It’s hard to fathom that just nine months ago I started down this path. I made the decision, back in September, that I was done hiding my illness away and that I would do whatever I needed to do to help myself heal.
I had a very frank discussion with my primary physician — something I had not done before. We discussed therapy and possible medication. Unfortunately, that visit ended in a diagnosis of prostate cancer, which is another story in and of itself.
I started therapy sessions through my insurance (Kaiser) the week after meeting with my physician, but I was unhappy with my therapist after the first session. Not only did I think we were not a good fit, but I felt that the Kaiser coverage was never going to cut it. The Kaiser therapist told me that my coverage would only allow for approximately five individual sessions. After that, I would have to go into group therapy (which is cheaper.) Part of my struggle has always been feeling comfortable talking to people I don’t know. Group therapy was not going to work for me, at least not right now.
Someone I met, after making myself public, suggested the psychology clinic through Pacific University. They have two clinics that are run by their graduate students. They don’t take insurance, but I wasn’t concerned about that. I just wanted to get some help.
While a learning environment might seem like an unlikely place to get quality care, I found that it was far better than the professional program offered by Kaiser. I was impressed by the thoroughness of the intake sessions and felt quite comfortable with my student therapist almost immediately.
In the past, when I sought therapy, I always seemed to wind up with therapists who were fixed in their thinking, and, consequently, I always came away feeling that their care was more about their prescribed path than about trying to help me find a path that would work for me. Here, I at once felt comfortable and confident in my therapist.
Each therapist is under the direct mentorship of their graduate supervisor. The sessions are recorded, so they can discuss them and learn from them. The recordings are destroyed shortly afterward. I wasn’t thrilled with having a video camera on me, but I dealt with it, and after a month or so, I mostly forgot that I was being recorded.
There were weeks that were better than others. Some weeks were quite difficult, and save a few weeks where I felt like we were stalled, I always felt like we were making progress. When we began, I wasn’t sure when or how these sessions would end, but a few months ago, during one of the sessions, something happened. I still couldn’t tell you what, exactly, but I could suddenly see the horizon.
It was just a dark, featureless void before, but now there was a horizon and I was approaching it, like the way one can see the crest of a mountain range as they approach the summit, and you know that you will soon be standing at the top looking back down the steep path you just climbed up.
I stumbled, not long after, and thought that everything I had been building was all for naught. That setback proved to be another turning point, however, and rather rapidly I found myself cresting the summit.
I can’t say that I am cured. That will never be the case, but I am on solid footing and feel better than I have in a long, long time.
When I started therapy, I was skeptical that it would have much effect, but I was also determined to give it my full attention and effort. While I can’t say that my previous therapists were not good, I can say that they were not good for me, and whether it was this therapist, or my motivation, or a combination of factors, this has been a rewarding and enlightening process. I looked forward to my sessions each week.
A month or so ago, I began to see that the sessions would come to an end soon. I was both elated and terrified: elated to have traveled so far — much further than I thought possible, terrified because I would have to do this on my own from here on out. I would have to take all that I learned and trust that I could manage it without my weekly check-ins.
I worried that I would start backsliding, that I would lose the ground I had gained. I don’t want to go back to where I was, and maybe that’s not really possible. I have changed. My perspective has changed. Whatever may come, I am different now, and the way I look at my depression is different too. I know there will be lows and highs ahead, but I think I can manage.
This balance between excitement and fear is similar to how I felt when the training wheels came off my bicycle. I was riding around the block one sunny, summer day and I happened to look down at my back tire while I was cruising along the gravel street behind our house. To my astonishment, my training wheels were not touching the ground — at all. I completed my circuit around the block, rode right up to my dad, and asked him to take my training wheels off. He was quick to oblige. I climbed onto my bicycle, now untethered from those clunky, extraneous wheels, but also free to fall from side to side, I stepped on the pedals, and away I flew, filled with excitement, pride, fear, and joy.
So too, now I find myself free to fall, but confident in my ability to keep myself upright. That’s a feeling I have not had in a very long time.