I had my last appointment with a therapist sometime last summer, I think. We didn’t officially wrap anything up; I just stopped going. I was busy with my new job and sick of shelling out for co-pays. I didn’t feel like we were making any significant progress anyway.
Shortly after that, I decided that I was done with therapy for the foreseeable future. I had already learned every feasible tool and trick. I was far from perfect, or even “normal,” but I was about as close as I could ever hope to get. Psychiatric mission accomplished.
Last week (two weeks ago? My sense of time is shit right now) I was treated to one of those horrible, scary “Look at your life the way it really is” moments. I was skipping meds and meals, resulting in constant disorientation from hunger and withdrawal. I was sad and disconnect and isolated, and just not okay. And I was scared because all of this had developed with my even noticing it. Things had just gone to hell and I’d thought I was doing fine.
I saw a new therapist this morning, and we made plans to get me into a dialectical behavioral therapy group. I’ve done DBT in the past and found it useful. It’s anxiety-provoking, but I’m kind of looking forward to it.
So now I’m wondering if I ever really will reach the point where I’ve gotten what I need from therapy and can stop. Maybe people like me just need maintenance, maybe forever. It’s a frustrating thought. I just want to be this non-broken person, but that may not be in the cards.