Discovering Therapy

Discovering Therapy

    In the late 1970's my parents had me in the hospital for "S-h-a-k-i-n-g."*  

At  the time I was running around with a group of kids my parents didn't approve of.  (I was nearly a straight-A-student, well liked by my teachers, an outstanding student-artist, and depressed. 

 Misguided and in a troubled marriage themselves, my parents thought I was on drugs.

     I was just laying there waiting for someone to tell me what was wrong with

       me.  I don't remember my mother coming to visit, but my dad came by

      and we had a terrible fight. An hour or so later a nurse came in and I

      was still sobbing.  Days later, the doctors didn't find anything wrong

       with me. But I had one doctor suggest I see a psychiatrist. My dad told

       me what the doctor said, and suggested I pick a doctor from a hospital

       list he had gotten from the doctor. ( Really!)

      I knew my dad thought only "crazy" people went to see a psychiatrist,

      so I picked up on his negative "vibe" and yelled "I wasn't going to go!"

      So I never went and it wasn't until about five years later  when....      

       I finally got help.

 *  I was later diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease.  Just so you know.