I am at a time in my life where everything seems to have caught up with me. I can no longer pretend to be fine, that my past has not affected me as badly as it has, or that I can fix me by myself. The state of things when CPS walked in said enough about where my children and myself were at the time. We had essentially given up on ourselves, pride and self worth all but unknown in our house. It was seeming like there was no way out.
I had tried to rally us several times, but my own morale would flag and little was accomplished. The worst part is that I could see it all coming, yet felt powerless to stop it. You see, I knew I was at least partially to blame for everything that had led to this, mostly in fact. Many wrong choices made from mistaken beliefs, so many things my children had to endure because of them. How can it not add to the pile of guilt left by my past? That pile, over time, has become heavy enough to prevent me from acting against it when I most need to. And so, here I stand amidst the rubble the guilt pile has created.
Part of my case plan with CPS includes assessments for parenting and drug use, as I smoke marijuana. Last week I had an assessment for each one, and the results were rather interesting.
Before I continue, allow me to summarize my history with the mental health profession. After 2 1/2 years of my father training me to be his personal sex toy, I had a year or so of seemingly effective therapy before I had to transfer to the shrink-who-should-never-have-been. A few short months before my 9th birthday, she told me I needed to write a letter to my then-jailed father telling him I was sorry for putting him there! When confronted by my irate mother, she tried justifying it as part of learning forgiveness or some such rot. None to say, seeking therapy for myself became impossible for over 20 years. The few times I was forced by circumstances to have assessments done saw me minimizing everything possible, fearing I would lose my kids forever if they knew the truth of how I saw myself, of what I had done.
It wasn’t that I didn’t trust psychology as a field itself, I actually developed quite an interest in the field during my teens, and continue my piecemeal study of it to this day. No, my problem was that I didn’t believe that I could trust someone else to help me, that I would never find one who wouldn’t judge me, or that I could relate to. It wasn’t that I believed no one could help me, I just despaired of actually finding one who could. I had made one honest attempt about 3 years ago during a particularly bad time in life, but I just couldn’t relate to the therapist, and she ignored my attempts at bringing in my artwork. It did not last long.
So, the first had been the parenting, which was really more of an overall assessment. I had been coming to the conclusion over the past year or so that I needed to make more of an effort for anything to work, and with the current case, decided now was the time. I’ve known for ages that I needed an art based therapy plan, but the disappointment caused by my last attempt at therapy caused me to be reluctant in seeking it. However, this current situation of mine has forced me to admit that it’s time to face this. And so, I walked in, determined to be as honest as possible.
Maybe it was the lady doing the assessment who put me at ease, or the fact that many of my younger beliefs had already been losing their hold on me, but I found it much easier than ever before to tell her my story. She listened to my art-therapy ideas and thought they were great! That in itself helped boost me, allowing me to believe that my ideas are more than simple delusions. At the end of the hour, I walked out feeling hopeful for the first time that this might actually work, that I might be able to not only heal after so many years, but also get the groundwork set for my Rainbow Smoothie Creative Therapy Project as well.
This is very possible, as she agreed that art therapy would be essential for me. I still have another part or 2 of the evaluation to finish, but I’m extremely hopeful on that end.
As for the other assessment for Quest, that turned out different from what I expected. I had barely spoken of my artistic endeavors, yet the verdict was weekly sessions with their art therapist. Turns out, they decided that my pot smoking was me self-medicating my depression (mostly true), and that I’ll stop (or greatly cut back) once I work through my issues. Which I can deal with. At least they didn’t label me an addict.
All this is still hard to face, especially given that I’ve been actively repressing parts of my past for over 30 years. Not to mention the other parts of my life this has affected that I must now work to restore. My children, as the biggest example. There is much work to be done with them as well as with myself. However, I’m hopeful that the current situation will remind us of what we are fighting for, and what we have to lose by giving up. It seems the pieces are finding their proper places, now it’s up to us to keep them there.
Lily Speaks Out 