For our next stop on the Bipolar Express, we are… getting help.
Yep. When I began this journey, it was all about DIY fixes. At the time, I identified as an addict. What I didn’t realize at the time, however, is that my “addiction” was just an obsession based permutation of other disorders I had. These were obsessions that could be mitigated – but only if addressed. Instead of ever doing that, I’d scour the store for hours, seeking out anything to abate the pain in my brain, body, and soul. And they helped. (You’ve read many of them already.) However, most of them only helped for a short while and only solved the symptoms, not the underlying chemical imbalance or the trauma that exacerbated it.
But when I fell in love with another troubled soul, we knew we were in trouble.
So, we resolved pretty early to go to couples counseling.
We knew by our second month in that we couldn’t avoid it. Neither of us had the blueprints for what a healthy relationship looked like. Our parents had been awful to each other all the time. I didn’t know what it looked like to make a man feel needed (having always done things for myself) or how to discern between respect versus submissiveness with a male. (Submissive I am not.) And he didn’t understand that my needs were unique – and not necessarily what he was good at giving. That I wouldn’t tolerate hypocrisy or dishonesty. That I needed some freedom and my own identity. That I required ownership and accountability for every wrongdoing. On my end, I was full of insecurities and fears about infidelity or being controlled; my bipolar symptoms didn’t help this either, because I was constantly under either a “doom filter” or a crazed mania where everything was peachy keen. On his end, he had a great many standards he expected me to uphold – but wouldn’t uphold himself. A quiet rage he’d hold in (long fuse with a big bomb). And a great many changes he required of me (that made me wonder if he had liked, much less loved, any part of me in the first place since all of the changes were in direct opposition to who I was and what I had always done). Long story short, when things were good, they were straight fire (as the chilrun say). But when they were bad? A dumpster fire.
So we chose to go to therapy. Now, I’d put off therapy for even myself (despite knowing I needed it) for years because I didn’t want to have to drive somewhere, sit in an office, or pay a massive office visit fee. Plus, everything closes by the time I’m off work. Plus-plus, it would interfere with my MMA training, rest days, and social engagements. (Real good with priorities, I know…) But, once a relationship I really wanted to work was in jeapordy, I was willing. So, I began to do the research for us. The agreement was that he’d pay the copay for us and I’d find someone who we both felt comfy with and set the appointment. As I began my hunt, I discovered something amazing.
Something called… Thriveworks.
Okay, so, I can’t say enough good things about this site.
The first thing I noticed was how easily navigable it is. No giving away all your info and credit card before seeing who’s available at what times or guessing if they’ll be a good fit. You enter your parameters (like gender of therapist, times, telehealth, insurance, etc.) and a whole list pops up. It shows who’s available. It shows what times. It says what insurance they take. It says what they specialize in. You can see their photo, a profile, their credentials. It’s all there. No guessing if you’re about to waste your time or money whatsoever. Then, not only did these therapists take both of our insurances, but they also offered (as mentioned above) Zoom appointments. And, not only that, but some of them offered weekends and other times I could do that I couldn’t get at conventional clinics.
What I loved about this was multi-leveled. First, I was saving money on gas. No driving to or from. Second, there was no white coat syndrome of waiting in an office like I’m about to go get interrogated or executed; no wondering if I’ll see someone I know. Third, I’m in my own home (which can work on two levels; one is that it’s more comfortable because it’s familiar ground, while the other is that it’s the same place I have a lot of my anxious thoughts that I tend to forget about/not share once I’m out of that environmental context and in a strange office and can’t be reminded of all the bills I have to pay that are stacked on the counter just behind the phone I’m holding my Zoom meeting on.)
Fourth, aside from saving gas cash, the drive there and back takes up time when you do it in an office. This means I would need a later appointment – which most offices don’t often have. (Everyone and their mother wants that time slot.) I just live ten minutes from home, though. That means, if I’m off at three, I can get home for my 3:30 call easily – and take my dog out quickly beforehand. Fifth, sometimes on weekdays (which is the only time most clinics offer appointments), I’m in no place to communicate the innerworkings of my mind. I’m mentally dead. My job has just beaten my identity out of me for eight straight hours. (I work in healthcare, just like these poor people who have to listen to my issues.) With Thriveworks, I can schedule an appointment an hour after training on a Saturday morning, when I’m in my mind and body and feeling articulate and rested enough to communicate my thoughts more clearly; when I feel like I matter enough to take care of myself.
It’s just about near perfect.
Sadly, Thriveworks couldn’t save our relationship. (That’s a convo for another kinda site, but long story short: I honestly feel like people need their own space to be heard – not a singular appointment where two people are sat next to one another, ignoring eachother, and tattling to a therapist who isn’t even listening because it probably reminds her of her bickering kids.) That said, if it hadn’t been for that (failed) relationship, I would have never found this magical site to get the help I so desperately needed. I started seeing both a psychiastrist and a counselor nearly immediately. And, while I didn’t end up taking anything prescription from my psych, the medication she offered caused me to start my research quest. When I realized I wasn’t willing to suffer those side effects, it ultimately led to me looking up and hunting down the perfect over the counter mood stabilizer which transformed my entire internal chemistry for the better. I wake up looking forward to living now, versus dreading it. I don’t have to fake being nice. I feel like a real person. I would say “I feel like me again”, but I don’t remember ever feeling this… okay. This secure. This safe to interact with the world around me. To handle reality on its own terms. I wouldn’t have accomplished any of that without seeking help first. So, as I sit here, sad about my breakup, I remember everything happens for a reason.
And perhaps the reason for meeting my ex – was to lead me here.
So I could meet myself.