I'm almost-- not quite, but almost-- ready to consider therapy. The thing is, I still don't want to change. And until I want things to be different, not my parents, not other people, I just don't see it being a worthwhile endeavor.
Because you see, what I want, what would make me happy, is for things to go back to the way they were before I had to move. I don't want to be in Indiana. I don't want to live with my parents. I want to have complete control over 99% of my human interaction and mostly to be left alone. Therapy can't give me my apartment in Houston back. It also can't give me a body that doesn't hurt all the time or randomly and urgently expel everything I've eaten in the last week. Which is what I want, part 2. To be rid of all this physical stuff and live a normal life at home in Houston, where I belong.
And what others want from my therapy is stuff that I decidedly do not want. Mom seems to think that therapy will make me want to spend time with her and listen to all her gossipy, whiny, repetitive stories. Yes, I used to do that. On the phone, where I could be totally ignoring her and doing something else. Can't do that so much in real life. I think therapy is also supposed to make me want to sit in the living room in the evenings and watch lots of Wheel of Fortune and the Hallmark channel. I would NEED therapy after that, y'all. I'll stick to my room and my Law & Order, CSI, and NCIS, thanks.
I'm also kind of worried about any meds this hypothetical future therapist might want to put me on. There's a strong chance that they'll clash with what I'm already on. (Fibro meds are in a similar class of drugs to a lot of anti-depressants.) I don't want to change my meds. They may not do a lot for me, but they're better than nothing, and thanks to the drug companies they're free. New meds may or may not do anything for my pain and may or may not be free. And the only other thing I've found that helps and doesn't make me violently ill is a narcotic that was pulled from the market because it was making people's hearts explode. So it's the current stuff or nothing.
Yet I know the stuff I'm doing is not normal. Hiding in my room 24/7. Only leaving the house once a month, if that. Dreading social interactions. Staying up all night and sleeping all morning. Losing track of the day, the date, friends. Reading constantly to avoid real life. I know these things aren't healthy. But they're what I want. They're the best I can do right now. And the sheer energy involved in changing any of it is overwhelming to contemplate. Especially when it's not going to get me what I really want anyway.
So that's why I haven't started therapy yet. I'm getting there, maybe. Probably. But I'm not there yet.