Anxiety Can’t Be The Answer

These last two weeks have been a roller coaster of a ride! Up’s and downs, lefts and rights!

One minute I feel happy the next minute I feel down.

When I had my Cognitive Behavioural Therapy on Friday I actually had to ask my therapist is she thinks I’m nuts, because at the moment with everything that has been going on I certainly feel like I am.

Last week I found myself believing I was a schizophrenic.

Don’t ask me how or why, I just woke up one day last week and thought;

‘Do you know, it can’t just be anxiety, I must be crazy as well.’

I even done an online test.

You know, one of those really bad ones that you find on really dodgy sites?

It asked me some normal questions about how I feel and etcetera but there was some slightly unusual ones like how many times do I pee a day.

I believed it though!

Yep! Whole heartedly believed it!

After sitting through a 2 minute test on mental health personality disorders my results said that I was bound to be a schizophrenic and I believed it!

I sat staring at my computer screen, nodding with approval!

So, I printed off the results and folded them all nicely into my CBT folder as though it was something I should be proud of because I finally had proof I was nuts.

I ignored all those niggling truths though.

Like the fact it was created by someone called ‘feelinglucky69’ or that they are probably not (especially with that sort of name) a qualified mental health practitioner or the fact that the test was only two minutes long or the fact that I found it on a ‘community create your own test’ page.

Nope, none of those facts mattered.

Why would I listen to facts like that, when I had woken up and suddenly known myself that anxiety wasn’t the whole of it?

I don’t know why I believed it, or in that case why I had clung to it, but I did.

So on Friday I went to my Cognitive Behavioural Therapy session, armed with my piece of paper, ready to hand it over and have it all confirmed as the truth.

But the thing was, I didn’t know how to bring it up.

I sat for the first half of the session fidgeting, fiddling with my hair, debating what to do.

What if I tell my therapist and they turn round and say;

‘Hooray! You finally figured it out! Now that you have acknowledged that your nuts I’m just going to slip this jacket on you, do up these buckles, and put you in this very nicely padded room.’

Bang, the door shuts and I’m left to rot in an institute.

Great. I’m going nuts just trying to tell someone that I think I’m nuts!

So I’m sitting in the middle of my session, missing most of it, because all I can think of is that stupid bit of paper!

Which at this point, starts to feel like it’s actually burning through my folder.

So I think to myself, to hell with it, I might as well get it over and done with, instead of letting it drive me even more insane.

I interrupt my therapy session, stopping my therapist mid-sentence as I can no longer handle the piece of paper tormenting me.

Me: ‘Erm, can I ask you something?’

Therapist: ‘Yes?’

Me: ‘Do you think I’m a schizophrenic?’

I now tense up, literally squirming and squinting, waiting for the brutality that is surely to be confirmation that I’m crazy.

Therapist: ‘No. What makes you ask that?’

Me: ‘Oh.’

We then spent the rest of the session talking about the test, the questions it had asked and the results it had given me.

With my therapists help I was able to let my logic return to notice and acknowledge all those niggling truths…

How on earth had I been so blind and gullible?


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