When I was told by a psychiatrist in Barcelona that I was too ill physically/mentally for her to work with me as she believed that I was close to death, I was pretty shocked. I thought at first that it was absurd and unnecessary that she was being so dramatic, but I suppose a part of me wasn’t really very shocked at all. Could she have been right?
It’s true, it did feel like I was killing myself. I think maybe that was my plan, just to slip away quietly, no drama.
That probably sounds horrendous to you that I’ve written that and been so blasé about it, but it’s probably true.
Since that time, I guess I must have worked a hell of a lot of stuff out, seen what feels like 100’s of psychs and doctors and been taught different techniques and even hypnotized.
These things do help I guess, maybe it’s a placebo, maybe it’s a distraction, but there’s no way that one or two sessions with someone can ‘fix’ you.
You gotta do it yourself, and this is the thing that really really makes me angry.
You need all the support and love to build yourself back up to being strong enough to help yourself.
You think I’m lazy?
That I’m not trying to get better?
You’re hurt I don’t miraculously cheer up and get out there and live life like you do?
I couldn’t read the goddam books because I was very sick and depressed and wanted to die.
I needed a cuddle, not your anger.
I needed love and reassurance, not your pressure.
You. Don’t. Understand.
The only way to understand is to suffer it.
So may you never.
Note:*This isn’t in any way meant maliciously towards anyone, this is my place to vent and write and pour my feelings out in a creative, healthy manner*