part three--the end: this is what happens when my therapist dies

content warning: death; depression; sexual assault / rape

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"The therapist I liked died the day after I was raped," is a sentence I've said, unfortunately. Part one and part two share more of the days after, the first feelings from months ago. Some of those feelings remain strong, almost fresh. Especially the feeling of not knowing who to turn to anymore, who to rely on, who to ask for help when I can't see anything in the darkness.

Nikki was the only therapist that I fully respected and appreciated.

Then she died.

I say those words often, too. When I'm processing past or present emotions, I frequently mention that I was working on something related with Nikki... "then she died." I never grieved the loss. I didn't talk to anyone about how I felt/feel, I didn't acknowledge her absence in the therapy office that I remained, and I didn't tell my new therapist just how much pain I felt.

When Nikki passed, the therapy office passed me to a new employee. At first, I felt appreciative. I'd been raped four days prior. I needed mental health treatment. Urgently. I didn't feel a connection to this new person, and I felt badly for that. I felt that I had subconsciously built a wall to not connect with her on a similar level. Perhaps I had at first, but as time passed, I tried.

In the last five months, I met with New Girl regularly. There were a few days that I felt, "Maybe she is helping. Maybe I am making progress." They were fleeting moments. She practices talk therapy, without much more than a conversation & positive-mindset interjections. That might work for others. It has not worked for me.

But I stayed.

I stayed because finding a therapist is one of the hardest aspects of mental health treatment. I should know. I've done it seven times in three cities. I didn't want to do it again. I have to now.

I fired New Girl as my therapist last Wednesday.

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Nikki pushed me. She assigned homework. She directed my boundary-setting tasks. She let me cry, then she told me to get my shit together. She balanced care and concern with direction and demands in a way that I needed. Most importantly, she taught me to advocate for myself, and to listen to my mind and body.

She, like each therapist before her, recommended that I meet with my doctor or another prescribing physician to discuss antidepressants. Just to talk about it. I always declined. For four years, I said no to each person.

Last Wednesday, I went to see New Girl. I told her how I've felt for the last two months. I told her all that I'm trying to do-- eat healthier & more regularly, go to CrossFit often, socialize with people who bring me joy, practice hobbies that I miss, try new things. I said, "I'm doing all that I can, and there are days that I still don't want to do anything. That I still don't want to be a human."

And she said, "Give it time," as if the nearly-23 years of my life hasn't been enough for me to recognize when I am not myself, when I am not well.

I started the search for a new therapist that afternoon.

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Thanks (largely) to Nikki, I decided, "This is wrong. I can leave." I won't go back -- nothing serves me there now.

Instead, I will do what I preached to someone else yesterday, because contrary to recent conversations, I am not #LivingMyBestLife right now.

On Friday night, I cried into my hands as I pressed them into the futon railing after I told my boyfriend, "I don't like how I feel ... I don't feel like myself and that's scary ... And I don't know how to let you like me when I don't even like myself." Earlier that day, I cried alone on my white faux-leather futon (I bought it to bring me joy) because I felt overwhelmed with the desire to cancel our camping trip the next day, to stay in solitude until I felt less like "that" and more like me. Earlier that week, I cried because I realized that excitement is not an emotion I feel lately -- it's just not there.

I've cried a lot lately.

I've also posted a lot of smiles on social media. I've received, "You look so happy!!" comments. I've responded to messages about the positive changes in my life. And yes, I smile, have happy moments, and look to the future for growth. But that's not the whole picture.

A person I haven't spoken to since high school messaged me yesterday: "Hey I know this is completely random but how do you deal with your depression? I have been so so so low lately and I don't know what else to do.."

I thanked and supported them for reaching out -- that's hard. And then I said this:

Yes, my mental health is better (in many ways) than it's been before. But I'm also not in a great place. What I am in is a mindset to keep trying to find solutions, next steps.

That's what we all need to do, friends. Acknowledge what's wrong and work to make it right.

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I had my last assignment sheet from Nikki taped to my wall in my last apartment. Then I moved. And I taped it up again. Seeing a constant reminder that one person cared so much & expected so much & tried so much to improve my life is what makes me want to continue.

Find that person/place/thing, and don't let it go, even if it has to leave.