I’m writing because my therapist told me to.
That’s not only a fact, but also a line in the play I co-wrote about a person’s experience with medication. Which is ironic on so many levels but mostly because I can’t remember the last time I took my Lamictal…I should probably call my psychiatrist.
Anyways, I am writing because my therapist told me to, and admittedly I do like 30% of the homework my therapist suggests and I almost didn't do this but something in the back of my mind told me it might actually help.
So here I am.
Sitting in an oversized hoodie with Christmas socks on, trying to piece together what I uncovered barely an hour ago in my session.
I don’t know if you’ve ever been to therapy—considering you’re reading this you probably have—but a lot of the time, therapy just feels like you’re talking. It feels like a regular conversation where you talk a lot and then listen a little and leave feeling about the same. But then there are days when you walk out of therapy feeling like you did therapy. While both of those feelings are valid ways to walk out of therapy, the latter is one that makes you want to sit down and do the goddamn homework.
Today was one of those days and I haven’t had one of those days in so long. In the middle of monologuing about why I can’t have intimate emotional relationships, I stopped and went “oh shit.” I uncovered a feeling that I’ve felt for the past two years and didn’t even know I was feeling it.
That sounds really stupid and weird, I know. But it makes total sense.
For context, I am not someone who attaches easily to other people. Establishing relationships, friendships, connections is my least favorite thing to do, because after the first week of acting like the best version of yourself, the reality of who you are starts to creep in. Then at that point it's about vulnerability and truth and no longer about the facade of a person you’ve created.
I’ve always had this issue and for about 5 years I thought it was just because I had unresolved trauma from bad friendships in the past or it was because I’m an only child so I do better alone. And while yes those probably play a part in it all, it all boils down to fear.
Not the fear of rejection or abandonment—which I believed in at first—but the fear of someone knowing me. The fear that someone might actually break the surface of my psyche and know who I am.
That’s probably one of my greatest fears.
I came to this conclusion after my therapist asked me about a guy I was freaking out (in a bad way) over cause I thought he might like me. I proceeded to talk about two more guys I had been talking to since then and how I crave and value attention instead of the person giving it. This prompted me to spiral into how if I ever became enamored with someone I would drag them into my future psychosis—which I don’t have right now so that’s totally rational—and I’d kill them on a six month heroin bender.
If you’re still following, I promise there is an actual conclusion.
My therapist responded with why I felt like my bipolar disorder—which again does not inherently mean psychotic—was the defining factor in my hypothetical relationships when I am more than that singular diagnosis.
This is when the paint started to peel away and I talked.
I said I knew that was true, I am more than my mental disorders and I could prove that to myself because I had developed coping skills for my OCD and anxiety and was able to live without feeling embarrassed or ashamed by those parts of me. But those parts of me are internal, isolated within my own mind. Needing to a ritual to calm my thoughts doesn’t really affect anyone but myself.
However, my moods and whether I'm hypomanic or depressed can affect the people around me. And the foundation of good, healthy relationships is consistency and communication.
So how was I, someone who is inconsistently erratic and hyper and depressed and melancholic, supposed to foster a healthy relationship with anyone?
I’m leaving out a lot of in-between details and other onion layers that fell away—I went over my allotted hour—but the point is that I am realizing that I am not only afraid of someone knowing me but also that I may not be able to be known.
I may not be able to even create the relationships I’ve avoided for so long.
I’m writing because my therapist told me to and I feel a little better.