What's Up, Doc? Session One

I feel like there should be some kind of warning for this post: This is in no way, shape, or form representative of psychological help for anyone other than myself. I am not a medical doctor/psychologist. This is the journey of one person through their own luggage. Should you have any questions feel free to e-mail me directly. Should you leave questions as comments, please ensure I can reply through e-mail to you. I am so thankful for all the constructive feedback from my last post about my journey... and so it shall continue:


This whole week and last I've been an emotional wreck. I love being a girl because I just blame my hormones. I cried all day last Monday [not the 4th, but the Monday before]. ALL DAY. When hubs asked me why I told him I didn't know. It wasn't avoidance, it was reality. It was as if someone turned on the faucet inside and never shut it off. I was leaking from the eyeballs.

[source]

I had made the decision to get help, and scheduled my appointment. The fear associated with that was so overwhelming for me. What would people think? What would my husband think? Would he leave me over whatever it was? What if I had to be medicated? Would he love me any less? Would our marriage slowly deteriorate to nothingness? Would I be strong enough?

My biggest fear with seeking therapeutic help is that I've been there and done it, and it makes you feel like complete and utter crap for a while. At least it did for me. I knew I would have to give the recap on my childhood and life. My first session went like this:

I explained why I was seeking help: I wanted to phrase it something like "frequent explosions of rage" but hubs had me phrase it more like "outbursts of anger". I explained the scenarios and then Dr. J confirmed my fear.

"What if it has nothing to do with crazy California drivers?" I knew where he was going, as most anyone who has taken a college level Psych 101 course would know. "What if I told you anger was the outward show of pain and fear?"

Well doc, how much time do we have? Let the recap begin: Parents divorced when I was 3. Step dad immediately moved in. My siblings and I were physically abused until we escaped the house... for me that was 14. I'm talking beaten with belts until there were welts on our bodies and we were bleeding. Eating peanut butter and jelly because booze was more important than food. Being thrown down stairways, against walls, being choked and pulled around by your hair. I'm not talking popping a kid on the bottom because they slapped their sibling.

Then Dr. J asks: "Was there sexual abuse?" Yes. My virginity was lost at 14 in a rape situation. The same situation is why I was kicked out of my house after being violently beaten. We're talking bathroom covered in blood, going to school three days later with bruises and not able to breath through my nose. We're talking police intervention.

Why at 26 do I still have to live with the demons of the past? That pretty much covers the pain aspect.

Stress/Fear. Oh man: the first change from one command to the next for me as a wife (in the relationship on a whole even). All of my husband's colleagues are so much older that they have kids my age, or just shy of it. I have nothing to say to them productive. The people who are my age and I've befriended we can't socially hang out with as a couple. I have no real community. I have no purpose right now other than being a wife. My husband is home and I don't know how I feel about it- I don't ever want the lovey dovey feeling to wear off but let's face it, it will. [Oh, there's more... many, many more]

Then there's the talk about family history as far as mental health and alcohol go which won't be aired since it's not my laundry but let's just say this is when Dr. J suggests I go on Oprah and write my own "real" million pieces book.

Diagnosis: Betty Badass lives down inside of me and verbally "shanks" people to keep me from ever being hurt again. Then, without having a disassociative personality disorder, there is a sweet little girl yearning for the love and affection I never got. She is stuck under the table hiding, wanting someone to tell her she is pretty in her pink princess dress. She is whiny and throws tantrums. Hmmm... I didn't even start talking about my tantrums! I couldn't use insanity to get my way out of charges. Wait... does this constitute acknowledgement of that? Deny, deny, deny.

Homework. Yep, I have homework. In a real journal- REAL, with paper and using pens! (Of course it will make it's way here too!) List the things I value the most and rank them from 1-5. Check it and re-evaluate if needed every few days. Write a "puke list" of all my fears and insecurities. Writing this list is number one on the list. Then, pick up a copy of "Feel The Fear... and do it anyway" by Susan Jeffers. I am confident I was assigned this because I let Dr. J know I didn't like reading.

I've been reading and working on my homework: I can't wait to share.

This is it - this is me.

Cuddles and Kisses,
The Mrs.