At least it got me out of the shelter for an hour
I sat in the doctor’s office, it was the second or third visit in as many days. I wasn’t dressed for Minnesota winters, and the depression was getting worse. I wasn’t thinking about suicide, but I damned sure didn’t care if the light rail hit me or not.
“ Would you be willing to talk to a Psychotherapist?” The doctor asked. I don’t know why I agreed; I guess I wanted to live after all. After I agreed, the doctor left the examination room and made a call.
The Psychotherapist arrived a few minutes later. We made arrangements to see each other. The next week, I had my first of many one-hour sessions with her. It was nice to have someone to talk to who wasn’t drunk, stoned, or insane.
Group Therapy was good for one thing: it helped me realize that there were people more messed up than me.
After a year or so, Dr. Lisa, my Psychotherapist, suggested Group Therapy. I was all for anything that got me out of the shelter for a bit. I attended the sessions every week.
It was a small group. The other patients were a lot worse off than I was. The guy leading the therapy sessions read from a script. I don’t remember the substance of any of the sessions. I remember the boredom.
It was a short walk, and it got me out of the shelter for an hour
I attended the sessions because I had nothing else better to do. The novelty soon wore off. The Therapist conducting the sessions was operating from preplanned scripts. There were only a few of them.
After a while, he was repeating himself. I wasn’t the only one getting bored. I showed up for my last session, I was the only patient there. The therapist told me to go back to the shelter.
It was too cold to walk to the hospital anyway
The next week, he called and asked if I was showing up I told him, “ No, I don’t think so.” That was it for Group Therapy. I still went to see Dr. Lisa, but by mutual agreement, we saw each other less often.
Looking back almost seven years later. I can see where some of the old Lawson was coming back. I gained a little of my old self-assurance and confidence. A lot of factors played into that.
A good woman who believed in me, and found faith in God, I lost
I found a good woman. By this time, I had already made plans to leave Minneapolis for Columbia, South Carolina. I also had been writing a lot. I was writing dreck, but it grew my confidence regardless.
The therapy sessions didn’t help. The thing that helped was my determination to rise above the life of homelessness. The life my poor decisions and fate brought me to.
Love was the only thing that brought me through it all
That’s what it came down to. I had someone who loved me. Olivia helped me to love again, myself and someone else again. Without Olivia in my life, I wouldn’t have cared enough to try.
If you have a family member who has mental health issues and who is homeless, please don’t write them off. They may have made mistakes and hurt you, but they are still family and deserve your love.
I tell Olivia often that she saved my life, and that’s not hyperbole.
Final Thought:
If you’re struggling, find help. Once you get help, don’t be afraid to walk away if you’re well enough to do that. Don’t hide behind therapy. You have to step out and embrace growth. That’s the only way to get better.
Suicide Prevention Hotline
Editorial Insert: If you are experiencing thoughts of suicide or self-harm, we encourage you to contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1–800–273-TALK (8255). This lifeline is free and confidential. It is open 24 hours a day and provides support, information, and local resources to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress and those around them. Call for more information or visit www.suicidepreventionhotline.org.
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