I've often wondered how to define myself. I'm a social worker who is mentally ill. I have been both client and therapist. In many ways, the role of therapist is one I fall into with more ease. I'm not vulnerable when helping someone else. However, when I'm the client, I feel torn wide open, nothing hidden, my every thought, feeling and action called into question.
For the past fifteen years or so, I stayed out of therapy. Now though, as my agoraphobia worsens, I find myself sitting on a couch in a small office with a man I refer to as the "Nervous therapist". He knows a great deal, but isn't the world's greatest communicator. It takes him several minutes to put what's in his head into words. He's not intimidating, which is a huge plus for me.
He wants to get to the root of my fear. He asks me for answers I've never had. I delve as deeply as I can with limited success. My brain holds many secrets, and it doesn't seem to be willing to release them easily.
For an hour a week, I sit on the couch, responding to the questions he asks. It's the only time all my inner walls are down. I feel transparent and afraid. Do I fear the transparency? I suppose I do, but, without it, I don't know if my illness will ever be something I can managed. I know it will never leave me completely. Asking for such would be unrealistic. After all, fear has been my constant companion for the past thirty years. All I can ask for is a way to manage it. Perhaps that's what I'll find on the couch of the Nervous Therapist.
This is my entry for week 14 of:
Thank you for taking the time to read. It's always appreciated, even if I don't manage to respond to every comment.