STOP! Drop what you're doing right now. Oh, wait. Right now, you're reading this. Well, OK. Watch what is at the other end of this link. Then get right back to me. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGoXMgEkV8MT.
Everyone should have a therapist. The commercial is great. It's one of my favorites. But it's not therapy. I've been seeing my therapist, Bob, for just over 5 years now and he's never thrown anything at me, even though I'm sure there was a time or two he wanted to. (His name is not really Bob. I've named him Bob in honor of Bob Newhart.) He knows me better than anyone else - probably better than I know myself. My psychiatrist once described my relationship with Bob as one of the most intimate relationships I'll ever have. He's right, except the intimacy goes only one way. Over time, I've learned some generic things about Bob (he lives and breathes to fly fish for trout in the Smoky Mountains); but, he is careful to limit that knowledge. If he becomes too much of a "person" to me, psychology says my willingness to be candid with him is compromised and treatment isn't what it can be.
You have no idea how smart Bob is. It's amazing. He is a walking bookcase of the latest information on whatever study it is that would apply to my situation. He always is able to cite the experiences of some other person and compare how the two of us handled or are handling those experiences. He also remembers everything about me. At my last visit, he reminded me about something I discussed with him when I first met him in June 2006. Amazingly, he doesn't take any notes while we talk. Bob doesn't know what we're going to talk about when I walk in the door, but he adapts to what ever it is. For him, it's like a pop quiz. He usually gets an A. I say "usually" because there have been times I've left his office really angry at him. Even if he was right on whatever he said to make me angry (which he was), I need to save face and give him an A- for those times.
Bob is someone to whom I can speak freely about anything. There are times when I have been so tied up with something, I felt like I was going to explode. I obsessed about it. I permitted it to get much bigger than what it really was. But it was something I didn't want to tell anyone. I could tell Bob. I can say anything - anything I feel I need to say. And I can say it out loud. Sometimes saying it out loud makes what ever it is that is eating at me seem smaller - more manageable. Bob is able to help me shrink whatever it is down to a manageable size.
The thing that makes talking to Bob easy is he does not judge. No matter what I tell him, he remains steady. There's never a look on his face that says, "You did what?", even when the "what" is really stupid. I don't have to justify what I feel. I'm allowed to have my feelings. It's OK to cry. I do not have to be on guard. Bob's office is the only place I know where it is completely safe to be vulnerable.
Bob's commitment to confidentiality is immeasurable. I've seen him in public and he would not speak to me and risk someone asking me about his identity. I don't care what you say. When you tell your best friend a significant secret, it will end up out on the street - being Tweeted and texted from here to there. Not so with Bob. What I say in his office stays in his office. I've sent 2 clients to Bob. Each one told him that I sent her. He wouldn't even acknowledge that he knew me. I have no doubt about confidentiality. I trust him implicitly.
I haven't showered Bob with sufficient flowery praise for you to witness just how much I admire him, how well he has worked with me and how beneficial therapy has been for me. You see, he and my psychiatrist saved my life. My psychiatrist was (and still is) essential to my care; he balanced medicines, talked to me and talked to Bob and I don't want to diminish, in any way, the care he gives me. He's one of the best doctors I see (and I see a lot). But by design, Bob saw (and sees) me more frequently and for longer periods of time. I have no doubt that I would have harmed myself if Bob had not been there while I journeyed through a very dark, very long depression. He watched closely to make sure I remained north of that dangerous line. He helped me find a reason to stay alive and made sure that I repeated it every time we met. He was not sugary compassionate. That is not his job. He knew that I had to want to refrain from hurting myself for me - not for him or anyone else. He talked in a way that led me to realize that in my head. I remember being so confused during that time, but Bob methodically helped me to put as much in order as I could. It all was quite an effort on this part.
A month ago or so, Bob started saying things that led me to believe that he thought his work with me was done, that I really didn't have a purpose for therapy anymore. So, I made a list of reasons to continue and reasons to discontinue therapy and took it to my next meeting with Bob. (Bob encourages journals.)
One of my reasons to continue was to have Bob help me cope with Parkinson's. We've already discussed the potential for dementia. As I progress through more memory loss, or more tremors, less balance and immobilizing uncertainty, I'm going to need him to talk me through it. There is no one else who will listen like he does and who will acknowledge whatever it is that I'm feeling. No one.
I know many people have depression as a part of their Parkinson's and many of them already see a therapist; but, people afflicted with Parkinson's don't have to be depressed to see a therapist. Therapy doesn't have to be an every-other-week thing. It can be ad hoc. You can call only when you have something specific to discuss - when you need to have someone help you examine your thinking about Parkinson's or just to let you say out loud whatever might be bothering you. You can go when your deepest-rooted fear rears up and there is no one you feel comfortable telling. A therapist won't tell you he or she knows how you feel or tell you he or she is sorry. A therapist will talk you through it.
I'm telling you, I'm a believer in therapy. As you've figured out, my therapist hung the moon. Don't believe me? Try it. No one will throw a tissue box at you.
Gayle M.
Post Script: A friend of mine saw a magnet perfect for me. The minute I saw it, I knew I needed to show it to Bob. I knew that when I gave it to him to examine, he would put on his reading glasses, bend over in his chair, put his elbows on his knees, start to read the magnet, break out into a smile and at just the right time, I knew he would start to laugh - a true laugh - not a polite laugh. Bob loved it. I knew he would. Bob doesn't take himself too seriously. What's not to love about a good therapist joke? I hope you liked it, too.
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