Ask Men

I grew up in the 90s. My parents got me into a really rigorous k-12 program where we were easily the poorest family. My parents were dealing with work and chronic illness and I was floundering academically. The school social worker nice enough but this was the era where they put boys who were bored in class on ritalin. My parents found a letter I was about to send a friend with some (admittedly overwrought) prose about how much I hated it and got alarmed. They sent me to therapy to get a second opinion. That happened over two years, and once I left that school, I was okay. That worker was really good, but I was a kid and I was just dealing with an external stressor.

When my mom died, I started losing track of days, and taking very risky behaviors. Mostly I would meet strangers for anonymous, sometimes unprotected sex. My family and friends noticed I was spiraling and after a few months, my dad insisted to start therapy. We could only afford to go to a local religious org. I didn't have much say in who I could see, it was all students working on racking up clinical hours, there was constant turnover so the rapport i would build with one was vaporized after maybe 3 or 4 months. Looking back, I realize at this point in my life I really needed a male therapist, because I was making it weird with the female ones, especially since they were, as mentioned, students, and about my age. In the end, I got annoyed with the turnover, especially after my favorite one left.

But my self destructive behaviors got worse, and I didn't resolve any of my grief. I got bored with school and started working in EMS. Everything was a pressure cooker. I was working nights, so I didn't see my friends or family. Management was hostile and full of middle aged white dudes (in 2015!). My coworkers were a bunch of catty assholes. The work was fast paced and brutal and precise and I watched a lot of people, including kids, die. I didn't have time to indulge myself. I barely had time to eat. I made it a year, but I should have left before. I considered hiring a prostitute. I considered suicide. I didn't want to my coworkers know (they were gossipy, and our turf covered the counties mental health crisis center, so they would have seen me eventually).

When I left, I went back to school and I was surrounded by slightly younger college girls, so I started getting a little crazy. I considered killing myself. I didn't want anyone to know, so I looked into suicide kits, and actually got a VPN with the intention to order one and just have it hang around until I was ready. This first concrete step kind of horrified me. I had health insurance at this point, from Obamacare, so I found a real therapist. I saw this guy for five years. It was really great. I worked through all the trauma and grief in a way that felt safe and healthy. He eventually "graduated" me. I felt really proud. I still do.

I know finding the right therapist sucks, and would suck even if we didnt live the hellscape of late capitalism. but I do think that if you find someone you vibe with, it can get better.