I Ticked The Wrong Box | Why Therapy Didn't Help Me

Sitting in the waiting room, my entire body was a pit of dread. My knee wouldn't stop bobbing, it annoyed me. I wanted to fidget but didn't want to bring attention to myself. It felt like a Sunday night when I was still in school, the pit of my stomach had flipped in on itself. The threat of vomit caused my throat to contract.

I was struggling. I needed help. And this stranger was going to ask how I was doing. I'd been referred by a pain clinic to this particular therapist. They wanted me to open up about the constant pain my body was putting me through, they didn't realise that the true pain had taken up residency inside my mind. I'd rehearsed what I was going to say. She might ask, 'So how are you doing?' and I was going to respond with 'Not very well, to be honest. I've been struggling a lot lately and I think I need help.' I'd said it back to my reflection multiple times, I didn't want to stammer. I wanted to finally help myself. 

She called my name, I felt the floor get swiped from beneath me. I heard my own heartbeat during the walk from the waiting room to the office. Everything was too loud. Had life always had a ticking sound? I couldn't remember. I saw dots. I found myself sitting down on an uncomfortable chair, her sitting down facing me. I noticed her earrings. Droplets with a green gem. Pretty.

"So before we get started, I want you to fill in this form. It's just some questions for me to get a sense of where you're at." she said.

Looking down at the paperwork she gave me, it asked some simple questions such as my name, age, how many hours I tend to sleep at night. But the further I got down the page, I was faced with questions such as:

Do you feel unhappy?

☐ Never

☐ Sometimes

☐ Often

☐ Always

Do you have suicidal thoughts? 

☐ Never

☐ Sometimes

☐ Often

☐ Always

I swallowed what felt like a brick, glancing up at the stranger as she filled in paperwork of her own. If I ticked those dreaded Always boxes, I'd feel like I was lying. It was too easy. What if she didn't take me seriously? It's only a stupid box. She hadn't really smiled yet, I couldn't even remember her name. My own words weren't going to be my answer, this ought to be easier, but the thought of her reading over this form and assuming whatever she was going to assume without me getting to explain.. the thought was torturous. I ticked the Sometimes boxes. 

She thanked me, took away the form, read it over, and put it down with a smile. We started talking. She asked me how I was feeling overall. I was honest.

"I've been struggling lately, for the past year or so. It seems to keep getting harder - both the pain and my mood. I've been down a lot, and I don't really know how to get help for it."

I felt a little lighter, I'd done it. Her brows furrowed, looking down at the form I had filled it.

"Well, you aren't depressed." she declared, easy, as though it were obvious. "So, I don't see what the problem is."

I stuttered, after all that prep, I stuttered. "I didn't want to seem stupid on the form. I didn't know how to answer."

"You aren't depressed." she repeated, talking as though I was dumb. 

I should've argued my case,  but does one have to argue the reasons why they're happy? It was confusing. So instead of the words I've since spoken a million times in my head, I came back with a pathetic "Oh, okay.".

We then spoke about other things that attribute to life. In regard to the physical pain, she said I had a healthy mentality toward it. Which was ironic. We discussed food, I said I'd always had an unhealthy relationship with it, she dismissed it as I was a healthy weight. I felt unheard. Like I was suddenly a pot of clay and she was moulding me to what I ought to be.

I've since gotten a little better about dealing with the haziness that was my life back then. But I still have really bad days, and at this point in my life, I no longer know whether it's a normal way to live. I had years after that therapy session (I didn't return) of what I refer to as 'loud brain days', and though it wasn't necessarily her duty to take me at my word, I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I'd ticked the right box. Or even better, if she'd of listened to me. I'm still obsessed with food, a fact I'm too ashamed to outright admit. (Why does typing out your darkest secrets not feel so scary?) Could she of referred me to someone who may of helped with that? Or is it okay? 

It's okay to save yourself. I have, a dozen of times. But the problem with it is that you only ever have yourself as a reference. I don't know what's a healthy amount of depression, or obsession, or self hatred. I've only ever been me, and I can easily imagine others going through a similar situation and not speaking up. So maybe it's normal, maybe I'm just overthinking it. Are humans all just suffering and sucking it up? I'm like a one person support group at this point, and I'm not very helpful.

If you're heading towards your first therapy session, don't be scared. Just because it didn't work out for me doesn't mean it won't for you. It's like a blind date, you may meet your personal jackpot. For me, personally, I've had two different therapists in my life. One was lovely and wanted to help, I just wasn't ready. And when I was ready, I didn't have the right therapist. It's the way of life.