I have never been a big fan of counseling. I think it works tremendously well for a lot of people but it has never been my cup of tea. Perhaps, it's because my few experiences with it were somewhat forced upon me.
The first time, was when I was in 6th grade. My parents were separated at the time and were going to a counselor whose name rhymed with "walrus". (From here on out, he will be known as "Doctor Walrus", which is actually the name I have always used for him because I hated him from the get go. Hey. When you're a naive ten year old little girl, this is as nasty as the insults can get...and I felt bad for calling him that, not for his sake...but for all of the walruses out there that I insulted. I am so sorry. )
It was bad enough that my parents weren't together during that time and for some reason, they thought it would be a fantastic idea to have my brother Pat and I meet the counselor they had been going to for months. (Enter the Walrus.) I had no interest in lying on a couch, talking to a stranger about how their separation made me feel. I wanted to grab him by his big teeth-y tusks (I've always had a vivid imagination...) and scream "How do you think it makes me feel you big dummy?!?"
Poor guy. He never had a chance.
My second experience with a counselor was when I was in high school. Someone had seen me crying out in the hallway because I had just received my first (and only) "F" on a report card. I was in hysterics and my boyfriend at the time was trying to comfort me but getting absolutely nowhere. I couldn't even talk, I was so upset. I'm not even sure he understood why I was crying so hard in the first place.
The bell rang and I reluctantly let go of him and walked to my next class. A few minutes later, another student came in and handed a note to my teacher. She looked at it briefly, then called my name. I walked up to the front of the class and she handed me the note.
I was being summoned to the guidance counselor.
Seriously? A girl can't stand and cry hysterically in the hallway without having someone concerned she's going to commit suicide? I guess it's sweet that a complete stranger found it in her heart to be concerned about me, but it really only made matters worse.
I remember walking through the hallways, back and forth, not sure where I was going because I had never had to visit the guidance counselor before. When I finally made it she simply asked me why I had been so upset and I told her about my grade. She looked at me like I was an idiot and like "Don't you know there are students here with real problems?!?" I gave her a look back like "Hey lady. This wasn't my idea. Once I get the tears out, I'm good to go.Believe me. I didn't ask for this extra attention."
The third and final time I attempted going to a counselor was during my second semester at UNCW. I had decided that I wanted to drop out. I was miserable, unhappy and borderline anorexic. I couldn't sleep and my grades were starting to slip. I was a walking zombie girl, wearing pajama pants and frazzled hair to class, not caring what was going on around me.
I had mild thoughts about killing myself whenever I saw a sharp object lying in front of me. It could have been a razor or a knife, didn't matter. I somehow always imagined how it would feel to plunge it into my body...just to stop or at least numb the pain I was feeling. These thoughts only lasted a few seconds and were never really real. But, I'm guessing that's not a normal way to feel.
The head administrator of the college called me once he received my drop-out form , exclaiming that I couldn't just quit and blah blah blah. He was kind of an ass actually, which made me want to leave even more. He then suggested...you guessed it...that I go to a counselor.
I thought to myself, "Well self. Third time's a charm."
I went and all the guy had to say to me is "I see you have an engagement ring on. Does this decision have anything to do with that?"
I'm not exactly sure what the words were that came out of my mouth, but I can only imagine it wasn't a pleasant conversation from then on out. All I really remember of this event is that I got defensive and told him that I just wasn't happy there and that it didn't matter that my fiance' at the time wasn't there. I would have been unhappy in Wilmington regardless of the situation. It just wasn't for me and I felt like I needed to regroup and set new boundaries, create new dreams for myself. If I stayed, I would have been wasting my time.
I don't like to waste my time. I like to have a goal in mind. I might get side-tracked at times, but I always reach my destination eventually. I was tired of trying to prove myself to him and to anyone else who just didn't understand. I wasn't asking for understanding.
I was asking for support.
I walked out of his office, not caring whether or not he thought I was being selfish or just plain crazy. Maybe I was being a little of both. I have never been one to give up the chance to search for something better. I already knew that I didn't belong there...so why should I have stayed?
So alas, I decided on my walk back to my dorm room, that I would never go see a counselor again.
It's not that I think anything is wrong with it, I truly don't and as I said before, I know counseling has helped so many people in this cruel world. It's just not for me. Maybe it's because I set up a huge defense when I meet anyone new, not wanting to let my guard down completely, in fear that he might perceive me as being weak...or that he will take advantage of my obvious sensitivity.
There have been many chapters during my life in which the suggestion to talk to a "professional" has been brought to my attention. I just blow it off, knowing that I don't need it.
I'm comfortable enough in my own skin to accept that I am a stubborn individual who doesn't willingly seek out help...even when it's needed. I have to get my own thoughts together in order to understand myself...sometimes it takes awhile and sometimes it's a struggle. I've just always been of the mind, if I can't figure it out, how can a stranger?
I think we all have our different types of "therapy". I've always used my writing as a way to get through and understand all of the random thoughts and ideas that are hiding within my brain.
It's worked so far, so I guess I'm doing something right.
"And When I talk about therapy I know what people think. That it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink. But oh how I loved everybody else, when I finally got to talk so much about myself."
Dar Williams
