More than once I’ve followed my thoughts down rabbit holes recently and landed on the idea that I should probably see a counselor to help me adjust to having a chronic illness. I should do yoga and meditate. I should spend less time on my tablet and do something more productive with that time.
But about that counseling thing. Ugh. As far as treatment goes, finding a new therapist is surpassed only by changing medications as a major pain in the ass. That’s so hard. I end up getting in trouble, because when things start to slide I talk myself out of needing to change antidepressants. No matter how well they work, eventually they become less effective. When you’ve been plagued by depression for 30 years, you go through a few. The transition takes months because one med has to be gradually reduced while another increases. No way to know if it works for you until you’ve been on the full dose for three months. If it’s not working, Lord help me, seems like it just goes on and on.
Finding a counselor who is a good fit isn’t as big of a deal because you just don’t make another appointment if it’s not working. Once the challenge of meeting a match is cleared, the actual work digs up all the anxieties, fears, and emotions I’m currently attempting to exterminate and bury. Reversing course to go below ground where the bugs live seems counterproductive. I also rationalize that I have a Master’s in counseling and I saw a counselor for a year, though nearly two decades ago; I can predict how it’d go so why put myself through it?
Objectively, I tell myself I should participate in talk therapy, but a psychologist friend of mine used to say, “Don’t should on yourself.”
p.s. The blog is my therapy so you’re my counselors, and we just had a session! Don’t send me a bill though.