Antares
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2024
- Messages
- 209
I've tried to understand myself better, especially recently as I've been branching out a lot in methods to perhaps finally break through my depression, at least a little. Part of that is trying to understand why the non-chemical methods failed. I would try to understand them better as well, but I think that would require a lot more genetic testing as well as research that simply doesn't yet exist, so it makes more sense to focus on other things.
Therapy is one thing I've been in and out of throughout my entire life. I remember when I was a child, I hated all of my therapists for being "too happy." I suppose that basically means I felt they were fake and could never understand my perspective on life. Realistically, they probably couldn't. Not many people run into someone with so many mental issues who has one digit to their age but hasn't experienced any kind of neglect or obvious trauma. It was the 90s and early 2000s, so I imagine the idea of C-PTSD was still not super out there and well understood, and forget the idea of "developmental trauma disorder." They would have still been looking at trauma as one big event, which you could never find with me.
As an adult, I had difficulty connecting to and being honest with therapists. In part because of the fake persona they often put on. I always felt like therapy was infantilizing. I was being spoken to like a fragile child. And sure, I am fragile about certain things, but it's never destroyed me. The issue is that therapists are all terrified of their clients showing strong emotions, and it's all for liability reasons. I start crying and trying to explain how I'm feeling and why, and they freak out. I had to talk a relatively new therapist out of involuntarily committing me over something like this. It's so stupid to have emotions of sadness replaced by absolute panic when I realize she's looking through her papers because she's scared I'm going to kill myself and doesn't remember the process for imprisoning people against their will when they've committed no crime.
Another therapist actually coerced me into agreeing to be voluntarily committed about 10 minutes into a session. Because of course, if it's involuntary, you have to stay an extra two days. But this was worse -- he also told me that they don't have a social worker on the weekend, which is when those three days would be up, so I would actually have to stay an additional two days beyond that. I later found out that the social worker had actually called my mother and told her they really had no reason to keep me there. Lovely.
These experiences enough could probably stop anyone from being honest with their therapists. It doesn't help that I have substance abuse issues (and was deep into them when etizolam was legal everywhere), and we all know what types of limitations and mistrustful looks you start to get from providers if they find out. But my own mistrust of these types of people probably started even earlier.
I had a lot of health problems when I was young. These were probably the things that triggered my major depression when I was so young. I went to many doctors, trusting that they would be professional, take me seriously, and make me better. Instead, I had a doctor yell at me, accusing me of lying just because he couldn't find a reason for my issues. I had an MS specialist at the Mayo Clinic tell me to my face that kids don't get MS (keep in mind the Mayo already had a whole ass program for kids with MS, what the actual fuck). I had tons of painful tests. The spinal taps were usually the worst, but I also had a CT scan that went very badly. My memories of it are all twisted and wrong, but apparently what happened was the contrast and some other thing they injected were causing me too many weird feelings, and my gall bladder or something was being made to contract from one of them as well. All of these frightening, painful tests and I never got any answers. Fuck, one of the spinal taps I had they literally lost the fluid from, so it was truly suffering I went through for fucking nothing.
Physical doctors had already betrayed my trust horribly. Then a psychiatrist put me on celexa, which ruined my brain. I don't know if it had made me manic or something, but I was a ball of rage that would truly have murdered had I the strength or tools to. I need to emphasize here that I am not exaggerating that. The psychiatrist thought I just had anger management problems and needed to go to therapy for that, and also be on an even higher dose of celexa, a dose that was higher than a child of my weight would ever typically be on. He never did take me off the med. My mother did. And when it was fully out of my system I was back to being fully depressed, but now I had insane guilt about everything horrible I'd done while on the SSRI. I had insane anxiety about socializing, because I was afraid I might be annoying people and after all the shit I pulled I did not have the right to even be a minor inconvenience to anyone.
All of these people have just fucked me over time and time again. I didn't realize it sooner, I think, because I tend to think of therapists in a separate category from psychiatrists and doctors, seeing as they have very different training and responsibilities. But in a way, they are categorically the same. They are supposed experts in their fields who have tools to help you get better with your ailment(s). And every last one of them has let me down, at best. At worst, they've destroyed years of my life and caused something that sure as fuck looks like trauma to me. I can't talk about the medical shit I've referenced here without crying. It doesn't matter how I feel about it in the moment, I will cry. I am crying.
I don't know how I can ever start to legitimately trust any of these people again. I lie to them all the time to protect myself, I never open up to them about how I really feel or what I'm truly struggling with. I manipulate them to give me things I know will be helpful for me on a symptomatic level, because how could I ever just tell them the truth or let them lead my treatment, after what they've done to me?
Therapy is one thing I've been in and out of throughout my entire life. I remember when I was a child, I hated all of my therapists for being "too happy." I suppose that basically means I felt they were fake and could never understand my perspective on life. Realistically, they probably couldn't. Not many people run into someone with so many mental issues who has one digit to their age but hasn't experienced any kind of neglect or obvious trauma. It was the 90s and early 2000s, so I imagine the idea of C-PTSD was still not super out there and well understood, and forget the idea of "developmental trauma disorder." They would have still been looking at trauma as one big event, which you could never find with me.
As an adult, I had difficulty connecting to and being honest with therapists. In part because of the fake persona they often put on. I always felt like therapy was infantilizing. I was being spoken to like a fragile child. And sure, I am fragile about certain things, but it's never destroyed me. The issue is that therapists are all terrified of their clients showing strong emotions, and it's all for liability reasons. I start crying and trying to explain how I'm feeling and why, and they freak out. I had to talk a relatively new therapist out of involuntarily committing me over something like this. It's so stupid to have emotions of sadness replaced by absolute panic when I realize she's looking through her papers because she's scared I'm going to kill myself and doesn't remember the process for imprisoning people against their will when they've committed no crime.
Another therapist actually coerced me into agreeing to be voluntarily committed about 10 minutes into a session. Because of course, if it's involuntary, you have to stay an extra two days. But this was worse -- he also told me that they don't have a social worker on the weekend, which is when those three days would be up, so I would actually have to stay an additional two days beyond that. I later found out that the social worker had actually called my mother and told her they really had no reason to keep me there. Lovely.
These experiences enough could probably stop anyone from being honest with their therapists. It doesn't help that I have substance abuse issues (and was deep into them when etizolam was legal everywhere), and we all know what types of limitations and mistrustful looks you start to get from providers if they find out. But my own mistrust of these types of people probably started even earlier.
I had a lot of health problems when I was young. These were probably the things that triggered my major depression when I was so young. I went to many doctors, trusting that they would be professional, take me seriously, and make me better. Instead, I had a doctor yell at me, accusing me of lying just because he couldn't find a reason for my issues. I had an MS specialist at the Mayo Clinic tell me to my face that kids don't get MS (keep in mind the Mayo already had a whole ass program for kids with MS, what the actual fuck). I had tons of painful tests. The spinal taps were usually the worst, but I also had a CT scan that went very badly. My memories of it are all twisted and wrong, but apparently what happened was the contrast and some other thing they injected were causing me too many weird feelings, and my gall bladder or something was being made to contract from one of them as well. All of these frightening, painful tests and I never got any answers. Fuck, one of the spinal taps I had they literally lost the fluid from, so it was truly suffering I went through for fucking nothing.
Physical doctors had already betrayed my trust horribly. Then a psychiatrist put me on celexa, which ruined my brain. I don't know if it had made me manic or something, but I was a ball of rage that would truly have murdered had I the strength or tools to. I need to emphasize here that I am not exaggerating that. The psychiatrist thought I just had anger management problems and needed to go to therapy for that, and also be on an even higher dose of celexa, a dose that was higher than a child of my weight would ever typically be on. He never did take me off the med. My mother did. And when it was fully out of my system I was back to being fully depressed, but now I had insane guilt about everything horrible I'd done while on the SSRI. I had insane anxiety about socializing, because I was afraid I might be annoying people and after all the shit I pulled I did not have the right to even be a minor inconvenience to anyone.
All of these people have just fucked me over time and time again. I didn't realize it sooner, I think, because I tend to think of therapists in a separate category from psychiatrists and doctors, seeing as they have very different training and responsibilities. But in a way, they are categorically the same. They are supposed experts in their fields who have tools to help you get better with your ailment(s). And every last one of them has let me down, at best. At worst, they've destroyed years of my life and caused something that sure as fuck looks like trauma to me. I can't talk about the medical shit I've referenced here without crying. It doesn't matter how I feel about it in the moment, I will cry. I am crying.
I don't know how I can ever start to legitimately trust any of these people again. I lie to them all the time to protect myself, I never open up to them about how I really feel or what I'm truly struggling with. I manipulate them to give me things I know will be helpful for me on a symptomatic level, because how could I ever just tell them the truth or let them lead my treatment, after what they've done to me?
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