Photo by Caroline Hernandez on Unsplash
Tonight, I’m not sure what I think of the part technique.
In the moment, in my therapist’s office, it seemed ok. When she asked me how I felt about my depression, I was truthful and said I still had a lot of anger inside. Yes, I have learned not to spend my time, coulda, woulda, shouldaing. But I have not forgiven my depression for the way it has treated me. As part of today’s therapy, I was asked to put a face to depression, or at least a shape.
The vision I described was the wispy ghostlike things that grabbed the guy in Ghost, with Patrick Swasey and Whoopi Goldberg. That’s the best I could do. I wasn’t able to come up with any other shape that approximated what depression looks like to me. Then there was the observation about how I was treating my depression.
Ok, it is natural to hate something that took so much from me.
But that something is a part of me. It never dawned on me that I was attacking myself, in a way, when I was angry at my depression. By setting a remarkably high bar for myself, taking a moment out to speak to my depression was ok, but not expected. Then came a moment I kind of did, but also kind of evaded.
I was supposed to say to my depression that it was safe and that I was not out to get it.
My therapist broached the idea several times. At best, I was able to say to my depression that I am interested in learning more about depression. I am certain that my therapist saw the difference in what she was saying, and what I was saying. Saying it is safe was not something I could do today.
Maybe with more practice, I could better understand how my depression feels.
But today, it just made me mad to have to interact with it. Well, interacting with my depression in a caring, non-threatening way was awkward at best. I will need more time to see my depression as anything but a life and dream-sucking entity. In some ways, I feel depression robbed me.
Yet here I am, with my depression riding on my shoulder.
Even when I felt solid and healthy, my depression is still there. For almost 15 years after my lost year, I had no run-ins with my depression. I was relieved that it was, in my view, completely gone. I had no idea that my depression was just hanging out, waiting for the right time to show itself. One thing for sure is, that my depression has great patience.
Now I know that even in the best of times, part of me will always be depressed.
Getting all of my “parts” to co-exist will be one of the main themes my therapist and I will be exploring. There were one or two moments when I surprised my therapist with my answers. It turns out I have matured in some areas more than I am giving myself credit for. Being ridiculously hard on myself makes seeing that surprise in my therapist something, but I am not sure what.
Next week, I will bring a pencil and paper to my therapy session.
I want to remember more about what is being said. I’m interested in what my therapist asks. But even more, I am interested in how I answer. Understanding my depression is important to me. I need to know what makes me do and feel certain ways. I know that my depression is still working on “helping me.” The problem is my depression only thinks it is helping.
In reality, it is giving me bad help and is causing undue stress, pain, and anger at missed opportunities.
Getting my depression to feel ok will require tolerance and many deep breaths. At this moment, tolerating my depression is beyond my reach. I do see my therapist’s observation that all I have ever done is try to turn off my depression. The fact that I am finally facing my depression is a start.
Going from that to saying to my depression, “You are ok, I am not pushing you out of my life,” is hard.
I am not ready to do that. My wanting to understand my depression comes with a bias. I am angry with my depression, and I am certain that today, right now, my depression is not a part of me that I want to be associated with.
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