So yesterday, my therapist said something to me that caught me completely off guard, but it shouldn’t have. Deep down I knew it was inevitable, but I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. She said, “it’s getting close to that time where you should start thinking about when you want this to end. You don’t have to decide right away, but just think about it.” And she’s right. Therapy doesn’t last forever. It will be bittersweet for sure. But I think it’s time. I’ve graduated to a higher emotional state.

We’ve accomplished our goals. I kissed depression goodbye. I learned how to be in harmony with my emotions, positive and negative. I learned coping mechanisms for dealing with the dark thoughts. I solidified my relationship with Katie. I found a male mentor/peer that I could confide in. I started writing again. We unpacked the influence my parents and my upbringing had on me. We touched on my anxiety. We decreased my risk aversion. We untangled the misconceptions, and the skewed beliefs I had about the church and about God. I quit my job. I found a new one. I started going back to church. I found happiness, self-worth, and fulfillment once again. I found healing.

I will miss these sessions, but life goes on. People come into your life, and people go. Cherish each moment, cause you don’t know how long you have with someone. You don’t know the future. Life is like waves rolling on the seashore. It ebbs and flows. There’s good and bad. You might have bad moments and bad days, but that doesn’t mean you have a bad life. They say, “life is what you make of it,” and it is so true. I used to think that I couldn’t help my depression. I thought it was something I would never get over. People would just tell me to think positive thoughts, be happy. And my internal response was always, “that’s easier said than done. I can’t just be happy.” They didn’t get it. Nobody understood me, but it wasn’t necessarily for a lack of trying. That was on me. I didn’t want to talk about it. It was a part of me that I didn’t understand. In some ways, I didn’t want to understand. It hurt too much. But in order to heal, you have to feel pain. Pain is a sign that you’re human. In order to heal a wound, sometimes you must feel the pain of the stitches. You may be left with scars, but you’re better for it. You learn from your mistakes. Every experience is a lesson.

Therapy was an experience. It taught me so many lessons. When I first started, I thought I would need it for a long time. And it’s somewhat true, it’s been a year and a half. Maybe I thought I would be broken for longer, but I don’t need it anymore. For the first time in my life I’m good. Not just in words, but in practice and action now. This phase of my life is over. My therapist said I could continue on if I wanted to, but we would have to transition into something else. It wouldn’t be therapy anymore. The dictionary defines therapy as, “treatment intended to relieve or heal a disorder.” The disorder has been healed. Yes, I still have my anxiety to deal with. But we’re doing things one step at a time now. I can do this on my own! Therapy was necessary for a time. For a time when I felt helpless, and powerless. A time when I didn’t know how to cope, correct, and control my life. But I know now. I know what I can control, and I know what I can allow. I know how to stop myself from regressing and relapsing. I know the correct methods, and I recognize the bad habits. I can check myself before I wreck myself now. I won’t ever let myself be caught up in the dark tangle of webs that I was stuck in for so long. Don’t ever let someone tell you that you’re not capable of change. Don’t ever let someone tell you that depression lasts forever. It’s hard. It’s really fucking hard. But you can get over it. Healing comes in the morning. Eventually things start to click in your brain. I can prove it. The checklist I made on New Year’s of 2018 is now complete.

• Find a girlfriend. Someone who will be my best friend, and my biggest supporter.
• Find a new apartment. One where I can stay for years. I’m sick of this nomad shit.
• Find a new job. Somewhere I can learn and grow, and further my knowledge base

None of it happened the way I thought it would or when I anticipated, but things came together. God had a plan for me, even if I didn’t listen to Him. He was working the whole time. But there was a lot of pain, a lot of brokenness that I needed to fight through. There were a lot of emotions, and fears that had been repressed, and hidden for many long years. I had to get through the lowest of lows to find breakthrough. It took adversity for me to finally receive the help that I needed and deserved.

I found that in therapy, and I am forever grateful. Instead of running from my problems and hardship I finally addressed them head on. It was difficult at first, thinking about things that were locked in a secret compartment in the back of my brain. But in order for therapy to serve its purpose, you have to be honest, both with your therapist and with yourself. If you hold back, you’re only impeding your progress. You’re only delaying true healing. Therapy showed me many things that I expected, but it also showed me so much more. By the grace of God, I found my way back to church, and I guess you could say this had the more profound impact. Whether you believe in God or not, it’s hard to argue with the facts. In the last year and a half, change in me has been clearly evident. I carry myself in a different way now. Those who know me, know that I’m pessimistic and cynical. I’m prone to judgment and negativity. I’m afraid of failure and disappointment, and care way too much about what other people think. But those are my insecurities bubbling up to the surface. I realize now that it doesn’t matter what other people think of me, cause I know what I’m capable of. I know my potential, I know my worth. I write because it’s good for me. I write because I have stories to tell.

I’ve said before that I was stuck in neutral for a long time. Well, let me expand on that. It doesn’t just pertain to my career, or my emotional well-being. It pertains to nearly all aspects of my life, the most important of which being my writing. It all stemmed from being too afraid to disappoint myself and others. Being afraid of what people would think. This held me back from living up to my potential. This kept me mired in mediocrity. This kept me saying things like, “I should get back into writing,” instead of actually writing. This was what I expressed externally. But what I thought internally, was what if people don’t like what I write? What if my quality of writing isn’t up to par? What if this, what if that. This was just me making excuses not to write. If I want to be a writer, I have to actually write. Thinking about it isn’t good enough! And I guess that’s what’s different. I’m committed to this now, because I’m confident in my ability. I started doing morning pages when I got back from visiting my parents on January 13th. This exercise has been more beneficial to me than I could’ve imagined. Even if they are just random thoughts and nonsense sometimes. It gets me thinking. It gets me in the habit of writing consistently, which is more important than writing well or in volume. Quality and quantity will come with time and practice. If I’m writing consistently, I’m not starting from a full stop, I’m already in gear. You can’t stop me now! Cause I’m going to write and write and write. I don’t give no fucks about who reads or why. I’m doing this writing for me. As long as I’m happy with my writing, nothing else matters. I don’t need the approval of others any longer. People are going to hate you, and people are going to love you. The only thing you can control is yourself. Control for me comes in the form of honing and perfecting my craft.

And so I’m ready. I’m ready to do this on my own. That isn’t to say that I’ll be afraid to ask for help. I’ll ask for help when I need it. But I’ve thought about it, this door is closing, and another door is opening. New life. New beginnings. My therapist said that a common occurrence is for people to end their therapy three months after they get a new job. That way they already have stability. So I thought about it on my drive back. I considered ending in August, it would be nice to say I did therapy for an even two years (I have slight OCD), but that’s unnecessary. I’ll do the three months. If I’m writing, I’m happy. I never want to feel the way I felt, so I will never let myself fall back into old habits. No more regression, no more relapse. Onwards and upwards. They tell you if you love something, you need to let it go. I love myself, so I need to let therapy go. I no longer need to use it as a crutch, cause I can stand on my own!