I’ve had great mental health all my life. I’ve been fortunate to have never experienced ongoing anxiety or depression or anything resembling that growing up. Sure I’ve had moments of anxiety, like when I failed a year of university, but not ongoing, persistent, anxiety, where your thoughts are incessant and dark going on and on until you spiral downwards and deeper and beyond logic and sense forever and ever and ever…
Having little experience with such an internal monologue, or even just any sort of mental anguish at all, I had a hard time identifying it at first. What it was, was overwhelming anxiety, predominantly over my marriage, but also about anything and everything in between. It had reached the stage where everything would set me to what my therapist told me was called “catastrophic thinking.”
But at the time I minimized it. You’re just in a bit of a funk, shake it off! Don’t let work stress get you down! Buck up, the kids won’t be young and infuriating forever! It wasn’t until I was frantically fixated on catching my wife sneaking off to a sleazy motel with an old friend for sex—despite knowing it wasn’t happening—that I realized something was actually wrong with me.
I just didn’t know what was wrong. My heart was racing all the time. There was a pit in my stomach. I felt sick. I had lost my appetite. I wasn’t sleeping well. I couldn’t get disastrous thoughts out of my brain, about how my wife was cheating on me, that I was failing as a father, and it was only a matter of time ‘til work fired me.
I incorrectly attributed all this “stress” to my marriage failing, and one morning this “stress” (SURPRISE, it was actually anxiety) was so bad it overcame my terror of pushing my wife away and asked her if we could go to couples counseling. She was really receptive and agreed. Side note: turns out I’d been pushing her away already by being anxiously dependent on her and clinging to her 24/7 as a result of my hitherto unidentified anxiety.
Once I found a couples counselor, I had another panic attack. Over what, I forget. I asked our couples counselor (who I’ll call J) if she could recommend a therapist for myself, and she introduced me to D. I mainly did so thinking it would be good having someone “on my side” as we did couples counseling—who could serve as a gut check and tell me I wasn’t crazy.
I was anxious about my first therapy session (oh the irony), but really it wasn’t anything to be worried about. I suppose it was just a complete lack of understanding as to what happens. If you’re in the same boat I was and don’t know if therapy will help, or are scared of starting because it’s weird and new and you’re out of your element and comfort zone, all I’ll say is while yes, I was anxious, D helped me through that and then we just chatted. She helped. She asked questions and I rambled on about nonsense. It was all super straightforward. It was just nice to have someone listen.
I went and spoke to D every week for probably about three months or so. Then we changed it to every other week for a couple of sessions, and then to once a month. Now I just schedule a session as and when I feel like I need one. That’s new for me. We decided that at our last session three weeks ago, and I’m yet to book another. I might book one next week, as my parents are visiting from overseas for a couple of weeks and it’ll be difficult to find the time while they’re here.
Actually, that’s not entirely true. It won’t be difficult to find the time, I just don’t want to tell them I’m going to therapy. Weird that. Here I am saying therapy helped me get better, but I am STILL trying to overcome that mental health stigma and that feeling of “confessing” you’ve done something wrong. It’s a conversation I don’t want to have with my parents yet (or ever?), but that’s probably a topic for another time.
I think it’s time to book another appointment with D though. I feel like I had a two steps forward conversation with my wife on Monday, only then to take one step back yesterday totally out of the blue. I honestly don’t know what happened and when I tried to talk about it with her I got a “I can’t talk about this now” reaction (she needs time to process stuff, whereas I like to clear the air). But that raises another question: is that what therapy is for me now? A person just willing to listen to me bitch and complain about my problems because I pay her $125—quick sardonic high-five for the American healthcare system—a session? Feels kinda silly, doesn’t it?