Yep, it sure does. Therapy is the most
shittiest thing I've ever undertaken. It strips you down, bares the
raw ugly. You cry, you relive the past, start to question your life
and if the therapy is really working. You suffer doubt like never
before, and you start to come to terms that not everything you
thought—what you thought was normal—isn't normal at all. In most
cases your idea of normal is really messed up, and your way of
thinking is even more distorted. See are brought before all the awful
in your life, it's paraded out in front of it.
AND. . . It's worth every awful, sucky
moment. It's worth the hard work, the mental struggles, the tears,
and the pain. Therapy is the shitty conflicted middle of a great
story with a contently ever after.
The first day I walked into my
therapist office I was hopeful. Relieved, even. No more suffering for
me. No more of battling day in and day out to survive, the
reinforcements were here. I was ready! The disillusion that I would
show up, talk and then everything would be better in my life was
taking away the pressure of my anxiety. Compared to what I lived
through therapy was going to be easy.
Yeah, no.
Don't get me wrong, I felt great for
the first few months. Every week I went to see my therapist, I
talked, she listened. Gauging my emotional range, my thought
patterns, ect. She offered advice here and there. Nothing major. Then
the work began. My therapist became more involved in our sessions,
asking me questions. Saying things that made me look at my life—the
world—my thoughts—differently. It was a new perspective I wasn't
used to, and my head did not like it. In fact, it rebelled.
Six months in to almost a year I was
miserable. Not sleeping, nightmares, awful thoughts. I had serious
bouts of awful depression, everything seemed to trigger me and old
memories I never wanted to deal with popped up randomly. Honestly,
more than once I wanted to stop. It didn't feel like anything was
getting any better, instead I felt worse. There were long stretches
of depression brought on by reclaimed memories, and exhaustion from
battling my evil mental self. I thought, “I'm worse. Everything is
worse. Therapy, what's the point.”
I forced myself to go, every week,
every other week. Have there been days I've canceled because I
haven't felt up to it?
Yes.
I've canceled because I don't see the
point in therapy, which is an old thought from my family that
believes therapy is for the weak. Well, I have news for them. Therapy
is fucking hard!
Not everyone can go through therapy,
it's a journey. Like a fictional story, there are ups, downs,
loop-to-loops, cliffs, waterfalls, and so much more. It's a
pilgrimage to a better life that isn't happy, because lets face it do
you really want to be happy all the time? That would be exhausting.
It's about finding balance and contentment.
Therapy sucks, yes. It's not for the
weak or faint of heart, it's for survivors—for warriors—that
strive for betterment, and once your on the other side you can see
how the pain is worth it. The rewards are in-measurable.
For example, two Saturday's ago I had
my first panic attack in over two years. At first I saw it as a
defeat, but no. It's a lesson. I have triggers, I will always have
triggers but I was strong enough to test my boundaries without second
guessing myself. I went into the small store that was crowded to see
if I could fight through the anxiety. I did for awhile, but in the
end it was too overwhelming. Now, I know where my challenge line is,
AND I was quick to recover from the event. I didn't shut myself away
all weekend. Nope! I was out and about later that day, not hidden
from the world.
WIN!
Then there is something that took place
a few weeks back. I cut a toxic friend out of my life. Instead of
keeping myself in an exhausting and draining relationship I pushed
past my fear (I'm always afraid of having no one to hang with or a
friend close by). I realized our friendship wasn't serving me at all.
Cass, my friend, would take from me everything. She exploited our
friendship, and by remaining friends with her it was doing damage to
me and to her. She needed it pointed out that what she was doing
isn't right. So I broke things off, and honestly I felt great
afterwards. Best part, I feel no guilt. I wasn't even upset when she
acted like a four year old and bashed me online, and screamed that I
attacked her (verbally), which I didn't. I simply wrote her a message
outlining why I wasn't able to be friends with her any longer. How it
was hurtful to the both of us.
Two years ago, hell a year ago, I would
have never been able to do any of that. Or if I did it would have
been a major traumatic event filled with shame, guilt, and regret.
Today I sit here writing this and I feel none of those things,
because I know I matter. My feelings matter, and I have a right to be
content, unburdened, and not stressed. I have a right to cut toxic
people out of my life because I'm worth better. Being an abuse
victim, and living through what I have makes this is all very major.
. . like supernova major!
I would have never made it to this
point without therapy. Sucky, difficult, shitty therapy. It pushed my
limits, helped me work through my past—my trauma—and all the
damage other people have done to me. Therapy gave me, me back. A
person I was unfamiliar with, but I love her now. I still have a lot
of work to do in therapy, but looking back to a year ago—seeing the
awful state I was in compared to now—Yeah, therapy is worth every
painstaking moment. I encourage everyone to try it, even if only for
a little while. It's worth breaking your destructive and negative
self-cycles, and you can do it. You guys are already warriors for
being here. Never stop fighting!
#Survivor #Warrior #Abuse #SelfPower
#Depression #AnxietyWarrior
~Jax~
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