How to find a therapist?
I'm in recovery and scary memories are coming up. How do I find a professional?
Topics: Psychiatry, Recovery, psychotherapy, addiction, Alcoholism, Psychology, Since You Asked, Drug Addiction, Life News
Dear Cary,
I’m 46. I need help or advice on how to find a therapist. I have been in recovery since July 5, 2010. I have been working the AA program, with a sponsor, working the steps. My life is much better than it was when I was drinking — so much better. If I try to stand outside of myself, I am awed at how it is better, in all ways, except … I still don’t have a desire to succeed in life. I don’t really even have an active desire to be alive at all. I am not obsessed with thoughts of ending my life, but the thought is always there. It is not urgent, and it’s not something I feel I want to act upon, but the thought is always there. I need assistance finding my way out of this thicket of thorns, and I am afraid and ashamed to ask for it.
My fingers hesitate to write more. My mother inflicted much physical pain on me from the time I was an infant. She slapped me in the face regularly, from the time I was an infant. People around knew of this and I don’t know what they were expected to do but they did nothing. Well, an aunt walked out once, rather than witness it anymore. She speaks today of this action with pride. Way to go, aunt. Good for you. This abuse eventually became almost ritualistic in nature: I would have to kneel in front of my mother and she would raise her hand as high as she could and slap me as hard as she could. If I flinched, this fed her evil nature, and she’d repeat the action until I stopped flinching. I feel like I’m in a basement room full of dirt.
I see other people around me who have things like houses, and families, and careers, and all I can do is take little maintenance steps. I want to take bigger steps, but I don’t know what to do with the anger I have toward my mother, and toward people in general. It’s so much better than it used to be, but there’s still a place at which I just … stop. And I am ashamed for having endured the abuse, because I know that, while other people didn’t deserve it when this kind of thing happened to them, I am different. I did deserve it. I deserved to be the receptacle of her anger. I know, I know, “I didn’t deserve it.” But I did. There was something different and wrong about me. I still don’t feel that I completely exist in this world. I know I’m not the only person who feels this way, and I know that there’s a reason for it, and I know I can do something with it. I am a writer, but I’m so locked up and clenched inside that I can’t get anything out, at least not anything that makes any sense to anyone.
Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column and leads writing workshops and retreats.
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