utterly despise. My descent gathered pace.
By now I have started to feel like a rabbit in the headlights, desperate, completely unbelieving about how badly this therapy session was going. I don’t know if it was his intention, but he slowly, methodically stripped me of all hope, of any feeling that I had a chance of recovery… 4 years?? I told him that I could feel myself slipping into a really dark place right in front of him. I can’t go on like this for 4 years. I started crumbling, tears erupted in my eyes and I finally lost the ability to speak when I said ‘I just haven’t got the strength any more…’
We sat in silence for about 5 minutes. I didn’t care. I was fighting to control myself, I was falling so fast into the darkness and there was nothing to grab onto. Falling, falling, falling. He eventually broke the silence when he realised I wasn’t going to, but I can’t remember what he said, I was still struggling to maintain composure… and failing. I managed to say that I felt like I had just fallen right back to where I was when I first went to see the doctor. He said ‘yes but you haven’t been there with me’. Jeez that makes me feel so much better. I’ve got 3 more sessions with him then my therapy ends. He’s just told me I’d need therapy for 4 bloody years to get results. Well that just fills me with hope and confidence. I might as well give up now. He came out with the same old ‘this isn’t an easy process and it will feel like you’re going backwards before you start going forward…’ Well I’m sorry but you just told me that I would need therapy for the next 4 years, so how far backwards do I have to go in the next 4 years in order to feel any positive effects? So far back that I finally decide I can’t go on any more? Because that is where I’m heading at the moment. Oh yeah and by the way, I can’t afford therapy so there’s no fucking hope at all for me then is there.
I have spent the last 4 hours since I got home staring at the ceiling in silence. I’ve stopped falling, but I missed every ledge on the way to the bottom. I can no loner see the point of going to therapy as clearly, 3 sessions won’t achieve anything. That leaves me just taking the medication, so what? Am I to take that for the rest of my life? No. So I might was well just stop taking that too. I’m ending the Medication Diary too. There’s no point to that any more either.
I might as well just face the reality of my situation and settle down to the rest of my shit, self-loathing, indifferent life. Thank god for alcohol and joints… oh they’re bad for my liver and my lungs are they? Who fucking cares.