Therapy Is Hard – Beginnings
I love my life. But I am human and therefor prone to breaking.
I have had mild to moderate depression since my early twenties. It was triggered when I started birth control. It amazes me how little we understand how hormones work, and yet we so nonchalantly mess with them. It took 2 years for my husband and I to trace my depression to the birth control, but the doctor didn’t believe me when we told him. In his infinite wisdom *read sarcasm* he told me it was not the birth control but the he would switch me to a different brand to placate me. One week into the new one and I tried to scald myself twice and would have attempted suicide if my husband had not been sitting right outside the shower door babysitting me until the chemical insanity swirling inside me subsided. I stopped taking it that night and within 2 weeks was back to my normal, pre-birth control self.
We started trying to have kids soon after that, so I don’t know if it would have lasted. All I know is that after 2 kids (which were exceedingly difficult pregnancies… we assume because of hormone imbalances but don’t know for sure) the depression would descend and I would tell the doctor (a different one) I thought something was off with my hormones. Inevitably he would send me in for a blood sample and then he would inform me I was “normal”. I knew something was off though. So once we had enough money I went to a different doctor who is focused in the area of hormones, uses a broader approach to medicine, and of course does not take insurance. She had me do a full saliva panel to map out exactly what my hormones were doing, day by day, for a full month. Turns out, my body does not make enough hormones. The day I got the blood drawn for the other doctor I happened to be making enough progesterone to fall within normal levels even though we had no idea where in my cycle I actually was, and levels fluctuate greatly depending on the time of the month. Hindsight, during my highest time of month I make the bare minimum for normal and the rest of the month I am too low.
I now take supplemental hormones and a mild anti-depressant. It is good for me. I love my meds. Problem solved. Cut and dry…. Right? Right?!?
So I was a bit surprised and concerned when, in the fall of 2020, as I sat in my hammock, I looked over the side and saw a bird’s nest pile of my hair on the ground. I am pretty sure I have pulled since I was a teenager, and it wasn’t a big deal. I have so much hair, and I pulled so infrequently, that it was not noticeable. I know I pulled in greater amounts when my sister died. But it subsided over time as I grieved her and all she had left behind resolved. I like pulling my hair out, with I know sounds super weird but I don’t know how to explain it. Often I don’t realize I am even doing it. But now I was making piles. Literal bald spots were starting to appear on my head. And I could not stop. I decided to call my doctor and do some research.
Sure enough there is a name for it: Trichotillomania. It is a Body Focused Repetitive Behavior (BFRB) which is a subcategory (kind off) of OCD (there are similarities and differences so it’s still kinda an unknown).
And that’s not all! There’s more! There are actually several behaviors that fall under the BFRB umbrella. And I do several. Most notably Morsicatio Buccarum, which is chewing the inside of my lips and cheeks bloody, something I have done continually since I was little.
When I went to the doctor he confirmed what I learned and he referred me to a Therapist for Cognitive Behavior Therapy. And I am going.
I want answers. I want to know why, and how and when. I want to know if this is connected to the depression/hormones or if they are separate issues. I want as much information as possible, partially because I want a solution, but also because I am just super curious.
But we are dealing with the subconscious, and our brains are ridiculously sneaky. I feel like in therapy we are working backwards. Start working, then eventually, if you are lucky, you figure out what you are working on. There is little logic, but lots of bizarre emotions and reactions as you poke around in the dark. I get frustrated because I feel like we are going off on tangents and then WHAM! I am crying, staring at my webcam (therapy during pandemics suck) and saying the craziest things that I didn’t think I believed but apparently I do. There is no rhyme or reason, but their sort of is, and I just have to trust that this is going to help me.
Therapy is hard. Therapy is makes a huge difference. Therapy feels so opposite of what our culture values and considers valuable. Therapy is my chance for healing.
Here is hoping that eventually I will be able to look back and actually see what I was working on, and be better and healthier and happier for it.
Here is to doing hard things.
(For more info on BFRB’s there is a really great foundation called the TLC Foundation with loads of information, support, and research.)
