Welcome: The Nut-Doctor is in!

Ready for a Session with Dr. Summer?

Psychotherapy has a critical function in this stress-saturated world but is consistently disapproved of by many, including myself at one time, due to its historical stigmas.  For example, if one seeks psychological help it’s because they’ve completely lost their marbles and ability to navigate life.  Not exactly an empowering sentiment.  How do you feel about it? Simply repeat the word and survey the emotions that arise; I’m willing to bet you don’t get a sense of the warm fuzzies.  If someone loses a limb during a shark attack or gets burned while saving a baby from a fire, it’s perfectly acceptable to go to the ER get medical assistance; yet when the tiny voices in their head are telling them to scream obscenities at strangers or they consistently call themselves low-life losers, it never occurs to them to seek help in quieting these painful and often harmful compulsive thoughts.  Most people honestly believe that it’s something they have to deal with, there is no help.

Psychological studies and psychotherapy exist for a very simple purpose: to assist people in unlocking elusive habitual thinking patterns and emotions that create underlying levels of stress.  How can one address what they are unaware of?  Many people, typically for reasons relating to their pasts and the way they learned to exhibit their emotional behavior either suppress, deny or are simply unaware of their thoughts and subsequent emotions.  Make no mistake; all emotions arise from thoughts, whether or not one recognizes that thought will foreshadow their ability to handle the emotion. 

I always thought I was exempt from the above, despite having been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder years ago, since I was born with an awareness and consciousness which enabled me to understand what I, or others around me, were feeling.  Besides, I’m extremely intelligent as is evident from my advanced degree, and we all know smart people don’t do stupid things.  I simply didn’t think that psychologists could help me any better than I could help myself.  Even still, there were three instances in my life when I actively sought this type of assistance, thus indicating very serious transitions in my life.  Each, in time, provided a lesson regarding my fundamental perception of reality which eluded me and caused great anxiety

1.       A Child Psychologist for an Adult Issue

The first emotional issue I couldn’t seem to swallow was the profound feeling of failure surrounding a decision to leave my graduate studies with a Masters degree instead of pushing through to complete the PhD.  The facts were these: during the first year of my studies I had tragically lost a close sister; I soon became aware of a unhappiness and felt the loss of my enthusiasm for scientific research, feeling bogged down in the mundane technical experiments; I took a leave of absence to assess my true desires, going home to bartend for my mother and spending time with close friends in hopes that leading a simpler life would help put things into perspective and give me the push I needed to complete the program upon my return; finally, I was nearing the end of a significant weight reduction program and was only 20 pounds from my goal weight, having already lost 105 pounds. 

Instead of feeling revived by my leave of absence and encouraged by the drive needed to lose that amount of weight, I soon felt that sense of unhappiness return and knew that I had somehow gotten on the wrong path.  Looking back, I couldn’t even remember what had prompted me to apply to PhD programs in the first place; just the next thing to do after college?  Faced with the prospect of 6 years of failed experiments, I knew I had to discontinue the program.  The feeling of failure, however, overwhelmed me with anxiety; I sure as hell was not a quitter.  Though I understood its source, I felt powerless to shake the emotion, so I sought the help of a psychologist recommended by a friend.  The first day I went in and directly recounted my issue, she simply sat and stared at me.  We stared each other down for about 10 minutes as I waited for her to tell me the answer.  She never did, instead she began asking me questions about my childhood and I thought ‘Oh boy, here we go.’  Convinced that I had dealt with the demons of my past, perhaps a little worse but still no different than those of others, I left and never went back.  There was no way this woman was going to help me by talking about mommy and daddy issues.  As it often happens for me, I miraculously got a job as a Clinical Research Coordinator in the building directly across from the research tower I had been working in the very same day I defended my Master’s thesis.  My new job taking Multiple Sclerosis patients through clinical trials would satisfy both my desire for research as well as human interaction.  I was no longer a failure, problem solved. 

2.       Dr. Dick

This is a really fun one!  After the onset of my second brush with uncontrollable panic attacks, my doctor who was familiar with my GAD literally begged me to seek professional help and begin SSRI medication, which I had denied in the past.  Desperate to ease the constant feeling of impending doom, I agreed; it was either get help or run out into traffic to give myself something real to worry about!  No self-aware, logical being can suffer feelings on that level of craziness and chaos without an underlying stimulus; but frighteningly, it seemed that this bout of heightened anxiety came out of nowhere…..Right?   

I researched the best Cognitive Behavioral Therapists for GAD that Denver had to offer, ensuring that I went to a PhD; surely they would provide superior assistance.  My first session went great.  Dr. Dick as I’ll call him had me write notes as he lectured me about his extensive experience and success with other patients.  A tad self-indulgent I’ll admit, but I found comfort in his confidence that I could control my anxiety with his help.  He also described the biological nature or panic attacks which appealed to my scientific mind.  I was experiencing panic simply because my body had lost its ability to regulate the adrenal system.  It was misfiring, causing adrenaline to course through my body, the ‘flight-or-flight response,’ for no apparent reason.  At the time it didn’t occur to me to ask why and how this deregulation of my adrenal system had occurred.  Even better news, I wasn’t going crazy.  In fact, he stated that I was as likely to enter into true insanity as a result of my panic attacks as I was to spontaneously sprout a penis (he actually said that, I’m not paraphrasing), which made me laugh and feel much better.  He shared his own experience with panic that involved a reaction to a shot of pure adrenaline, during which he successfully turned mind-numbing terror into a high similar to some kind of ‘Woodstock’ experience.  He insisted that if I, in the throes of an attack, recognized that it was a chemical instead of impending death, that I could use it like a drug to get high; a high which he said most people would pay good money for.  Well, this was costing me $100, that’s quite a bit even for a kick-ass drug.  I thought it a bit lacking in adequate panic attacks to help me, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.  He suggested that I read the Anxiety and Phobia Workbook, the most prominent recovery resource in the field.

I ordered the book from Amazon for $17 and waited a month, due to monetary restrictions, for my next appointment.  Imagine my disappointment when I had to sit through half an hour of the same self-inflated stories of my therapist’s success with other patients; still nothing regarding my own recovery or the steps necessary to get started.  The final straw was his exorbitant tales of the stress that he, his wife and his son had experienced on various trips throughout Europe, something I had desired above all things since I could remember, but could not afford.  I thought: ‘you self-righteous son-of-a-bitch, if I was so fortunate as to get to travel, I wouldn’t be having any of these issues to begin with!’  Fuck it; I had the book, though I hadn’t opened it yet, and so ended my sessions with Dr. Dick.  Additionally, the Zoloft was making life manageable and the constant panic had at least backed down to my normal level of anxiety.  Once again, I would do this myself and it wouldn’t cost me precious funds.

But the constant panic had no basis in reality right? WRONG.  I knew, without a doubt, that one source of significant stress was my job.  I worked 60+ hours a week, administered healthcare to over 100 MS patients, wrote grants for future research projects and juggled communication and issues between our doctors, patients and multiple pharmaceutical companies; all for the low, low price of $36,000 a year.  What a deal! The real insult was that though my fame as the most valuable and competent Coordinator, across any of the national sites for any one of my seven studies, and despite their dependency on my superior skill set, there was no prospect of earning more money due to a state-mandated freeze on University funds.  I witnessed monumental sums of money being paid to our department from pharmaceutical companies for studies I was doing all the work for, yet I couldn’t afford to go out for dinner and a movie, or treat myself to a massage when I did have some down time.  Indeed, insulting in the extreme.  The stress actually led to physical symptoms as severe as hair loss, full-body hives, sciatica and amenorrhea (loss of menstrual cycle).  Despite the stress I couldn’t justify leaving my patients, who had come to heavily depend on me for their medical needs.  I also felt extremely loyal to the Doctor’s I worked for, becoming convinced that their research program would collapse without me. 

(I eventually woke up and realized that I couldn’t work there anymore, and again, miraculously got a job at a pharmaceutical company for twice the pay and half the workload.  Guess what?  They got along without me just fine and my patients understood.)

Around the same time I found out that I had cancerous cervical tissue that needed to be removed by a LEEP procedure which can negatively impact a woman’s ability to conceive, and increases the chances of miscarriage by 50%.  But I didn’t want kids anyway, right? So I didn’t worry about that (or so I thought).  Funny enough during the procedure, after I found out that the shot of Lidocaine they gave me also contained epinephrine (adrenaline), I was able to ride what I initially thought was a panic attack like a high as Dr. Dick had suggested was possible.  I remember my foot shaking/tapping incessantly, though it was strapped into a stirrup, and thinking: ‘It’s like my toe is tapping to some kick-ass music in my head that no one else can hear!’  Always good to keep your sense of humor.

3.       You Can Fix Eating Disorders AND GAD? Sold!

As a result of my weight loss, I developed a constant fear of regaining weight.  This fear led me to become obsessed with intense daily exercise, as well as completely irrational habits of weighing and measuring everything I ate, planning and counting every calorie that I consumed in an Excel spreadsheet and avoiding all social situations where I might otherwise consume unanticipated calories.  My insanity went so far that I once stomped my feet and cried because my boyfriend at the time, who was a fucking chef, put olive oil in our dinner.  Oh the horror! Who the hell does that?!  For all my intelligence, it failed.  I knew I had a problem, but the fear of the return of ‘Fat Summer’ kept the habits going.  This rigidity and obsession became a diagnosis of ‘An Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified’ as it was not categorically Anorexia, Bulimia or Binge Eating.  After 2 years of struggling with these issues on my own, I was able to stop weighing, measuring and counting but I continued to plan and avoid eating at restaurants.  Exercise, as one of the most critical ways I controlled my anxiety, stayed dear to me but I worked to change my underlying necessity for activity; coming to think of it as a treatment instead of a compulsion to stay thin. 

Now, despite my job change and significant decrease in stress levels, I continued to experience a profound feeling of unease and unhappiness.  The source of which completely eluded me.  I had a satisfying relationship and high paying job; what else could I possible want?  With this in mind I began to wean myself off of the Zoloft, completely relying on exercise and affection from my fiancé for comfort and management of my anxiety.  Well, shit started hitting the fan in my relationship.  My need for constant control, perfectionism and an ‘all-or-nothing’ attitude, as well as my persistent displays of unhappiness, drove a wedge through our relationship.  To be fair, my fiancé was also going through significant changes and depression in his life which also contributed to the growing distance.  He even expressed his uncertainty with regards to our future prospect of marriage.  Oh, how the heart doth blind!  I had taken off the ring and stayed at a hotel for a week, thinking that I was fixing our relationship by giving us space.  I didn’t realize it, but we had already broken up.  Instead of focusing on my own needs, I thought only of the pain which would inevitably ensue.  Losing the only love and affection I had ever known, I had no previous experience that might help me cope.    

Recognizing the desperate need for help, I sought assistance for my Eating Disorder by seeing a specialist.  After all, this eating shit goes back to the ‘Fat Summer/Skinny Summer’ transition and preceded my relationship.  I was certain to finally focus on myself during these sessions.  We never spoke much of my eating disorder.  Instead, I expressed my dire fear regarding the imminent end of my relationship while she explained I simply had no coping mechanisms to handle change in general, and that fear of change consistently fueled my GAD.  Ah Hah! My eating disorder was a result of trying to distract myself from the unhappiness I felt, as well as many other emotions I was so keenly adept at avoiding and/or denying.  She referred to me as an ‘emotional mooch’ as I chose to feed off of the approval, love and acceptance from others instead of administering these needs internally.  It was my addictive tendencies at their finest, but they had presented themselves in such a subtle way I had not seen it.  I was addicted to control, compulsive thinking and analysis, and most critically, the approval of others.   Ever the busy bee making sure everyone else was happy so that they would love me.  I listened, devastated, as she proclaimed I was having an identity crisis.  Though my mind vehemently refused to acknowledge this concept, my soul instantly recognized its validity.  Truthfully, I had not felt myself for years and had shared as much with my stepmother about 6 months prior.  The only thing that kept me going was my relationship.  My addictive mind clung to that affection, but now that was over and the gaping wounds of my past were spilling out of me like guts from some outlandish horror movie.  I suddenly realized I had never dealt with rejection from my childhood or sister’s death, and I had certainly never dealt with becoming ‘Skinny Summer’ because ‘Fat Summer’ was starving her into insanity!  Ironically, though I had finally come to respect and benefit from therapy my medical insurance stopped paying for it and I had to discontinue, such is life.

4.       Being  Your Own Therapist

So, how the hell did I get here? To a place that no longer turns my stomach and even provides the first glimpses of happiness and peace?  Honestly, it’s been a whirl-wind of tears, screaming at my mother, self-improvement books and intense exercise.  But it started by loving and accepting who I truly am, even with my many pain-in-the-ass character flaws.  For being so damned self-aware I found that I didn’t know shit about myself, because even though I was aware of my thoughts and emotions I refused to accept them unless they were validated by someone else.  Though I’m still in the infancy of my recovery from life, I have high hopes for the future. 

Other things that have helped: I cut my hair and rearranged/redecorated my apartment, I called either my sister, mother, father or stepmother every day, I finally read that damned Anxiety Workbook (it became my most powerful resource), I started wearing a hat almost constantly (I believe it keeps my brains from coming out of my ears), I started identifying and expressing my emotions through writing and also by talking to an inanimate gnome I lovingly refer to as Dr. Do-It-Yourself, I stopped planning what to eat and allowed inclinations and cravings to dictate my diet, I kept up my exercise regimen and added daily yoga, I read and listened to everything by Dr. Wayne Dyer (Eckhart Tolle is good too but a little out-there, plus he’s kind of a pompous ass), I drink warm beverages every night for comfort, I meditate daily, I amended the tattoo previously signifying my relationship (thankfully I wasn’t dumb enough for the name tattoo), I cashed in a retirement fund and planned a trip to travel for several months throughout Europe and began studying German, I started writing to balance my creative impulses, I’m working the steps of proven recovery programs with another addict, and yes, I masturbate.

I’m not ashamed, but proud, of all of these things.  For the first time in my life I’m taking care of myself without seeking or expecting love, approval or validation from anyone else.  I completely lost my marbles and lived to tell the tale; I sincerely hope that people learn from these experiences and come to the same simple realization.  Self awareness and acceptance is a pivotal step towards happiness.  You’ll be amazed to discover that if you sincerely ask yourself how you feel and what you want you’ll eventually get an answer, but it requires patience and the ability to hear the answer.

http://www.amazon.com/Anxiety-Phobia-Workbook-Edmund-Bourne/dp/1572248912/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1325886018&sr=8-1