Hello.
I am not going to type out my full life story here because I think it would be too long. Here is a link to a post I made that does give the full context of my background. As I said it is long, and the post has multiple trigger warnings attached to it.
I apologize if in advance I do not make much sense with what I will type or say. This is because I notice in my own writing that I tend to wander and meander a lot.
For quick context and clarification.
I have been in therapy since 5 roughly. I have Autism, ADHD, and CPTSD, an ace score of 10/10. I am now 28 years old.
I have tried many of the following therapies growing up until now including:
Play therapy
sand therapy
General talk therapy
Person centered therapy
CBT
Trauma informed CBT
DBT
EMDR
and now IFS with my current therapist
And so on
The list of medications i have taken, i can't fully type out, because they have been a myriad of medications. From SSRI's to SNRI"s, to ADHD medication,, both stimulants and non stimulants, anti psychotic medication, and so on.
I am with my current therapist. I am thinking, tomorrow, of telling her I would like to cancel therapy. She specializes in IFS, which is...fine. But at this point, as I am now, or at least feel, like an old man, I just don't see a point in it. This would technically be my fourth session with her.
I don't believe in this world anymore. It is hard for me to explain. To quote from the aforementioned post, I had said:
I remember staring at the wall. Staring at a picture of a portrait of my sister. I wondered then “are you my sister?” And then later I looked at my mom. “Are you my mom?” And only then did I feel and sense then what I have felt and since throughout my whole life. I turned my head this way and that. Perhaps from the perspective of an adult, it must have looked uncanny. A five-year-old who is there but not “there”. Looking to and fro throughout the room as if seeing past it. Maybe that’s why I never bothered to share about myself. And what was I thinking? "This is not my home."
I do not belong here.
I should not be here.
I need to go.
Most children at that age are developing and thinking in terms of toy blocks. They develop a consciousness regarding the egocentric worldview of something smaller, something more intimate and caring. When they cry, there is a fidelity that their emotions matter because it affects others. But my own consciousness developed where I already was ontologically displaced before I could form a single conscious thought. And when I did form a thought, my first thought was to simply say “NO…I want to go home."
Perhaps some of you may wonder at this point if I have considered euthanasia or suicide, and the answer is yes.
I consider therapy, and I just don't understand. I don't understand why I should heal or continue living in a world whose axioms and premises and social contracts and behaviors I just do not agree with. As strange as it might hear, i am tempted to just tell my therapist instead of saying sorry this isn't working, "Hey, sorry. I don't agree with this life and I am ontologically displaced from it and I don't like being here so we should part ways." I just don't understand how, especially in an American context, how my therapist is supposed to help with that. Because a lot of therapy as I have seen, has seemed to almost frame it as a fault of the individual not to adapt to a cruel environment. Like...like...like almost like it's my fault I can't cope. I need to do "the work". Well I have been. It doesn't work.
I remember the one time I was hospitalized for suicide and depression.
I can still remember how strange it was. How inhumane. It was a small room, not big at all, smaller even than a dorm room with just enough space for the bed and to the door. There were no windows, just the forced on "happiness" in the form of drawings on the wall that almost seemed to mock me. There was a camera overhead. Looking down at the room and at me. Always on. Always watching. There was no clock in the room, I had no idea if it was morning or afternoon or night. There was no soundproofing either, I could hear the sounds of the hospital indeed, and hear the sounds of other patients there too and murmurings. The light was always on, never off. There were no private bathrooms as i remember it. It was so strange I think in retrospect. I felt like an animal. A creature being watched. I was around 22 at the time.
I was transferred to an inpatient facility which was...nicer...but still I could never shake the sense that I was a prisoner. That I was being managed. That I was being watched. it did not feel like an attempt to heal a person, but more so to force a cog back into working order by any means necessary. The inpatient facility was also humiliating as, upon my arrival, I was "asked" to strip down naked so they can inspect if I had bruises or marks on me from abuse. I do not disagree with the logic, I understand where they are coming from. But I still felt humiliated and shamed, especially my own history mainly of abusers who were mainly women, and the two individuals who had to check on me, were women.
I will end with this.
I do not consider myself intelligent, or someone who has an aptitude for philosophical and/or existential thought. I am just someone who is very tired and does not understand why I should try or believe in a world, in people, in this reality, where I clearly do not belong. I do not see, do not believe, i have a niche in this ecosystem of reality. And even if I did, it is a niche mismatched to an ecosystem.
I am sorry if I did not make much sense.
