Why Am I Not Getting Better Despite My Therapy Sessions?

My depression due to my mom’s death five months ago was something that took my life to a whole new level. I’m still in high school, and as a teenager, it is so heartbreaking that my mom would not be there for me on the special events of my life in the future. She wouldn’t be able to be there at my graduation, she wouldn’t be able to meet my future boyfriend, and she wouldn’t be able to witness my wedding. Those things might not be a big deal for some, but for a 16-year-old teenager like me, those moments can be the worse.

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As my depression continued, I knew I had to do something to make this emotional dilemma bearable. For sure, my mom wouldn’t like to see me losing my grip. In fact, I knew she would wish me all the best in life. That is why I signed up for therapy sessions. But unfortunately, it has been almost two months, but I do not seem to see any difference in my emotional and mental health. With that, I began to reevaluate the factors affecting my mental health development, and here’s what I figured out.

I’m Just Faking It

I engaged in therapy because I knew it could help. I was aware of the benefits it can give me provided that the healthcare professional knows exactly what to advise. Honestly, as much as possible, I tried my best to understand the therapist’s recommendations so that I wouldn’t find myself more anxious, depressed, and isolated. But unfortunately, I was just kidding myself. I know what the therapist talks about, but when she asked me if I’m getting better, I couldn’t help but lie. Of course, I had to say “yes” because that’s what she’s supposed to hear. I wouldn’t want the therapist to know that her methods aren’t working because I find it entirely insulting on her part. But I was not sure if that’s what it was. I was unsure if it was okay to tell her that nothing has changed after two months of attending therapy sessions with her.

I thought that maybe I couldn’t make it better because I don’t want to. There’s something in me that wanted to endure the pain of losing someone. And despite being mentally and emotionally unstable, I find the whole thing comforting because that way, I wouldn’t have to get over thinking about my mom.

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I Don’t Have Clear Goals

At first, I knew why I signed up for therapy sessions to manage my anxiety and depression. But over time, and after attending a couple of sessions with the therapist, things became clear to me that I do not have anything to look forward to. Meaning, regardless of making it or not, I entirely do not care anymore. I knew I had to be better, but the decision to target specific behaviors was a setback to all of this. The pain of losing someone was sticking to me, and it is horrifying. But the worst part was, I wanted to get used to it. I wanted to retain this emotional pain to have enough reason to isolate myself to not feel the pain again.

I know it sounded so confusing because everything I do was supposed to make things better, but then I somehow made things complicated for myself and everybody else. The changes in my life were becoming so recognizable that even my close friends and relatives are getting concerned about it. I was starting to build a comfort zone where I intend to lock myself in. For me, it was kind of okay because I wouldn’t have to deal with anything anymore. But for others, it was a way of shutting them out in my life and becoming someone I am not.

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I Need More Than Just Therapy

Do not get me wrong. Therapy has been very helpful in assisting me on my bad grieving days. It allowed me to see differently on things around me despite the emotional and mental health issues. However, as much as I wanted to convince myself that it was working fine for me, it just wasn’t. My emotional pain is stronger than any coping mechanism that the therapist advised me, which kept me unwell all along. I needed something different. I needed more than just therapy, but I just can’t figure out what it was.

I knew it would take a lot of time before I could finally be emotionally and mentally free myself from this deep-rooted heartache I am having. And for those who constantly tell me that it was all in my mind, I wished these people knew how hard it was to eliminate this pain I am struggling with. I wished they realized that mental health problems are not that easy to handle.