Facing fears

In addition to a week full of lectures, this week has had some fairly major challenges. On Monday, I had my first counselling session at church.

I actually went for counselling three years ago, at the insistence of the medical school (to cut a long story short, my grandparents died, my parents fell apart, I needed an extension for a project as I had to go home for some time, they needed an explanation about the reason for the extension, and then decided that pressurising me into counselling was a good move). Looking back, I wasn’t that old at all – I was nineteen, used to not opening up to anyone, and basically a good girl who did what I was told. The woman I saw made me feel so broken, but it never occurred to me to speak up and ask to change, or to stop. I kept going (I try and give everything a fair trial; in this instance it was a bad idea!) and by the time I’d had six sessions, was in a complete state and had a new self image of  being extremely damaged, beyond repair, and beyond loving. It took quite a while to shake that.

So, as a result, I haven’t been all that keen on going back for more. I put it off, made excuses, and told myself that for once, I would let my fears stay where they were. I’d let them win. Eventually, I realised I’d have to try again, and after some emailing backwards and forwards, had a session booked, with someone I did not know, whose name I did not recognise.

On Monday, I showed up at my church building, where the counselling rooms were and waited. After a while, L found me – she hadn’t heard the buzzer. The normal room was busy and we ended up in the prayer room, which felt strange as that was where I became a Christian eighteen months ago, and it’s somewhere I’ve spent quite a bit of time alone, trying to sort myself out (or, let God sort me out). There are Bible quotes and drawings on the walls, comfy chairs, art supplies for kids. The counsellor, L was nice, kind-eyed and caring. I was trembling and tongue-tied, scared. Vibrating. It feels so alien, talking about the past, it feels a lot like a betrayal and a breaking of promises. It makes me feel labelled, this depression, like a cloud over my head that everyone can see. It swamps me. And most of all, I hate that all these people only know me at what I can only call my worst – I am not as bubbly, as involved, as lively as I usually love to be. They don’t know that I am determined, a hard worker, a good listener. All they see, or all I imagine they see, is a blanket of sadness covering me over and blanking everything out. All they see is my shadow.

On Tuesday, I had to meet the head of my medical year, to talk about an extension on a compulsory research project. I never understand why these people don’t realise how scary it can be, getting a red-rimmed letter through the post, and angry emails requesting your attendance at a meeting that will be scribed by yet another faceless person and go on your record. I never had a detention at school, and I’ve never been up in front of something like that before. When I get nervous, I literally vibrate, and they made me wait as well, which just made it worst. By the end of it, I was crying hard. I have my extension, but feel that they’re just waiting for me to fail and fall. I’m giving myself the best chance – I have the next four months mapped out, have done all the assignments in advance that I possibly can, have pages of tasks, timelines and outcomes, and yet it doesn’t seem to be enough. One thing that made me particularly angry was this year head, a haemotologist, commenting that I’ve been depressed for such a long time, since September – it’s not as if I chose to be, not as if I wanted my medication not to work time and time again, not as if I haven’t been putting in so much effort into keeping going and recovering, that I’m worn thinner by the week. I am trying, every hour of every day. If I’d have stopped trying, just for a minute I probably wouldn’t still be here fighting. It’s not as if any of us chose things like this. They happen, and we just have to swallow it the best we can. There is little choice in what illnesses you come down with.

This post probably needs editing – but I’ll put it up in the meantime as people have actually been reading this – thank you! Comments always welcome. Love, Char48