Page 44 of Rewriting the Story

For the first time this session, I look my therapist, Dr. Elyse, in the eye, and I’m met with a neutral expression, a hint of sympathy in her voice so far this session. She’s only a few years older than I am, and my decision to come see her has been the most terrifying jump I’ve ever made in my life.

If my younger self could see me here in England, willingly talking to a therapist after getting a diagnosis we’ve been waiting our entire lives for, she would probably roll her eyes and make a joke about it.

“Those are all completely normal reactions, Amelia. You were just given a diagnosis, so your brain was searching for a semblance of control. That fogginess you felt has been with you your entire life, at least from what I remember from a few of our earlier sessions.”

“I still haven't been able to sleep,” I whisper under my breath. “Part of me feels like an idiot for not knowing about thisbefore now. When you told me my diagnosis it felt like the carpet was ripped out from underneath me, but looking back, it all makes sense, I guess.”

“Hindsight is tough, especially with mental health. Some people go through a denial phase. Others feel relief to finally have a name for what they’ve been struggling with. It seems like you were somewhere in the middle.”

I scoff. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Well, would you think of it as something else?”

“I’d call myself an idiot.”

“And why is that?” She scribbles some more things down.

“Because I always assumed these idiosyncrasies I had were personality quirks, but apparently, there’s a reason for why I am the way I am.”

“Most of the time there is, Amelia.”

“Oh, so everyone is just walking around with an undiagnosed mental illness?”

She tilts her head at me as her note-taking stops. “That’s a generalization. Not everyone, but more people than we know.”

I take a sip from my water bottle, my throat suddenly dry.

“How do you feel now as you sit in front of me? Did you think about what we talked about?”

I take a deep breath as tears filter into my eyes. “Do you want the truth?”

“I never want anything else from you, Amelia.”

“I feel like a failure. I feel angry at myself for not seeing the signs sooner. I feel like there’s so much regret swimming through my body when I look back at all the decisions I’ve made.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it doesn't feel like me who made those decisions anymore. It feels like my brain and the chemical imbalance inside of it is who has always been calling the shots. I don’t know where that ends and I begin. I don’t feel in control anymore.”

“You are not your diagnosis. I need you to know that this is the first step in creating a healthy routine and managing your symptoms.” She crosses her legs in her chair and shuffles around before handing me a tissue box. “With the right treatment, you’ll feel more in control. I can’t promise our first attempt will be the right one for you, but that’s the nice thing about treatment. We can figure out what works best for you and your brain because a diagnosis isn't a one size fits all.”

I nod, unable to say much of anything. I know I can’t leave this untreated, but it’s going to be a long, hard road trying to reframe the mindset I’ve had for my entire life. I thought admitting I needed help was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but that doesn't even come close to the work Dr. Elyse and I are going to do in the future.

“I guess part of me does feel a little relieved,” I say as I blow my nose.

“That’s wonderful, Amelia.” More scribbles in her notebook.

“I really thought I was just a horrible person by making impulsive decisions like I did, not being able to hold relationships for too long.”

“I don’t think you’re a horrible person, Amelia. But don’t use this diagnosis to rationalize behavior that isn't healthy. You’re going to have to put in the work with me to try and properly treat this. Is that something you’re ready for?”

I nod, swallowing to try and help my dry throat.

“Good.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” She closes her notebook and rests her hands on it.

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