This is an excerpt from my upcoming book Dear Charlotte, which tells the winding story of the triumph and folly of forever trying to better yourself. This letter is from the chapter on "The Pursuit of Happiness."
Hi Charlotte,
So finally, for the first time in my life, I met with a therapist. And sadly, this confirmed all my negative stereotypes about them. While it's possible I just got the wrong therapist, I kind of doubt it because he's supposedly the "therapist's therapist", coming highly recommended from my friend's mom who herself is a therapist.
The first thing I see, when I walk up to the receptionist to sign in, is a clipboard with the branding of a drug company on it. This is a bit off-putting. I imagine that if I was a therapist, I'd want to create a sense of trust with my patients, and therefore, I wouldn't want to show any conflict of interest or collaboration with the drug companies.
When I meet the therapist, his room is gorgeous. It's a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a creek with nice trees. The interior is dark and woody, with old books everywhere. And of course, the couch I sit in is very comfortable. It's so quiet in there, that you can't help but feel calm and zen, listening to the rustle of the trees outside.
I then lay everything out for him methodically. I mention that I have on average, every day or so, an hour or two where I just lay on the floor, analyzing issues in my life. I mention that when I'm around people, sometimes they say things to me that I can't get out in my head for hours later on. I tell him that these aspects of my life are painful and that I want them gone. In addition, I explain how I'm an arm-chair psychologist myself, and that in addition to fixing these problem, I'd also like a better understanding of what's going on.
I spent nearly the whole hour just talking, which now seems weird because the paragraph above is all that's really needed to understand my problem. The rest is all filler. I would rather have spent just the first 30 minutes talking and the second 30 minutes listening. I would have liked for him to explain to me the typical paths to resolution, their pros and cons and their success rates. But instead, at minute 58, he clasped his hands, said a few comforting things and wrote me a prescription to Zoloft.
I was floored by this. "Seriously is this the best you can do?" I thought to myself. He said that Zoloft is a good first-pass for most patients and a way to get started. Get started with what though?? Get started on a path of drug experimentation until I find the right one that works? Is that just his formula? I felt like he gathered no real insight into my condition. I could've told him anything, and the answer every time would've been Zoloft. Why not Lexapro? Why not Xanax? Or maybe he just picked one as a random starting point to get started on a tour of all the anti-depressants so that I'd be on the hook for him indefinitely!
I know you can't expect complete answers in one session, but for the cost of therapy, I can't go on a six-month chemical adventure with semi-weekly check-ups. And that would probably just be the beginning. Plus, I don't think it's worth the strain on my body. I repeatedly mentioned that I'm not really depressed. Sometimes, during my neurotic episodes, it's depressing to realize how much time I've burnt up, but I'm still able to go to work and have friends and lead a normal life. I don't think he caught that nuance. I think it makes a world of a difference to know whether you're prescribing to help someone who thinks too much versus prescribing to help someone with a low mood all the time.
The whole business of therapy is frightening to me. I don't want to be on a leash to this therapist. All incentives are for me to keep failing and for him to catch repeat business. Oh, and there's always the possibility of collaboration with Big Pharma lurking in the background too. My friend said that while therapists are not allowed to accept money from pharmaceutical companies, sales reps often bring lunch for the whole office and the therapist's children. And these aren't boring lunches, like Subway sandwiches. They're from Whole Foods or Central Market. The whole thing just makes me ill.
When I got home, I put the prescription in a folder and locked it in my filing cabinet. I haven't opened it since. My only regret now, though, is not having met with a therapist earlier. That way I could've gotten a taste for it a while ago, rejected it, and not have had to worry about whether I was missing out on something the whole time.1
1 I'm a little more moderate now in my attitude toward therapists, considering that I owe my life to self-administered cognitive therapy and meditation therapy. But, I still believe that going to a psychotherapist is not a sure shot. You might find yourself with a bad apple, and so you have to try another one. He may prescribe you a bad drug, and so you have to try another drug. Six months later, your body is strung out and your pockets are empty. As a do-it-yourself person who likes guaranteed results, this kind of path doesn't suit me. But then again, that's partly why I wrote this book, so you can decide for yourself if my alternative path is worth it.
