What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Weaker

What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Weaker

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Twenty years ago I talked to my therapist about being approved for Disability Social Security. I was not well enough to work, and I needed an income, but I had heard that it was very difficult to get disability, so I was rather amazed at how quickly I was approved. Amazed, thankful that I would have some amount of financial independence no matter how slight, but also kind of taken aback that those who had reviewed my case, people who were used to turning others down left and right, thought that I, a young man of 26, was ready for Social Security. I even got a Medicare card.

My therapist bluntly told me that when Social Security contacted my doctors, they probably didn’t sugarcoat my condition: survivor of childhood abuse, mood swings, anxiety, severe depression, suicidal ideation, social anxiety, social withdrawal, isolated living adaptation, multiple hospitalizations. And she said those who work for Social Security know from experience that these are things people don’t just get over. You can have cancer or heart disease and be near death, but undergo treatment and within months be well enough to return to work. But people who lock themselves up in their apartments and don’t leave or talk to anyone, not anyone for days and sometimes weeks… They don’t simply get over it. They may learn how to cope, and they may learn how to function a bit better, but there simply isn’t a pill or a surgery that’s going to make it all go away.

I told her that I felt like an old dog who doesn’t quite trust people and spends most of the day hiding under the porch. I expected her to tell me that in time I would get better, but instead, she told me that there’s nothing wrong with being a dog like that. Many people love dogs like that. They accept them. They know that they’ve been abused and don’t place unrealistic expectations on them and give them lots of affection on those days when the dog is brave enough to accept it.

It was one of the most sobering sessions I ever had. For years I had regularly quoted Nietzsche, whose philosophy I greatly admire, but there came a point when my therapist would remind me that I wasn’t getting stronger. And finally I accepted the fact that I have these wounds, and I need to take care of them. They are a part of me. And simply demanding and expecting that they disappear was only frustrating me and making things worse.