“I’ve done everything wrong this week” – That’s how I started today’s therapy session. And I believed it. Everything has gone to pot and I thought it was my fault (a huge part of me still does). I’m not trying hard enough, I’m not getting anywhere, I’m not functioning in the slightest, bad coping mechanisms are taking over once again…I could go on. I feel entirely inadequate to the task of therapy and I feel hugely guilty about wasting my psychologist’s time when she could be helping someone much more deserving.
Overwhelming despair and hopelessness.
[Repeat til you can’t stand any more…than add a dozen extra rounds for good measure]
But, I went to therapy. I used every last ounce of my strength to speak honestly to and engage with my psychologist (even if I feel inadequately), sandwiched by throwing my all into getting to know my interim care coordinator. I’m tired and not sure how long I can keep this up (I still feel like I’m not strong enough and will let everyone down), but it was worth the effort today; that painful exertion of effort was appreciated and commented upon by both my psychologist and care coordinator, too, which I am very grateful for.