I saw my meds doc today. She's actually not a doc, she's better. She's a psychiatric nurse practitioner, and I love her work, her style, her advice, her wisdom. She is extremely knowledgeable about the myriad pharmaceuticals I have been on and off over the years, and she is, in a word, pragmatic. She is extremely direct, and suffers no bullshit.
I wish she could be my therapist. I don't have one now. I had a bad experience. I had many bad experiences. And I live in a place where most reputable therapists don't take insurance, so even if I found someone fabulous, I couldn't afford to go. Also, I've been in therapy on and off for four decades now. It's getting old.
I have had so many terrible therapists. Earlier today I was listening to The Hilarious World of Depression, which is awesome, (everyone should listen to if they want to understand depression), and Jeff Tweedy (from Wilco, a famous band whose music I have never heard, but am now interested in) was talking about his anxiety and depression and migraines (twinsies!) and how he was bemoaning the fact that just about anyone who wants to be a "healer" of any kind can put out a shingle and claim to be a therapist, and do untold damage to scores of people. A so-called therapist Tweedy saw when he was in the throes of depression, anxiety and opioid abuse told him to stay on them, because they made him more creative, and just "feel better". Jesus.
I had a sort of inverted experience like that, myself, when I was in my twenties. I got mixed up with a very charismatic and completely unqualified "therapist" whose help included telling me I didn't need to take my meds, that there was nothing wrong with me, that I'd been molested in my past lives, as well as having been an alcoholic in one of said lives, that I was a future warrior in some cultish group she was building, and that being sick was no excuse to miss a meeting with her.
Oh, and she took my money. Lots and lots of money.
And I fell for it all, because I WANTED to be well, to feel normal, to be someone who didn't need medication, someone who didn't need therapy, someone who was perfect just as I was, not defective, like I had felt for most of my life up until that point.
So I drank her very delicious and expensive crystal-infused Kool-Aid.
And it fucked me UP.
Truly, this is a much longer and more gruesome story than this sanitized little summary here, but I want to put it out there to anyone who ends up reading this who is on a mental health odyssey of their own to know that lots of so-called therapists are bad news. Toxic, even.
Yes, there are amazing ones out there, too. I had a couple, out of maybe twelve or so total. Not the best odds. Both of my effective therapists held PhDs in Psychology. Not that it means that you have to have one to be a good therapist, but it helps. My many and mostly useless experiences with therapists taught me not to trust strangers offering to fix you. The implication that you're defective isn't a great starting point in the first place. But these people, mostly, they had Jesus/God/Martyr or Mommy complexes, and were utterly unhelpful and, sometimes, actively harmful.
I will also say this: many people find help online, which is totally dicey. Personally, I find Mark Manson's work to be helpful and encouraging, and no, he's not a Phd and that's fine. But for every sensible human being out there giving advice, there are a hundred, a thousand, or more, out there dying to take your money, promise you the moon, and give you nothing in return, if not outright harm you. Be very careful out there, please.
Other people take solace in their religions or spirituality, and if that helps, (and hurts noone else) then have at it. But know that there are predators out there who will fleece you, and just fuck your head up worse than it was before, all in the name of "helping" or saving your soul in some form. Don't fall for it.
So, word to the wise: if you sense that your therapist has any ulterior motives, EVER yells at you, berates you, tries to get you to see them several times a week for an indefinite AND extended period of time, charges you a lot, flirts with you, touches you, is neither experienced nor educated, and spews mouthfuls of random new age nonsense, hit the road, Jack. Just. Get. The. Fuck. Out.
And if just you don't feel comfortable in general, or it doesn't feel like the right fit, you have every right to get up and walk out and not go back. There is no reason to spend money on someone who is at best, wasting your time, and at worst, actively harming you. You do not owe any kind of commitment to any kind of therapist, no matter what they may try to tell you.
Ray of sunshine here: I had an amazing therapist who was super helpful to me when I got mixed up with the above-mentioned quack. She helped me take control of my life and get away from the bullshit this "guru" was spewing. And years later, I had an absolutely superlative therapist who got me through losing a baby, having a breakdown, maintaining my relationships, and getting well again. He is a stellar therapist and human being. Mad props to Dr. Ronald Malloy in South Pasadena!
So that's it, in a nutshell. Be very careful, trust your gut, and be kind to yourself. You're not stupid or defective or bad or wrong because you have a mental illness. It's a chemical imbalance, and you can both take meds if you need to, and/or talk to someone qualified and trustworthy with an excellent track record, if you so choose.
But choose wisely. Look for credentials, track record, recommendations, and your own reaction to the person. You're interviewing them at that first meeting, not the other way around. I wish I had known that 30 years ago.
I wish you all the best on your journey. I know it isn't easy. But just keep getting back up. You can stand up to your brain chemistry. You can live with it.
You can thrive with it.
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