A synopsis of my therapy journey: 1 of 3 posts

This is strange coming from a future therapist, but I can explain. Originally, This was supposed to be in one post. However, because of how my last post about fate did, I decided to make the explanation in chunks rather than a big, long post (which it has turned into). Plus, it’s easier to read this way.

This post will vaguely explain my process throughout therapy and what it was like in different settings, particularly the military setting. Before reading, I would like to preface this post by saying these are just my experiences with behavioral health services. These are strictly my opinions and thoughts. I am in no way, shape, or form saying that you shouldn’t go to these services because of what I say. Some things I do criticize, but in later posts, I explain the good about them too.

That being said, I hope this post can help those struggling with their mental health feel less alone. Watch out for my next post where I share things I have learned during my time in therapy.

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1. My Therapy Journey
   1. The biggest lie: Medication can fix everything
   2. The mask that prevents us from healing
   3. The diagnosis that prevents us from healing
   4. The effects of “the list”
   5. The therapists from elsewhere
   6. My main therapy services
   7. Therapy status: Improving every day

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My Therapy Journey

The biggest lie: Medication can fix everything

My opinion on therapy and therapists has changed over the 10+ of being in behavioral health services. When I started therapy, I believed I couldn’t be helped. I desperately wanted someone to fix me, but I didn’t think it was actually possible. I believed pills were the answer, so I was prescribed antidepressant after antidepressant. However, they either made my condition worse or exacerbated my mania. I soon grew to hate medication, especially the ones that turned me into a zombie. I then told myself I would never take medication again with a poem.

This sentiment was short-lived and far from the truth. This whole feeling was a result of quitting my medication cold-turkey — something no one should ever do. It wasn’t until the withdrawal symptoms finally kicked in that I started to realize my mistake. At my next psychiatry appointment, I was put on new medication, and the cycle continued for a bit till I found the right pair that kept my heightened emotions at bay… At least for a little bit. I expected medication to fix me — a lot of people do. The punchline: medication only gets you part of the way.

The mask that prevents us from healing

When I finally realized this, I decided to actually listen in therapy. I listened for advice and what my next step should be. But here’s the kicker: I never did anything recommended to me, no matter if I thought I would.

Things seemed to get worse after I had my son. I was more depressed, more anxious, more angry. Pre- through post-partum, I received mental health services, as they thought I was more susceptible to postpartum depression (spoiler alert: I indeed was). I enjoyed group therapy the most. Everyone was different; they all had different issues, issues I’ve never seen before that point. And while others shared constant tribulations of misfortune and self-affliction, my problems seemed to alleviate in that room. I had not only convinced the therapist but myself as well that I was okay — until I wasn’t again.

It’s funny how our minds do that. We think we’re doing better — we put on a mask of sorts — and trick others (and ourselves) into thinking we’re okay. Then, when we seek help, our mask prevents us from receiving the aid we so crave. At least that’s how it was for me.

The diagnosis that prevents us from healing

Along with my mask, my diagnoses were blocking my path to a happier life. I’ve been misdiagnosed with many things throughout my life: generalized anxiety mild/moderate/major depression, bipolar 2…

For years, I tried fitting in the bipolar 2 box, researching about it and trying to recognize when my episode switches occurred and even looking out for the signs. I had learned so much about bipolar 2, that I started to feel like a fraud. While I knew what triggered my depressive episodes and could tell when my hypomanic ones were ending, I also didn’t think they were actual episodes. After so many videos and articles I read, none of it accurately portrayed what I was going through. The anger came from somewhere; the depression came from somewhere. Though I could recognize when my moods shifted, therapy wasn’t what they cared about. It was medication. They weren’t focused on figuring out why I was depressed and how to get myself out of it, but rather, manage the episode and alleviate the pain. Because to them, it was inevitable. So I learned to live with the emotions, not how to crawl out of the depression abyss I’ve been stuck in. This is what makes misdiagnosis so dangerous.

When I finally received the right diagnosis at my last duty station (4 years ago), it was like the last puzzle piece was in place. My time in high school and young adulthood all made sense. They weren’t mood episodes; they were reactions, defense mechanisms, and adaptions that my brain created to protect me from harm. However, as I got older, the adaptions started to get in the way of functioning through life. That’s when I started learning how to heal.

The effects of “the list”

Joining the army helped my mental state for a little while. I was a year in when the negative thoughts slipped in and almost took my life. Behavioral health in the military is a whole different beast in and of itself. They will do whatever they can to keep you in service, even disregarding your pain (mental or physical). At my first duty station, I discovered “the list” — the list every provider secretly goes off of to determine where the issues are coming from, the impact it actually has on you, and how simple of a fix it is. This list consists of things like:

1. What is your diet like?
2. Are you in any [physical] pain?
3. Do you have any chronic pain?
4. Are you physically active?
5. Are you getting enough sleep?
6. Are you prescribed any medication?
7. Do you use drugs or alcohol?
8. Are you drinking enough water?
9. Do you use any tobacco products?
10. What are your outlets for stress?
11. How do you spend your leisurely time?
12. What was your childhood like?
13. What kind of soldier are you?
14. What is your homelife like?
15. What is your social support like?

While these things can contribute to mental distress, you say one wrong thing in a session, and you’re not taken seriously. Despite this, though, my therapist at my first duty station wasn’t all bad. A lot of it was unrememberable, but she wasn’t the worst I’ve had. It was more stressful telling my chain of command of the appointments rather than attending them. Of course, a list of antidepressants was given to me as well. I took each one the army could give me (as part of the process), then it was time for me to leave.

At my new duty station, I had to wait three months to see a psychologist. I was dealing with so much at that time that I would regularly make appointments with a family counselor in the meantime, a family counselor that wasn’t trained to deal with someone that had my issues. So, before my appointment, I made sure to scratch as much off “the list” as I could.

However, to the army, drinking two or three drinks in one sitting, less than once a month is a cause for alarm, so taking care of the list wasn’t much help on my part. My psychiatrist even told me everything I was experiencing was all in my head. The army gave me an unhealthy look on therapy. Through my time at my last duty station, my therapy appointments became farther and farther between. Appointments were cancelled, or therapists were moved to other locations. This forced me to seek therapy elsewhere. Elsewhere is where I found the therapist for me.

The therapists from elsewhere

She was kind, empathetic, sympathetic, validating. She helped me understand myself more and was there throughout the beginnings of my relationship with my husband. She was a veteran and therefore understood everything I told her without having to explain things. She knew how frustrating mental health services were in the military. The appointments were video calls, so it was easy for her to get to know me without any gap in services. While she didn’t always agree with everything I did, she knew it was my life, and she made sure to tell me in a way that didn’t come off judgmental or change in perception. Even after our time together had to end, she told me, “A change in perspective can be a good thing,” in her soft voice.

After her, I found another therapist. This time, it was a male. He was religious and also a veteran. It definitely was a different perspective than what I was used to, but I wanted a change. He was always good at lifting me up while also showing me a different way to look at things. Because I was farther in my therapy journey, he told me how I was a “breath of fresh air,” but I still had my challenges, of course. He would validate what I was feeling, while also sharing his perspective to things. In his words, “I’m here to guide you to the answer you already know. I don’t even do anything most of the time; I just listen.” He was different than my last therapist from Elsewhere, but it was a good different.

Something I enjoyed from both of these therapists was the fact that they never pointed out my diagnoses, especially the latter one (my current one). I would be the one to mention it. I could tell the first one didn’t like it, but my latter one treats me like a person with everyday issues, not someone with an unsolvable problem. He likes to deal with the problem at hand, the problem that’s causing me mental stress right then and there. However, despite being able to talk through things with a therapist that understands, my main mental health provider was through the VA (Veteran Affairs).

My main therapy services

The VA, like the military, needs to do better in treating veterans’ mental health. When it comes to physical ailments, a complaint I have is how long referrals take to approve and send to outside providers. Though, this is the case for many places. However, something specific to the military and VA is their care with physical and mental health.

Because you get benefit from being physically or mentally hurt (disability ratings and such), the incentive to heal isn’t too high. Your main goal should be to get better, right? Yet, once you do, your rating could go down, then you would lose money. Since my rating is attached to my mental health, I feel scared to even tell them I’m doing better.

(Side note: I told my VA therapist once that I was doing good mentally, and she reminded me to keep up the skills I learned or it wouldn’t stay that way. Granted, she wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t feel encouraging, either.)

The therapists I had were nice, but they tended to treat me like my diagnosis rather than like a person with a diagnosis. I felt I couldn’t trust them with my problems, or that I would get a huge lecture on how I’m thinking or what I did wouldn’t help me heal. One therapist talked a lot, with some sessions being more teachings from her than me explaining the issue I’m dealing with. I started not being able to speak how I felt during therapy. I would dread my sessions with the first therapist and would leave the session feeling worse than when it began.

Because of this, the crisis line was where I sought the most help. One therapist at a nearby military post helped a lot during these times. Of course, my VA therapist would hear that I called the crisis line, then we had to talk about it, which I hated doing with this therapist.

Not to mention, therapy through the VA is time-limited. You don’t get to keep the therapist for a weekly or biweekly crisis-preventative measure. The goal is to terminate therapy with them. This was the first thing that came out of the therapist’s mouth, which felt off-putting at the time. Though, I understand why they do it. It just doesn’t feel like the best option when you don’t quite know how well that person is actually doing. I would lie to my therapist all the time, so of course she wouldn’t know what kind of hurt I was in. I don’t blame them on this, though. I should have requested someone else if I wasn’t comfortable with the therapist, but it was a lesson learned.

Therapy status: Improving every day

I’m doing a lot better now, honestly. I’m finally content, which is something I’ve wanted since high school. I do still struggle with my mental health, like anyone else, but I’m finally where I want to be and the person I want to be. When I’m officially a social worker, I hope to help others like me. Come back for my next post to discover what I’ve learned throughout my time in therapy. I hope the knowledge I’ve acquired through classes and experience helps in your therapy and mental health journey as well.

To be continued…