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.