Saw my therapist yesterday. She's probably the 12th (give or take) therapist I've had in the last 11 years. Many of those years had long stretches without treatment. This therapist is only able to see me once a month. I've had a hard time building a rapport with her and my mood as been better than usual the last few months, so all I've been able to bring myself to talk about were meaningless everyday stressors that everyone deals with. Two sessions back she event suggested that maybe I don't need therapy. In total I've only have five sessions with her.
Last night something was really weighing on me. I knew it would be difficult to explore with this unknown therapist, but I wanted to try. Instead she started the conversation by immediately going into meaningless stuff we talked about last session. Moving (I'm moving out of my apartment), work, etc. I was uncomfortable the whole time and felt unable to steer the conversation where I needed it to go. I left the session feeling slightly better, if only because I was able to take my mind off more difficult feelings for an hour. But later that night it returned and I did something I deeply regret. I don't want to go into it, but it's possible being able to talk about it with someone before hand could've prevented this.
There was something else on my mind before the session began. As I contemplated whether I could speak openly to my therapist I began to feel angry about something that happened over two years ago. And it began to dawn on me that I've been carrying this anger for the last two years without talking to anyone about it. Friends, family, therapists. I've brought it up here, but never really explored it. I've just carried it with me.
In the summer of 2014 I was admitted to a hospital mental health outpatient program. My mental health had been deteriorating for several months and often times I felt suicidal. Every week I went to therapy and basically spent the hour having my therapist talk me down. By the time the session was over I felt slightly less burdened and returned to the world thinking "just get through the next week." Invariably over the course of the next week I would slowly go downhill again before my therapist helped revive me. After a few months we started doing two sessions a week. As bad as I felt, my therapy sessions were the best part of my week and I felt I could be open with my therapist.
One day my therapist noted how, because every session was being spent on trying to maintain my sanity, we never really had time to "work on anything", as she put it. In all the years I'd gone to therapy this thought never entered my mind. The fact that therapy could be a place where you dig much deeper into your psyche to find the root cause of your ills. In order to try to remedy this, my therapist suggested a more invasive treatment to try and get me back on track; the hospital program.
I had a major breakthrough during this program. I discovered something about myself that my therapist described as "a moment of clarity." In doing so I went from literally having a deep phobia of attending the program to feeling better than I'd felt in months almost instantaneously. I was excited to explore this with my therapist.
With a few weeks left in the program, my therapist informed me that the medical practice was letting her go. A few weeks later I was paired with a new therapist.
Over the years I've had to re-start therapy many times. Usually it's been because I relocated, or I lost/left my job (and thus my insurance). The insurance aspect has left me feeling short changed. I was someone that needed help and was constantly being impeded due to bureaucracy; but ultimately I accepted that I had a small role it in. Maybe if I'd kept my job I could've kept my insurance (although my job-hopping has been due in part to my depression).
This time felt different. I was at a fulcrum point in my mental health, working with a therapist I had a strong bond with. And they were taken from me for reasons beyond my control.
I only saw my new therapist for a few weeks and never felt comfortable with them. After a couple months my continued struggles with depression made me decide it was again time for a change in scenery. I left my job, left the area, and left therapy. Since that time I've attempt to get a new therapist a couple times (including the one I see now) but have been unable to establish anything ongoing. Partly due to my current job (they've constantly transferred me around the country), partly because I've slowly started to believe that therapy cannot be relied on.
Of course, I don't really believe that, but for my own sake it's probably best that I not view as a realistic option anymore. Which reminds me, I meant to call and cancel next month's therapy session.
It's strange how angry I feel over this. Given the private nature of situation it's not something I feel like I can talk about to anybody. Not family, whom I've never been able to speak openly with about therapy. Certainly not friends. It feels like the only person whom I could discuss this lost relationship and the anger I feel over it would be a therapist.
But therapy isn't an option for me anymore.