And that’s okay. I’ll get better. I’ll learn to manage my symptoms. I’ll find ways to live a good and fulfilling life despite my struggles. In fact, I’ve already done these things. And I will continue to do them so long as I’m breathing. But will I fully recover? Nah. Especially now that bipolar is in the mix (it never goes away!) but even without that, I don’t think C-PTSD is currently curable. How could it be? Why would we expect that of people?
My parents used to ask what it would take for me to get better and live a normal life with a normal job. What I should have said was that it would have taken a childhood that they weren’t involved in. I remember sitting down at an intake for residential treatment, my parents seated next to me. My dad turned to the greying counselor seated across the room and said, “so can you fix her or what?”
Ohhh, you stupid idiot.
I wish at the time I’d had the knowledge or the audacity that I have now – enough to say something back to that. But instead I sat there, head in my hands, probably still hungover from the night before.
For the record, the treatment didn’t fix me. Didn’t even come close. It added more trauma to my life in the form of my friend hanging herself in the room next to me the night I relapsed. I left in far worse shape than when I went in. I got sober again a few months later on my own, without the expensive, infantilizing treatment.
I think so often we forget in our excitement to get better that mental health treatment is an industry. For many people, it’s a business. In some ways, we – the sick – are both the product and the consumer. The business couldn’t exist without us and no one would buy it if we didn’t exist. We are fueling a monster. A cursory Google search just now revealed that the industry is worth AT LEAST an estimated $300 billion. That’s more than the fucking diet industry. The two have a lot in common – false promises of a better life, faulty methods, and a system that people end up depending on for years upon years because… it doesn’t work.
I feel kind of crappy because for months – even years – I have tried to convince my partner to see a therapist even though my own experiences have been shit across the board. It’s no wonder he digs his heels in after seeing the bullshit I’ve gone through trying to find a decent person to talk to. And the help I get is free because I get help from the government. If he sees a shitty therapist, he has to pay partially out of pocket. If they suck or mistreat him, he’s literally paying for his own suffering.
I think I suggest therapy because a part of me still wants to believe that there’s a magic fix out there. That talking to someone can cure these massive traumas, these years upon years of pain and suffering. But most of these people haven’t come close to suffering in the same ways and if they have, they usually aren’t mentally stable enough to be helping others. Can’t really win.
Will I keep looking for the right therapist? Probably. I found someone decent to shoot the shit with but I don’t think she’s going to heal my trauma in a profound way. She’s more like a friend that I can vent to. In some ways, I think that’s the best I’m going to find until there’s a radical awakening within the entire system. It starts with adding C-PTSD to the DSM and ceasing to label deeply traumatized people with BPD. DBT is not the cure. I’m sorry, but it’s just not. It might help people stabilize to a certain extent, but that’s it. It doesn’t get to the core issues. I have yet to find a type of therapy that really attacks the core of complex trauma. And yes, I’ve tried everything that’s been recommended.
The more I strive for something unattainable, the more I suffer. The more I realize that I’ve made it in so many ways – that I’ve survived despite my circumstances – the happier and more satisfied I feel. If this is as good as it gets, I’m okay with that. I’ve come a long fucking way on my own.
You know what helps? Writing about it. Making art. Sharing your feelings with people you trust. Loving people. Making friends. Chilling in nature. Maybe the occasional therapy session but, trust me, it isn’t black magic. If your life isn’t 100% better after a handful of therapy sessions, there is nothing wrong with you. You’re just on the shit end of a terrible money-making machine.
Sorry to be so jaded but that’s what I have for you today.
Wish you well.