Yes, that means all of you I have met over the years, except my current one, F. Dear F, you are the proof that there are good ones out there. As far as the rest of you that I’ve met is concerned: I’m not impressed.
I was 15 when I was first introduced to the world of shrinks and you and I did not get along well. You started out by testing me. Long, tedious, paper and pencil tests. Me. A kid who was scared to death of failing at any task given to me. So scared I couldn’t think straight. So you diagnosed a borderline IQ. Over ten fucking years ago, and you know what that translates into? For years and years people have read the label before even meeting me, thought “oh, she’s a retard” and treated me like one. And if I wasn’t able to benefit from therapy, you could rest assured that it was not because of anything you did, but because I was too dumb to be able to get it. Convenient, isn’t it?
But of course back then I believed what you said. I believed I was more stupid than most people. I certainly felt more stupid than everyone else. Yes, and my behavior sure was odd and disturbed. Very much so. I trusted anyone who was kind to me. And was extremely upset to the point of hate when I felt let down. And when I felt let down, I did what I could to corrupt and sabotage therapy. Or to withdraw from it.
But hey, guess what! That’s the reason why I needed therapy! Only to you it was the reason why you thought I should get kicked out of therapy. That’s a bit insane, don’t you think, that you claim to want to treat what’s wrong with me, only when you are faced with what’s wrong with me, you claim it’s the reason why you can’t treat me?! And of course that’s all my fault. Fucking convenient again, isn’t it?
So instead of proper treatment, it was drugs. Did you know that at one point I took seven different psychoactive drugs, every single day, because you said I was untreatable if I didn’t take them?! Tell you what! I was not any more “treatable” for taking them, I was just too drugged up to care about anything, including you, anymore! Oh, well, and I guess I should say thanks for the benzodiazepine addiction! So easy to prescribe them, isn’t it? And as long as it keeps her calm, why not up her dose? After all her life is worthless and fucked up anyway, so it can’t possibly make a difference to screw with it some more. And yes, initially I liked the benzos! Loved them! Loved the calm and the respite they brought!
But let me ask you one thing: Do you know how being dopesick from prescription drugs feels? It’s grand, you should try it out! Just take Valium or Xanax or Klonopin or some other benzo in forever increasing doses for six months. Or hell, have fun, make it a year. Or two. Or five. Just however long it takes until instead of reducing anxiety, they make you feel nervous and anxious. And instead of calming you down, they make you feel restless and unable to sleep at all anymore. And instead of making you feel better, they make you feel depressed and like all you want is fucking die. And then prescribe yourself a shitload of additional drugs to deal with those side effects, if you haven’t already added some. You’ll have the time of your life, I promise!
And then stop them. Taper off. Do it real slow, it doesn’t matter, you’ll go through withdrawal anyway! Experience all the joy that it brings! For days. And weeks. And months. Many, MANY months. Do it until you’ve been benzo and drug free for at least six months. Let yourself be surprised how fucking long it takes. How pathetic and miserable and painful it feels. And how much your body and brain and everything has to adjust to just be normal again.
And before you’ve done that, I don’t ever want to hear another fucking word out of your mouths about how I should take drugs!!
Oh, and another word of wisdom: Don’t ever – EVER – label someone “untreatable”. That YOU can’t do it, doesn’t mean it’s not possible. You’re not that grand. Whoever you are, however many fancy titles you have, and no matter how well respected you might be by your colleagues and whatnot: You’re not the be all and end all of therapy. That you don’t have the key to my lock, doesn’t mean that there IS no right key. Or that there is something wrong with my lock. Consider that you might simply be an arrogant asshole who takes him- or herself and her therapy lore too fucking seriously before you give me crap and treat me like your shit doesn’t stink!
And lastly, dear F, thanks for restoring my faith in therapists! You’re one of the good ones! Which is great, as it gives me hope that there ARE good ones out there, even if they are outnumbered by dickheads, and I wish everyone who needs one that they are able to find one! It makes all the difference.
And to the rest of you: go, have a good look at what you do and how you treat people, and then feel guilty about it. I’m serious, do it. And then work on improving. Everyone who comes to you is worth just as much as you are. They all deserve a good therapist, not one who’s only considering himself good. If you make mistakes or can’t help him or her, say so and admit that it’s normal, because nobody is perfect and nobody can have the keys to ALL the locks. Gosh, and fucking educate yourself on drugs – read ALL the studies, not just the studies by the pharma companies that you get paid to read, because guess what?! They want to sell stuff. It’s a multi-billion dollar deal. Use your oh-so-educated mind to conclude what that says about the objectivity of their studies.