Therapy made me worse. Not the “growth is uncomfortable” worse they warn you about in the first session. The actual worse.
Therapy made me worse. Not the “growth is uncomfortable” worse they warn you about in the first session. The actual worse. I walked in forgetting to buy toilet paper sometimes and walked out three years later forgetting to buy toilet paper always but now I could explain in great therapeutic detail exactly why I was a failure at remembering toilet paper which somehow made the whole thing more humiliating.
75% of people get better in therapy. Great. 25% don’t. People actually deteriorate, in therapy... Not plateau. Deteriorate. Get actively worse. Depression gets misdiagnosed 66% of the time. Bipolar? 93%. You walk into a therapist’s office feeling like shit and there’s better than even odds they’re going to call it the wrong thing and spend years treating you for a condition you don’t have.
I did CBT. EMDR. That tapping thing where you tap on your face while recounting trauma like you’re morse coding your nervous system. Lexapro, Wellbutrin (so allergic), Zoloft, every combination. I read the anxiety books. The British lovies telling you to breathe differently. I practiced mindfulness. I did ice baths. I smelled scents to alter my chemistry. I journaled so obsessively I created a written archive of my mental decline that reads like horror fanfiction. I wasn’t feel better in therapy. I was actually worrying much more. I was more scared after therapy than before therapy.
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