I have participated in therapy a total of three times in my life. By this, I mean three different occasions throughout my life.
The first time that I went to therapy I was 17 years old. My parents had just separated and my sister had just "come out of the closet". I had been caught drinking a few times (by the police - not parents) and had obtained a few drinking ticket. I was put on probation until I was 18 years old. One night, as I was babysitting my mentally and physically profoundly retarded brother, my friend and I drank an entire bottle of my mom's whiskey. When my mother returned home, she found my brother in the house alone, my friend in the front yard throwing up, and me - walking laps around the yard so that I would not throw up. This was when my mother threw me into therapy.
My therapist was horrible. Even at the age of 17 I knew this. We never really talked about me. I am pretty sure I had only gone to therapy three times and each time, I was able to manipulate the conversation so that we ended up talking about her. Either she was just out of school, or I was really just that good. Either way, I got nothing out of therapy.
The second time that I took part in therapy was when my marriage was in shambles. We did couples therapy and I had gone to my own therapy. I had gone to only a few sessions of my own personal therapy, as I had felt (at the time) that I really did not need it. I did, however, like the therapist that we had for our couples therapy. She was older and almost always on my side (which is probably why I liked her so). I remember one day she looked at me and asked, "Erin, do you ever feel like Garth acts 'holier than thou'?" Indeed I agreed with her. Ever since that day, Garth hated her and wanted to switch out. Even after I admitted to the affair, Garth still felt she 'liked' me better. Regardless, the reason we stopped going to see her was because Garth did not like her anymore and I am sure there was some underlying defeat that Garth and I both felt in our marriage. So we just stopped going. I did go to Garth's therapist, once, because Garth wanted me to meet with him so give him a different perspective on all of our drama. This was about one or two weeks after Nikki and I got into a bar brawl. I am sure, no - I take that back. I am positive that the therapist thought Nikki and I, both, to be absolutely insane. I felt like a complete nut job telling the therapist about his client. I looked like the nut job because I was the one 'fighting' for our marriage. Even fighting his girlfriend. I just know that I looked insane and I am sure I made Garth look even worse.
The third time (and standing) I have been to therapy is when Dominic died. I finally found a therapist that I love. It is the first time I have really unpacked all of my baggage and laid it out all over the table for someone. From my parents divorce, all of the drug use, the drinking, the sex, my marriage, my divorce, my husbands girlfriend, Ray and I's family, Dominic's death - everything has been laid out. All of it. She has taught me coping mechanisms and relaxation techniques in my times of anxiety and sadness. It works. I will leave there sometimes completely exhausted from intense weeping, but it works. I began going every week. Every single week, I would meet with her and she would talk me through my completely overwhelming sadness. Then, I got a little bit better and we started seeing each other every other week. I have a few more sessions and I will be to once a month.
My therapist had to take a family medical leave for a few weeks. She called today to set up our future appointments and we talked about why she was on a leave of absence. I knew her and her husband were going to Montana for their yearly vacation to ride horses, but I had not heard anything from her since. I found out today that her husband was bucked off of his horse miles away from anyone and he broke his neck. Luckily, there was a doctor in their group, She stabilized him until the ambulance would get there. It took three hours for an ambulance to get there and nearly eight hours before anyone told my therapist that her husband was going to survive. She has been tending to his every need and he is doing much better, today.
I have been through a lot. This I cannot deny. But I cannot imagine what she had gone through. How horrible. It is times like these or stories like that, when you think that life just could not possibly get any shittier, when you realize that - in fact, it can always get worse. And it really, really makes you grateful for the situation you are in. Perspective is an interesting thing. Everything changes when you look at it from a different perspective. It is sad that more people don't take the opportunity to do that more often. I think the world would be a really different place if they did.
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