Secret Therapist

Jane’s episode of intense anxiety passed, and she made it through the summer.  In the following school year there was an underlying tone of anxiety, and she began to suffer from terrible stomach pains.  Sometimes Jane would have crippling stomach aches where she couldn’t move.  She rarely wanted to leave the house, because she was more comfortable in bed.

Jane was now approaching her twenty first birthday.  It was winter.  She was able to get through her days.  But there was a sadness in her.  She had the urge to cry when she woke up in the morning, but she would swallow it.  Jane would get dressed and do what she had to do.  Much like the sky in the town where she was attending school, her mind felt foggy and gray.  She didn’t have the desire to be adventurous or party like her friends.  She wanted to be home in bed.  All the time.  Her friends didn’t understand why she was shutting down, and she didn’t explain it to them.  She feared they would judge her, and she liked keeping this to herself.  It felt safer . Jane decided to see a therapist in her school’s counseling center.  She told her friends she was meeting with a social worker there for grad school advising.  Jane didn’t want anyone gossiping about something so important to her.  This was her secret therapist.

January came, and Jane decided to see a psychiatrist on campus.  Her depressive symptoms were getting too strong.  One appointment and fifteen minutes later, she was prescribed Prozac.  Drug #2.  She took it for two weeks and stopped.  Jane had a few dizzy spells and suspected it was making her feel funny.  She was already on the fence about medication.  That same week Jane quit smoking.  She just stopped.  She never picked up another cigarette again.  She started binge watching shows on Netflix, and it calmed her.

Why Can’t I Stop Shaking?

Confused is one way to put it.

Jane sat on her boyfriend’s bed watching tv with him and his friend.  She was nineteen years old.  Thoughts of things she said and did years ago started creeping into her head, and she couldn’t get them to go away.  “Think about something else” she told herself.  She didn’t make the connection that these thoughts were washing over her the same way that the intrusive thoughts did when she was thirteen.  She had this terrible feeling of impending doom wash over her.  Her heart started beating faster.  How could she get the thoughts to go away?  Why was she thinking about stuff from two years ago?  What relevance did it have?  None.  But Jane felt helpless.

Jane was cooking dinner for her and her boyfriend.  Tacos.  Every time she touched the raw meat she had to wash her hands.  Make a patty, place it in the pan.  Wash hands.  Pick up the spoon, sprinkle seasoning.  Place the spoon somewhere clean.  Pick up some meat to make a patty.  Realize she didn’t season it.  Put meat down, wash hands.  Sprinkle seasoning.  Place patty in the pan.  Wash hands.  Grab spoon.  Repeat repeat repeat.  Any risk of raw meat touching anything else meant impending doom.  What if she got her boyfriend sick?  There could be no risk involved.

The next day was spring break.  The thoughts kept swirling through her head.  Her stomach turned and turned, and her heart never stopped pounding since the day before.  She got on a greyhound bus and put on music.  She texted her boyfriend that she felt so sick.  Four hours later she gets off the greyhound bus and is greeted by her mother.  She runs into her arms and starts crying.  “Something isn’t right, something is wrong with me.  I can’t stop.”

Her mother took her to work with her the next day.  Her boss was out of the office, so Jane sat in his office on the computer.  From the second she arrived she could not stop sobbing.  She was consumed by thoughts and memories involving her relationship with her boyfriend.  Things like not washing her hands before doing something or dropping something of his on the floor and wondering if she should have cleaned it before putting it back-and not telling him about it.  Confessing her actions and thoughts.  Her mother brought her lunch.  “You have to stop. Maybe you need fresh air.”  Her mother took her outside to get food at a cafe nearby.  Jane listlessly walked through the streets of Manhattan, staring at the people walking around, wondering if they were sick in the head the same way she felt she was.  She sat down at a table while her mother got food at the register.  Her mother brought her a sandwich.  “I can’t eat this.”  Her mother encouraged her to try to take a few bites.  Jane couldn’t stomach any food.  She couldn’t believe she was able to stop crying long enough to go outside.

It felt like the longest day of Jane’s life.  She was home laying in bed now, smoking a cigarette.  Halfway through the cigarette, her heart starts pounding again. She puts out the cigarette and decided to take a few days off from smoking.  Her heart palpitations were unbearable.  She stayed up all night staring at the ceiling.  She started to feel like she wasn’t herself.  It was an out of body experience, where part of her brain felt numb, and her thoughts were spinning out of control.

The end is coming.  There is an impending doom.  This will never go away.  Why can’t I feel better?  Why is this happening to me?  Why can’t I stop shaking?

The next day Jane went to see a psychologist with her mother.  She had seen this doctor before in high school when she and her mother weren’t getting along.  She explained the thoughts and physical symptoms to her psychologist.  She told her how she felt out of control and sick to her stomach.  The doctor said she had some generalized anxiety.  Diagnosis #1.  She asked Jane to try some yoga and meditation and to go outside for walks and really take in her surroundings.  She explained that this would help Jane’s thoughts subside enough for her to get through the day and maybe sleep.  She went home with her mother, and they decided to take a walk.  Just like in the city, Jane walked listlessly, feeling disconnected from the entire world.  Her eyes hurt from crying and she felt completely exhausted and drained.  She went home, and her best friend called.  He asked to come over and hang out.  She told him that she really didn’t feel well, but he could stop by.  He came to her apartment, and they sat in silence watching tv.  Jane told him that she didn’t understand what was happening to her, but she felt like she was in a permanent state of fear.  He told her that his mom has cancer.  She looked at him and could not process what he said.  “What?”  Cancer.  They had a brief conversation about it, and she became dizzy.  Her heart was pounding again.  Her friend decided to leave so she could rest.  She always felt bad about how she handled that conversation.

Two days had passed and Jane had not more than two hours of sleep.  Her grandmother took her to the doctor for a blood test.  Maybe it’s your thyroid her family said.  The nurse handed her a checklist of what Jane wanted to be tested for.  She checked off every single box and handed the paper back to the nurse.  Jane immediately regretted that.

What if the results say positive for HIV?  How can I survive that? How can I tell my family?  I’m not ready to live the storyline of Rent right now.

She met with the doctor and explained her symptoms.  He said her results came back negative for everything, and he prescribed her Klonopin to help her get some sleep for the week.  Drug #1.  Jane as relieved and went home.  She took a klonopin and laid down watching tv.  The next thing she knows, she is being woken up by her mother.  “The psychologist is on the phone for you.  I told her about the doctor.”  The psychologist told Jane not to take the klonopin, because she shouldn’t be sleeping during the day.  She wanted Jane to try really hard to stay awake until the nighttime.  She recommended that Jane try the relaxation techniques they discussed in their session.  This week was the first time Jane was being taught healthy coping skills.  She did some yoga, but it was the klonopin that helped her get rest.  The psychologist also told her not to confess her thoughts to her boyfriend. “Tell him that you are going through something right now, and you will tell him important things.”  Just like when Jane was thirteen, Jane was comforted by an “authoritative therapist” telling her it was okay to keep her thoughts to herself.

Two days later Jane’s friend from college came to visit.  They had bought tickets to a concert for the next day, and her friend knew Jane wasn’t doing so well.  They ordered take out from a diner, and Jane got a burger and fries.  She couldn’t stomach the food.  Her friend took a french fry and make airplane sounds with it, trying to help make Jane laugh.  She did.  She was able to eat a little.  This friend literally hand fed her to help her get her energy up.  They went to the concert and back to college the day after.

Smoke a bowg

They teach biology and health in high school, but Jane’s teachers never really went into sex.  They talked about the menstrual cycle in biology, and STD’s in health.  But neither her teachers or familial adults really went into sex.  How to have sex, how to know you are ready to have sex.. That very taboo is what gets teens into trouble.  Jane felt like she knew the least about sex out of all of her friends.  And just like sex, Jane never learned about mental health or how to effectively cope with her feelings.  It was all just another taboo.  If you cry a lot or scream, you’re too emotional.  If you hold everything in, you’re too angry.  Jane’s friends smoked.  Cigarettes and other things.  That was how they coped.  Everyone had their own teenage angst and issues with their parents.  Jane didn’t know how to deal with the rejection she received from every friend she romantically pursued.  So she smoked, too.  And Jane and her friends didn’t have the occasional “bowgie”.  They chainsmoked.  It was their hobby.  They did it when they were happy and when they were sad.  Jane had no other ability to cope.  She tried to quit once, and ended up screaming, crying, and hysterically begging her mother for $7.00 to buy another pack.  Not enough venting in the world could soothe Jane.  She needed a bowg on the side to calm down.  She chainsmoked for five years, experimented with the occasional drug, and drank many nights away.  It was just what people did in her eyes.  And not once did anyone in her life use the word “cope” to try to teach her that she was handling stress in an unhealthy way.  How do you take a teenager’s cigarettes away, because they are “bad for you?” and tell them to deal with stress?  “Just deal.  This is life.  You are growing up.”  No coping skills in place.  Just deal.  Biologically speaking, the age is twenty five for any individual to even begin to take health consequences from risky behaviors seriously.  By then many people are already addicted and stuck in unhealthy coping patterns.  And through these unhealthy coping patterns, there are also unhealthy relationships and communication skills.  It’s all tied together.  Jane never received formal or informal education about this stuff.  And she smoked her pains away until she learned she had other options.  Although those options were hard, they were beautiful.  They strengthened her inner goodness and made her strong.  Jane misses cigarettes every day, but she wouldn’t go back.  She knows too much now.

Mommy, Am I Gay?

Although Jane wasn’t socializing or pursing school crushes at thirteen years old, she found herself starting to feel sexually aroused.  One time she was watching television, and a Victoria’s Secret commercial came on.  She said to her mother, “Mom, I feel weird sometimes when I see these girls on the television.  Like, I like to look at them.  Does that mean I have gay feelings for them?”  “No, it doesn’t,” her mother told her.  These thoughts continued to pop up for Jane.  At one point, they became obsessive, and she could not shake the feeling that she was gay in some way.  She asked her mother if something was wrong with her.  Maybe it was her hormones she explained to her mother.  They went to Jane’s pediatrician for a blood test.  The doctor reported that her hormones and chemical levels were perfectly normal.  Jane asked her mother “Does this mean I’m straight?”  Her mother said “Yes, the doctor said everything is fine.”

The time came to pick a high school, and Jane’s favorite one was an all girls academy.  She cried to her mother, asking if going to this school made her gay. “Of course not, Jane” said her mother.  Hearing this assurance from her mom made Jane feel at ease and decide to attend the school.

The gay thoughts subsided as Jane went to high school.  For ninth and tenth grade she had crushes on boys and experienced all of the physical changes puberty brought. Some of her classmates came out to her as bisexual, and she felt like she did not share the same feelings towards girls that they did.  It was not until eleventh grade that she thought to herself, “maybe I do not like boys.”  She had more gay friends at this time, and she would talk to them about her qualms and fears about penis and heterosexual sex.  Jane did not identify as a lesbian, but the idea of penetration from a man truly scared her.  She was attracted to girls, and it felt safe to her.  Jane pursed lots of girls from her school who were already in relationships.  By pursing the unavailable, she was setting herself up for rejection.  This only reinforced feelings of low self worth.  It was no surprise that Jane avoided men and pursed unavailable women.  She had never been around men to begin with, and the idea of getting attention from someone who could not emotionally be there gave her a wild rush.  She was chasing after something that she could not have.  This relationship pattern stemmed from her relationship with her parents, and lack thereof.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Insomnia

In April of the eighth grade, Jane’s grandfather passed away.  He had become very sick, and was in the hospital for a few months prior.  He wasn’t very healthy for most of her life.  He kept to himself and avoided the doctor.  It wasn’t until the end that her family understood his health issues.  It was at this time that her family was now solely women.

Jane had developed a sleeping problem.  She would wake up at 3am, 4am, 5am, any random early time and be unable to fall back asleep.  She had a DVD of the third Harry Potter movie.  She would watch it every single day when she woke up.  At 6am she would get ready for school, and at 7am she would visit her two favorite teachers.  Jane would offer to help them clean the classroom and wash the boards.  She was quiet.  Her homeroom teacher approached her mother after school one day and explained her concerns.  She said that Jane presented as depressed, and she was worried about her.  This continued to the end of the school year.  The insomnia didn’t affect her studies though, as she became the valedictorian of her graduating eighth grade class.  If anything, her sadness led to her putting all of her energy into schoolwork.  She wasn’t socializing with the other children, and had a glum appearance.  Jane felt a steady sadness and emptiness.  Her insomnia passed by summertime.

Merry Christmas Suicidal Ideation

It was two weeks before Christmas, and Jane was in the eighth grade at the time.  She was home on vacation from school.  The house was decorated from the floor to the ceiling in Santas, lights, and poinsettias.  Her mother always went all out for Christmas.  She laid down on her bed, staring at her wooden closet’s doors.  Her mind went blank.  She got lost in a feeling of emptiness.  Jane pictured a kitchen knife.  It was the one of the kinds she had in her kitchen downstairs.  She pictured it stabbing her in the stomach.  The thought of it truly irked her.  Jane didn’t like knifes or sharp objects; she never wanted to cut herself intentionally.  The image swept over her mind like a wave too big in the ocean.  It felt like one of those waves that you see coming at the beach that make you think you shouldn’t have gone out so far in the water, but it’s too late to swim away.  You have to take a deep breath and let it wash over you, hoping that you can come up for air after it passes.  Jane began to cry, and didn’t understand why she couldn’t control this image.  Feelings of emptiness and sadness continued to wash over her.  Her mother came into her room and asked why she was crying.  Jane cried and said “I have these thoughts about killing myself.”  Her and her mother sat on the bed and sobbed together.

Jane didn’t have a plan to hurt herself.  But the idea of it would come and go.  It was a repulsive image that she could not rid her mind of.  That vacation before Christmas was slow and painful for Jane.  The thoughts became worse.  She would sit in church and picture the entire church shrinking down and being sucked into her mother’s vagina.  She would picture all sorts of large things doing this.  It was things that made no sense that became compulsive images in her mind which she could not control.  The thoughts would swirl around in her head until she told her mother about them.  Jane would tell an obsessive thought to her mother and wait for her mother to say “okay.”  Only then would the thought go away.  Jane felt the need to confess every single thing that ran through her head.

Jane’s mother saw how tortured Jane was by her own thoughts.  She took her to a child’s psychologist to understand what was happening to her daughter.  Jane always associated this psychologist with the way she would scratch her legs during a session with her sharp nails.  She would scratch for a good seven seconds until her dry skin was red.  This psychologist gave Jane permission to not tell her mother all of her thoughts.  She asked Jane to save the ugly thoughts for their therapy.  Jane took this authority figure’s permission as a comfort, and she stopped telling her mother about the images.  The thoughts subsided in two months.

Who is Jane?

Let’s talk about Jane.  I write this from an imaginary place.  A writing desk, in a high up room in a castle.  The window is just a bare square in the middle of a stone wall.  There is a breeze from outside.  The green leaves in the tall trees are swaying, singing to one another.  The air is warm.  Warm in the sense that you can barely feel it.  I take a deep breath in and contemplate where to start.

Jane.  Who is Jane? She was born to a mother and father in New York City.  Family intact.  Four months later, she looks upon her mother and her mother only.  Her father was gone, and she would not see him again for twenty three and a half years.  There was no imprint on her memory of her father.  In fact, she never referred to him as “father.”  He was her mother’s “ex.”  That was all.  There was no anger, no resentment, no feelings.  Jane never thought about not having a father.  Her family didn’t talk about him, and from all of this she told herself that his absence did not impact her.  Her poor mother, she would think.  She was the one who was impacted.  Jane grew up in a lower middle class neighborhood in the city with her mother, aunt, and grandparents.  As a child, the neighborhood was perfect in her eyes.  The sounds of helicopters or police sirens were nothing but a sound, just as the birds chirping or the kids on the block playing hide and seek were.  For twelve years Jane was a happy and well adjusted girl.  Smart.  Pretty.  Well liked, and kind.  Jane had a good childhood, which not many can report.

It was right after her thirteenth birthday when it broke.  It being a balloon inside of her.  A balloon representing her absent father, filling up with water little by little every year.  Jane was born at 7:40PM.  She sat on the couch in the living room with her mother at 7:32PM on her thirteenth birthday and sobbed.  “Mom, I don’t want to be a teenager.  I want to be a kid for longer!”  “Okay” said her mother. “You can stay twelve.”  It was almost as if Jane knew on some subconscious level that entering adolescence would be the start of it all.  She was a happy kid.  Everything was okay.  But the pressure from the water in this balloon would become a burden.  And soon it would pop.  It had now begun to leak.  And no one would know it was the balloon that was the underlying cause for all of the chaos she would endure.