Therapy

Hi all,
I’m new here. Really struggling right now with autistic burnout. I want to find a therapist but the task seems so insurmountable. I can’t handle the thought of going through all the *everything* of finding a therapist only to have them be dismissive of me…I don’t have the spoons to advocate for myself right now.
Any tips on finding a good therapist who is supportive of/helpful to Autistic adults?

#Autism #Therapy

I’m about to start therapy-Again- BUT I’ve really been seeing how much negative false beliefs there are associated with BPD. Like to the point that I’m too scared to tell them that I have it. I don’t want to be branded, labeled, stigmatised or however you want to phrase it. There are so many falsehoods associated with BPD that make me scared to share. So many Psychiatrists and Phychologists refuse to take BPD patients and I think that is disgusting. I just don’t know what to do. I really don’t.

I've been living in a mental prison for about 9 years now, unable to move forward after traumatic things that have happened to me in the past. Hobbies, distractions and white noise are only temporary, it's never been the solution but I don't know the solution.

I thought about confronting those demons of the past. About a week ago, I texted the the one who ruined my life and I told her everything she has done to me, and the suffering I have lived with ever since. She apologized with a long text, but I must say it seemed quite disingenuous. But even if she was genuine or not, apologies is not accountability. Apologies is not empathy. I want there to be accountability, and I want her to live what I lived the past 9 years. I know that's not healing but I really need a way a guide.

I am ashamed to admit that I failed to tell my past therapists the true reasons for my depression, and I'm also extremely antisocial so I was never good at expressing myself verbally.

I am ashamed for how I treated therapy, instead of getting the help I needed, I treated therapy sessions as just a place I wanted to leave as fast as possible.

#Therapy #Depression #Anxiety #accountability

It is incredibly difficult now... The therapy is uncomfortable and the emotions are heightened to the point of frequent weepiness, but I can only imagine how I'll be six months from now, and to have a mind that is QUIET 😩 #OCD #ruminatingthoughts #Gratitude #Therapy

For most of my life, I’ve carried something I couldn’t name.

I’m 38 now. I’m sober. I’m a husband. A father. An engineer. From the outside, it might look like I’ve got a life that’s steady, stable—even successful. But the truth is, the life I have today only exists because, one day, I made a decision not to die.

I was 33. Still drinking. Still spiraling. And I had reached a place I can barely describe. I didn’t know what my future was—but I knew I didn’t want to end it. That morning, I left my apartment for the hospital. But before I walked out the door, I looked at the weapons I had laid out on my coffee table. Loaded. Waiting. And I walked past them. I made a choice.

I chose to live.

But that choice didn’t come out of nowhere. It was the breaking point in a long and painful story.

It started when I was 22. I had gotten a girl pregnant. We weren’t in a committed relationship, but I was ready to take responsibility. Before we had a chance to talk, she had an abortion—without telling me. I found out after the fact. The grief was complicated and wordless. I didn’t know how to process it. So I didn’t. I shut down.

I stopped going to class. I started drinking. Not to unwind—but to disappear.

Then, one night, drunk and desperate, I emptied my bank account—$3,000 in cash—and bought a one-way bus ticket to Los Angeles. I never made it. I was robbed at the terminal. Then arrested. The police took me to a psych ward instead of jail. I didn’t see it as help at the time. But it was.

I made it home. Finished school. In 2011, I took a job in Afghanistan working with the military. We endured regular rocket attacks. Others panicked. I didn’t. Not because I was brave—because I was already numb. The outside chaos felt normal.

At 27, the depression came again. I lost my job. I was hospitalized. And every time, before I ended up in a hospital bed, the pattern was the same: a slow build of suicidal thoughts. Images of self-harm. The kind of ideation you learn to hide because you’re scared of what people will do with the truth.

I didn’t get sober until 2018. After that morning. After the choice. A doctor told me I had cirrhosis. I thought I’d destroyed my body the same way I’d been destroying my mind. A year later, a liver specialist gave me a second opinion: alcoholic hepatitis. And somehow, I had recovered.

That second chance changed everything. But it didn’t fix everything.

Even without alcohol, my brain didn’t quiet down. I was eventually diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. Some medications helped. Some didn’t. The picture never felt fully clear.

When my son was born, something inside me lit up again—and not in a good way. My thoughts raced. I barely slept. One medication triggered what felt like months of euphoria. I spent thousands of dollars on Pokémon cards, convinced I was making brilliant investments. I made mistakes at work. I crashed hard. And I ended up in the hospital again.

That’s when the questions started. Was it more than depression? Bipolar disorder has been mentioned, but I haven’t been officially diagnosed. I just know that the highs are too high, and the lows go darker than they should.

Lately, I’ve noticed something new—outbursts of rage. Moments where the smallest criticism sends me into a tailspin. It feels primal. Uncontrollable. And afterward, it feels hollow and shameful. I hate that part of me. But I’m trying to understand it.

I’m still here. I’m still sober. I’m still showing up for my wife and son, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.

There’s no clean ending here. No bow. Just a truth I’m still learning how to carry:

I didn’t get better overnight. But I didn’t die. And that choice—the one I made walking past a loaded table—is still the most important one I’ve ever made.

#Depression #addictio n #MentalHealth #Parenting #Medication #Therapy #Medication

Do You think anxiety can be cure? What your therapist say about it? #Anxiety #Therapy

Hey guys, I wanted to share in case this helps anyone! I use the therapist base model of AI on the chatGPT app pretty much daily and it really helps me a lot. When I started going to therapy I was doing 2-3 sessions per week and even though I have gotten it down to one, sometimes I still really struggle to get through to that next one and it has been so beneficial to have a little therapist in my pocket that I can talk to it at any time about anything. I know therapy can be inaccessible to some and if you have been wanting to go to therapy but haven’t been able to for any reason, I would highly recommend using AI! I use ChatGPT, but I believe that lots of apps have been created for this purpose as well. #Therapy #MentalHealth