Personal Narrative: Mental Health Therapy

I’ve always been passionate about understanding others; stepping into their shoes and seeing, thinking, and appreciating the lives they live. I think it is important to take that extra step and see things from a different point of view. It is the only way to achieve a true understanding. I believe in this philosophy so much so, that it’s one of the main reasons I have this blog; to give others a glimpse of a life with mental illness. I’ve been in treatment for 2 months and 26 days and I think it’s time for another peek into my brain.

When I saw her, I felt my heart stop, she looked horrible. My mom was sitting up with a medical respirator on her face, helping her breathe. She was sweating, but all she was worried about was me. Once they brought her in a room, doctors and nurses started rushing in and out of the room. I can remember clearly, that the doctors were trying the get her to put the respirator back on, but she didn’t. “I’m sorry Lala,” she kept repeating. “It’s ok mom it’s not your fault, stop talking and listen to the doctors.” By now it’s becoming really difficult to not start crying. I can feel my eyes start to water and my throat start to close up, but I have to be strong for my mom. I won’t show

It’s a struggle to get out of bed sometimes, I often just sit there struggling to comprehend the sequence of events which have taken place over the past year. I mean, I’m used to this now, its normal to me, but the fact that this has happened and that I am now ‘disabled’ as people would put it is hard to get my head around. And every time I look down I’m reminded of the pain and the struggle I faced, it’s a physical scar which links me to my grueling past, a physical and emotional journey.

“How can I be good again? I just lost my wife and son in a car accident. There's nothing in life that can cheer me up. I have become an alcoholic who is now jobless.” I said. My Therapist, Dr. Newman, told me “Trust me, Mr. Smith. Only time can heal your wounds if you allow it to. Well, that's the end of the session, and I want to recall the accident that occurred so we can talk about it tomorrow.”

Sometimes, I feel like I am experiencing a double therapy. One that I am leading with my therapist, and another one, more passive, in class. School can inadvertently speed up a process for which you are not necessarily ready. It can stir your past and your emotions arise. In that case, there is an assignment that I am postponing and trying in every way possible to avoid or twist differently. The material evoked in class was hard to process and I did not expect it. Ironically, I now think about it all the time. I know that I need to go to the bottom of it one way or another, but homeostasis is compromised and I do not like it. I try to look at it like gym. It is not pleasant but it is good for your health. The problem with that paper is that

I've been clean from self harm for quite a few months now and I'm not sure how I feel anymore

“Oh I got my heart right here. Oh I got my scars right here…” With the slow beat of The Weeknd, I took a right onto the highway. Where was I going? I didn’t know. I was just going to drive my thoughts away. Peering down into my windows, the moon shone on my interior, lighting up everything. It was just me, the moon, and my freedom. I turned the radio louder to blast out my thoughts and just think about the song. I do this therapeutically. Driving makes me feel better, especially when I have no certain destination or deadline. My only goal is to chase the moon in an eternal game of tag, but for some reason I’m always “it”.

Finding a theoretical orientation that fits an individual’s identity is a difficult task; hence in order to conclude on a theory, I analyzed concepts and values that are significant in my life. Contemplating on the “pros and cons” of the theories presented during my first year of graduate school, I discovered that I have a passion for social justice, which results in the adamant denunciation of oppression in the United States. Oppression by the dominant group in this country has targeted and marginalized people who do not “fit” the majority and privileged the White majority. As a Latina in this country, I have personally experienced systemic injustice because I am a female, and immigrant, and was raised in poverty. Accordingly, after exploring several theories during my first year of graduate school, I concluded that Narrative Therapy best “fits” my identity and beliefs.

Mental health disorders can affect anyone regardless of how much we make, what we do for work, or where we live. It is also very difficult for most people to be able to afford to pay for mental health services. In a recent article in the newspaper it mentioned how people are having a hard time to afford rents in this area. When it comes down to be able to pay your rent, paying for mental health therapy, or mental health prescriptions, rent will win every time. I work full time and I looked into how much it would cost for ongoing mental health treatment if it were necessary, and the cost is astounding, and that’s with insurance. There are regular visits with Primary Care Physicians that are required to monitor your progress which has a

I had just turned sixteen, the year of driver license, college campus tours, and the peak of teenage angst, when my school's guidance counselor requested for my mom and dad to be brought in for what she described as a “heart to heart” confrontation.

She looked down at the bed "can I ask you for a favor?" Before I could answer she told me what she needed. "Please Death just put a bullet in my head, I can't take anymore, please just end my misery." She was still looking down at the bed with tears pouring out. I picked her up putting her on my lap, "Look at me Leather. Don't say that shit. Baby, you still have a lifetime to live, a little girl and brothers that need you. I know you probably have heard this before, but I will help you, I'll help you fix all this so you can be with your family again. If that's what will make you happy then I will do whatever it takes. I'm sorry you have had a shit life like that honey, I really am. When you sober up and feeling better tomorrow we need to talk about all this to figure out a plan

I try not to post negative things as I learned long ago to do my best to stay positive many of you have no idea what I’ve been through in my life but things have turned out very well my main reason for posting this is that during my therapy today I seen a little girl come in she was about five or six years old and I’m not sure what therapy they had to do on her but I could hear her scream to the top of her lungs about every 30 seconds for almost a half an hour when my therapist came back he seen that I was crying and ask what the issue was when I told him it was difficult to hear what the little girl had to go through and then I was just praying for that girl and when the girl left they said see you next week and my heart just sunk knowing

A decent portion of my younger life was spent chasing after the great unknown; perhaps if I could experience the things that were a complete mystery to me, I would encounter that one moment that would change everything. I would have some insane adventure and waltz out the other side a completely different person; a better person. I guess that it can be said that I did, in fact, encounter that situation. However, it was in no way great and it lasted a lot longer than I thought it would.

On Monday, November 9th, this is what I had read on the news, after my mom had pulled me out of class, following a tense and frantic phone call. She hadn’t given me any specific details, only that there had been an accident, to go home, and to call our closest living relatives. She also mentioned that she and my brother were heading to the hospital, and that I was to call her back once I’d done what she’d asked. When I asked her again what had happened, all she said was, “there was an accident”, and hung up the phone. The next few minutes I’d spent trying to decipher the vagueness of her response, and then the thought hit me. Dad. She hadn’t mentioned dad. Not even once. But why? My mind began to surge with irrepressible thoughts. What would we do on our own? Without him. How could we support ourselves? Mom would have to get a job now. I guessed that I would too. Yet, I didn’t know the first thing about supporting a

My brother and I understood each other. And knew when we needed someone or when we just needed space. When I was sure that he had calmed a bit and was ready to talk, I opened the conversation “don’t worry buddy, it’s just some of dads friends. And everyone has their slip ups. It’s human nature. Don’t fret about it.” He looked at me with tears in his eyes “they aren’t just dads friends, they were moms too, and there hanging out in our house like nothing ever happened! It’s not fair! Human nature sucks!” I softened my look so he knew I was talking from the heart “Hey, don’t talk like that. I know that it’s hard buddy, I know. I loved mom as much as you. I know it’s difficult to imagine these people walking amongst our house without acknowledging the fact that mom is gone. I understand buddy. I know that mom would want us to enjoy the party though. Much less cry over her.” He looked up at me “you said loved. You said you