September marked the start of my current wave of counselling. After being on the waiting list for over a year, my CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy) for PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) has finally started.
If you have been reading my blog for a while, you’ll know this isn’t my first rodeo when it comes to counselling and done right, it can be invaluable. We ‘meet’ every Sunday evening in my lounge via my laptop courtesy of Zoom.
Sessions felt weird to start with, especially conducted in this manner but we are finding our groove and bless her, she’s hanging in there like a champ. My life is a lot and even though she is there to help me, I can’t help but feel a huge wave of compassion for her as she sifts through the hand I’ve been dealt.
We were bouncing around various topics to start and I always find CBTs compulsive need to focus, score and evaluate just one thing frustratingly limiting. I’m not just one thing. One issue. One trigger. One moment where the wheels fell off. One tiny cute little bundle of mess to dissect and tidy up. I’m a complex human being with a rather extensive set of issues running concurrently. Some are in the past. Some are with me forever. I could happily keep a therapist in gainful employment for life. Sadly, that’s not how it works. Before you even have your first appointment, your issues, despite being completely unknown at this point, have 8 sessions to solve. There are questionnaires and weekly checks on your feelings to assess if your mental health impacts your work, home or relationships. And if so, by how much and you are to score yourself between 1 – 10. How many days were you affected? None, several, all? Mild, moderate, severe? It’s all very robotic and a completely different approach to that of the 90s and early 2000s.
How is your anxiety this week? Between 1 and 10? Mild to horrendous?
Outside of my sessions I do not talk to anyone. I’m a chatty person and people confide in me on the daily but I keep my big issues close. I only divulge the surface stuff. Many of those closest to me think they know me, but despite my apparent sharing, I’m very measured in what I’m vulnerable about.
I live my life like most but with RP forever eating away at the edges of every single day. I’m never deeply sad but I’m also never truly happy either. I service my life from 2 lanes. Low mood and functional. I achieve everything I am supposed to from these 2 places. I have been in these 2 lanes providing basic assistance for 5 years. I work, look after my daughter and husband, clean, cook dinner, manage the family diary and my child’s hectic social life. I remember all birthdays, events and important dates but as I do all of this, I am just holding on. Trying to appear normal. Trying to keep everything ticking over. Trying so hard every day not to slip up in some horrific fashion.
Bad times are met with an almost familiar handshake and happy times are tinged with a hue of sadness while my brain presses fast forward on those lovely moments and asks the same old question.
“How much longer will I be able to see this?”
5 years on and I’m still able to hide my condition but it is getting harder. Last week as I was making my way home, the fluorescent lights on the bus made it difficult to see out into the darker evenings. Trying to see my stop was tough. The screen that usually showed the stops in advance, had been turned off and the announcements had been shut off too. It was one of those occasions where people would be calling on me to advocate for myself and ask for help. To ask for the screen and tannoy system to be turned back on. I didn’t. As a woman, telling people what I needed and why in this scenario, made me worry. Would I make myself a vulnerable target? I know there are truly wonderful people in the world but we all know there are vile ones too. I stayed silent.
When I’m a passenger in my husband’s car I can see fine at night. The inside of the car is usually dark, apart from small lighting on the dashboard so looking out is a piece of cake. A bus is a different beast. My daughter was with me so the need to not mess up was even greater. I turned my situation into a game and we both raced each other to spot the stop! If you spot the stop, you get to press the bell! With much excitement my girl relished the challenge and won! We laughed all the way home, singing with our torches on. There I was, still holding on. Holding on for her. For me. For everyone.
I mentioned this delightful experience to my counsellor during our most recent session. We worked through it and are in the process of trying to understand my thought patterns. I have not cried about my circumstances in years but as I wrapped up my session update with my husband, I told him how much of my life I spend just trying to get through it.
“It takes all I am to just get through the day. I’m just trying to get through it. I am just trying to survive this!”.
Just trying to survive this.
As soon as I said that out loud I cried. Only for a minute. I am so good at locking all that up, I can do it on demand. The truth is a harsh reality. This journey with RP is very tough. Keeping my struggle a secret is suffocating but being honest is something I still can’t face yet. I’m not afraid of the unknown. I’m afraid of what I know is coming.