Best Therapist I Ever Had

Therapy has always scared me. It's hard for me to get to that point where I can openly talk about the things I would rather hide forever with someone I barely know. (Talking is way different than writing). Naturally, I tend to lie to the therapist. I'd have tears running from my bloodshot eyes, but I'd still smile and say I'm fine. I'd drag my 90 pound self to the office, pass out on the couch, and claim to be eating.

But there was one therapist, one out of about a half a dozen, that I actually connected with. Michelle. After maybe 2 sessions, I was flung open. I shared everything from my mom's suicide to my cat's favorite toy. Michelle knew the ins and outs of my anorexia, its possible causes, triggers, and goals. She cried with me, encouraged me to write, and made me believe that maybe I could get better for real this time.

I was explaining to Michelle what I now recognize as a possible manic episode. Every time I left the house, every time I was around people, every time I wasn't making an incredible effort to shut down my brain all the whirling ideas, plans, musings, dreams, monologues, and fears rushing through my head at once would frustrate me to the point of tears. I wanted to slow down. I wanted one thought at a time.

Michelle looked at me very seriously. She put down her pen and pad and told me that she thinks she knows what is happening. My heart was racing. She begins to explain: I had spent a long time numbing myself by not eating. Now that I was up to almost 800 calories per day, the parts of me that had been in hibernation were being reawakened.

"Mary, I think you might be psychic."

Michelle believed that I was able to feel the emotions of people around me, which is why crowded areas freaked me out. It also explained why I had so many conflicting thoughts at the same time. It could even explain I started starving myself to become numb in the first place.

She handed me several books on honing my psychic ability and keeping it under control on a regular basis. We hugged, awkwardly, as my arms were filled with strange books, and a moment later, I was alone in the hallway.

"What the fuck?" I didn't believe it. But when you throw a bunch of books at someone who is manic, she will read them. And find more. And research the hell out of it, whether it is important or not. Or at least, that's what I did. Michelle gave me an outlet to pour my extra energy into.

I'm not a skeptic. Boyfriend will vouch that I believe in some weird shit. But I did not believe I was psychic. What I did believe was that Michelle was kind of crazy. And that made sense. Of course I would connect with the only crazy therapist I've had.

I continued to see Michelle twice a week for another couple of months. Most of the sessions were spent practicing breathing techniques and meditation exercises that were meant to keep my psychic ability in check. I think she saw me as some sort of project or discovery. Her techniques did work to keep my mind calm at times, but I eventually quit therapy again and quit eating again. At that time, that was the only thing that really worked to calm my crazy.

Most would not call that a successful story, but how many people can say they have been called a psychic by a mental health professional?