I talked to my father tonight about my new therapist and the work we have
been doing together. As I have my master's in clinical psychology and he has a
doctorate in psychology (ironic I know) we were able to talk about the models
of therapy being utilized in my sessions. He seemed to think that writing in
this space was a good idea. It's funny that I have yet to use it to focus on my
presenting issue, the reason I first scheduled an appointment for treatment,
with that being that I have an eating disorder (ED). My therapist specializes
in working with ED clients, however, just as my bipolar diagnosis tends to
invade every aspect of my life it has done the same here and in my
sessions.
The running hypothesis at this point is that my ED developed as a way to
survive/cope with various dysfunctional events of my childhood. Alternately, I
was born hardwired to be at risk of unconsciously fusing stress and depressive
symptoms into a bipolar diagnosis without adequate intervention for such
symptoms. Throughout my teens and early 20's interventions came and went but
none were sufficient to suppress it. Explaining my current state in such a
technical way creates a type of out of body experience. I feel like a clinician
with a clipboard looking at myself as a client in a hospital bed sleeping the
type of sleep only possible with sedatives and hypnotic prescriptions; the type
of sleep that is full of strange dreams and colorful interpretations of my
various anxious memories.
At present, I wonder what type of interaction I would have with myself in
these roles, if I would receive the same type of responses that I have had from
those around me in my real life. For the bipolar diagnosis, there is empathy,
surprise, comments about how I am and my symptoms are "so different from
xyz bipolar person" that they already know, and unprompted promises from
them to "keep it between us." I have grown tired of updating those
that care that, "Yes, things are still the same but have no doubt that I
am still trying," that "I am still hopeful," and "am trying
xyz
medicine on xyz dose," to
"get stabilized yet again," and that "If I feel really depressed
I know what to do, where to go, who to call."
After disclosure of my ED to others, they remind me of my physical beauty,
the "obvious" and "unnecessary negative influence of the media,"
on my mind, and the possibility of self-healing my disorder by simply
"learning to love myself," or "digging into scripture."
These relationships, and my interpretations of their urgent advice, are only
made more complex by my history of failed attempts to self-diagnose, self-heal,
and reabsorb my disorders through prayer, education, positive thinking, and
therapy.
Tonight, the twofold conclusion is that firstly there really isn't room in
my mind to allow other people to live there, regardless of the veritable
stampede of positivity they might bring. Secondly, I remain grateful for
access to the voices and the listeners of the blogging community. (: