A few years prior to this ordeal I was facing, my brother struggled with social skills as a toddler and in the primary grades. He regularly saw “Dr. S” to help learn social skills and manage frustration. It helped him a lot and I had met her a few times when I accompanied my mother and him to his appointments. My mom still had her contact information and suggested we start with her as an first option.
A couple of days after me flopping down on the couch, my mom and I met with Dr. S. I outlined my feelings and struggles, but still kept it mostly to myself. I didn’t want my mom to know the extent of my depression, and I had just met this woman. I wasn’t ready to open up quite yet.
On the second visit, I was allowed to be left alone with Dr. S. I don’t really remember what we talked about, but I knew I was a little more vulnerable with her than I was when I was with my family. However, my self-harm and suicide ideation was still kept to myself.
Throughout the first few sessions, I continued harming myself and recurring thoughts of suicide still lingered. Eventually, I admitted both of these to the therapist, but I couldn’t do it verbally. I wrote Dr. S a letter explaining about these struggles and handed it to her on my next therapy appointment.
While a strange silence hung in the air, I watched her read my letter. That was the first and only time I had admitted just how bad it truly was to anyone. When she finished, she thanked me for sharing and asked if I would be open to try a medication to help overcome these feelings.
At that point, I was ready to try anything. We decided to start me on a course of antidepressants.
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