`Yesterday, I cried because it was my last appointment with my Dr.
We do Social Recovery Cognitive Behaviour Therapy.
Where we don’t focus to much on Social Recovery.
We focus on finishing a book, writing a page of my story/novel, writing a blog post, walking to the end of my street, eating dinner.
Our goal was ‘walk to shop round corner’. Not even ‘go in shop’, just walk to it.
My Dr understands that Social Recovery isn’t possible for me until I achieve, personal recovery, I guess. That’s why some sessions are just me crying or shouting about my shitty dad or about other people’s ignorant perceptions of my autistic traits, or about general neurotypical assholes. Sometimes it’s us brainstorming for a whole hour about ways to stim, or how to get out of certain situations.
One time I said to her, ‘this never feels like therapy, it feels like problem solving’. We are analytical and we mind map everything, writing out complex maps of intertwining feelings, actions and events so I can look at them and take them in, in the best way for me.
We have one rule, ‘If it works, we’ll find out how and if it doesn’t, forget about it.’
Today I thanked my Dr, and told her I counted her as a friend.
It wasn’t the therapy or the questions or the mind maps that helped me move forward, it was her. Her attitude, her trust and her attention. She treated me like a friend, and she believed me. She gave me control and only worked on what I felt I need to deal with.
This is how all Dr’s, therapists, care professionals should aspire to be.
