THERAPY

BEING SHRINKWRAPPED CAN BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH; CAN CAUSE CONFUSION, SUFFOCATION AND EVEN DEATH

When you’re depressed and/or (is it ever ‘or’) addicted, you are on a path, blindfolded, feeling your way around potentially hazardous terrain.

When you’re in therapy, the therapist can play on of three roles. There are three types of therapists.

Therapist Type 1. This therapist is what I call the ‘passive’ therapist. This therapist is obviously a fan of the anthropological belief that when you are observing a wild animal or an undiscovered tribe, your very observation of them can change that animal or tribesman’s behaviour. So they try to have as little influence as possible, staying as far away from the observed entity as possible, allowing the animal or the tribesman to believe that they are unobserved and can behave naturally. Of course the problem with this theory is that these observers do in fact change the behaviour of the said animal or tribesman by the very nature of their observation, their very stance as observer, the very fact that the observed is being observed. So, these therapists maintain a distance. They do not get involved in any way. They do not offer guidance, advice, sympathy or a negative or positive reaction to anything that you say or do. They believe that by doing this they are allowing you to find your way, your voice, your truth. The problem with this, in the blindfolded in dangerous terrain analogy, is that this therapist is tied to your waist by a rope, walking a few metres behind you. They can see where you’ve come from and where you’re going. They do not warn you about the cliff you’re about to step off, the snake you’re about to step on. And when you do step on the snake, or step off the cliff, they raise an eyebrow and inquire how the bone-shattering, skull-crushing, blood-spattering trip down the cliff was. How did you feel about it? As if this weren’t bad enough, they then, because they’re attached to you via the rope, cause you to be painfully conscious of their presence as an observer. And because they’re not aiding you in any way, or coming to your aid when you fall, you begin to doubt whether they are there at all and whether they can see the cliff, the snake, and if they can, why aren’t they telling you about it? Do they not care? So, this passive therapist causes great feelings of confusion, anxiety, betrayal, abandonment and you are left feeling unHELD (they love that word, but they never do it), uncared for, not seen. This therapist causes more harm than good, because you know that they can see the terrain; you know that they can see the position you’re in; you know that they’re aware of the pain caused by the falls and the bites; and yet they do, say and offer nothing. Being in the terrain, blindfolded, scared, unsure and lost is harrowing enough. But this distanced, aloof and impartial observer magnifies these horrifying feelings, doing nothing to alleviate them.

Therapist Type 2. I call them ‘active’ therapists. This therapist is very similar to Type 1. They have had the same training, but through some trauma of their own, are unable to maintain the appropriate distance so coveted by Type 1. They are not satisfied to be walking behind you, tied to your waist by a rope. They walk with you, next to you, sometimes ahead of you; and at times they hold your hand, give you water, nurse your wounds. They warn you of the obstacles as best they can, cluck and tut and pamper when you are hurt or weary. They are everything that Type 1 lacks. They sympathise, they hold, they cry when you cry, they laugh when you laugh. But they are just as damaging as Type 1. Due to their maternal instincts and nature, they lull you into a false sense that they will be there whenever you need them, that they will catch you when you fall, and that they will be there when you end your journey and you take your blindfold off. And this is misleading and hurtful and damaging. Because it’s a lie. They’re not lying, but out of necessity, due to the very nature of the journey of depression, they cannot help you; it is a journey we have to take alone. So the fact that they offer and promise help only serves to distract you from realising that the very, very alluring promise of their help and support and care is only holding you back from reaching your destination. When they hold your hand on the journey, they are holding you back, not leading you on. When they point out a cliff, it is the same cliff you will fall down when they’re not there; when they bathe your wounds, it is the same wound that will become septic because you cannot care for it yourself.

Therapist Type 3. I’ll call them ‘realist’ therapists. This type, unfortunately, is rare. And I have only come across two in my 10 years of psychiatric institutions, multiple therapists, psychiatrists and other ‘health care’ professionals. They make it very clear that the journey you are on is your own, that they cannot help you, and that you have to fall down the cliff, climb out by yourself, and nurse your own wounds. They are not in the picture frame of the journey at all. They are neither behind you, nor walking next to you holding your hand. They are a voice in your head. A voice that sympathises with the hardship of the journey while at the same time urging you on, because it is a journey that has to take place. They are like a good coach in an endurance marathon: they train you, they make you aware of the obstacles, the hardships, but also the destination; they stimulate hope while not underplaying the endurance it will take you to get there. They warn you about the injuries and they teach you to treat your own wounds. When you are struggling, they urge you on, not by helping in any active way, but they encourage you that you have the strength and the reserves to make it on your own steam. And when you are desperate and want to give up, or you are going too slow or have come to a screeching halt, they give you a good kick up the arse.