When I first started therapy I don’t think that I was a very good client. This was all new to me and like a newborn babe went into therapy kicking and screaming. I was very angry with my diagnosis and the fact that I had to see a therapist in the first place. I became quietly defiant. I would try to push the boundaries as far as I dared. In hind sight I wonder if I was testing them to see if they would stick with me if the going got rough.
At this point I was seeing the doctor and the therapist every second week. The days between appointments was hell for me. I would obsess about the anxiety and agoraphobia. I was in a lot of pain and felt like the therapy was making it worse. I would incessantly ask questions and wanted to be made instantly well. Much to my dismay, the worse I felt the worse I acted.
A few months into the therapy I decided to let them know about my suicidal thoughts. It was something that I held very close to me. I had never told anyone before. In fact I have had them since I was around five years old. Sometimes the thoughts are strong, other times they are just background noise. With little thought to what the consequences could be I decided to throw this at them to see how they would react. I told them about the box I had in my car and that I had a plan. I wouldn’t tell the plan when asked as I didn’t think that they needed to know that part. Their reaction to this was what started to turn the tide for me. They were concerned yet didn’t over react. They talked to me about it in a non-judgmental way. I will always be grateful for that.
I am thankful for the caring and patience they showed toward me when I was at my worse. They certainly understood the suicidal part much better then me. My doctor would spend time patiently explaining things to me and now I have a understanding of that part of me. I don’t like it but at this point accept it for what it is. My eyes were beginning to open to the idea that just maybe someone would care for me.