Terror and Therapy

12,666 Days Alive

90 Official Days at the New Job

2 Appointments Scheduled

1 Terrified Me

I know that my first thought when it comes to therapy shouldn’t be that I’m absolutely terrified. But, that’s what I am.

Why choose terror? Don’t actually know if it’s a matter of choosing terror, honestly; I don’t want to be Baker Acted again.

I remember that downward spiral caused by my own brain chemistry’s screwy self and the interaction with the dual hormone birth control as well as the medication that made me actively suicidal rather than the passive that I usually am.

I’m going to use “I” a lot in this post. Because I am scare. I am feeling a very specific level of chest-clenching, headache-brewing fear that I don’t know how to otherwise express. I am terrified.

I am terrified that I’m going to go to a therapist and leave in an ambulance for an involuntary hold.

I’m suicidal.

I acknowledge this.

I struggle with it every day. I just…don’t want to spend three days or more holed up in a hospital being made to go to a non-functional group therapy or coloring more flowers in a coloring book.

I’m fucking scared.

My appointment is on Friday, so I’ll have to take a slightly long and late lunch to attend, but it’s just downstairs from the office so I should be fine. And if I need to go home afterwards, I finally have PTO accessible to me. So, that’s something at least.

But really, I am absolutely stressed about Friday. I am nauseated at the thought of it. And I’m still going to do it. Like Nelson Mandela said: “courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

I’m also afraid of how much it will cost, even with insurance. So. Who knows on that? It’s important for me to go, though. Not just because I’m running low on medication, but because I genuinely feel like I’m drowning lately. The car crash/drowning dreams are becoming old.

I hope I jive with this therapist lady. I hope that things go well on Friday. I hope I can avoid getting anxiety-sick over this, or getting so upset I can’t function after the session. I wish…I don’t even know what I wish.

I take that back: I wish I didn’t need therapy as much as I do.

All this has given me a headache. I think I’m going to crawl into bed early tonight and call it a day.

Tomorrow will be better.

Take your meds, folks.

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