Psychotherapy and Counselling: NHS or Private

I've been suffering from severe depression since my teens. A failed suicide attempt led me to a psychiatrist who asked me to confirm if it was just a cry for help. Of course I confirmed this to avoid further dealings with him. I took an instant dislike to him and being 14 I didn't want the extra hassle of now being labelled a nutter. Add to this the fact that my mum was in the room and since I am a constant disappointment to her I didn't want to let her down further by confessing "nope I REALLY did want to die".

I hid my illness with varying degrees of success until in 1994 the s*** hit the fan. Unable to cope I was given anti-depressants (again) and offered counselling. Yippee... an opportunity to tell a complete stranger who didn't give a S*** about me why I was depressed and suicidal. I was assured I wouldn't be judged and it was all confidential. A chance to get things off my chest... i'd feel much better... it sounded too good to be true. I was immediately assigned to a 'couple' of counsellors. A husband and wife, when one wasn't available the other was. So with a huge leap of faith and wavering confidence in their abilities I proceeded to explain some of the unhappy experiences I'd suffered. In some cases these were quite explicit and very distressing - it would have been hard enough telling them to a female stranger, but to a man, a man who wouldn't look me in the eyes after i'd described some of the abuse i'd suffered... it was a disaster.

It became acutely obvious they had no real help to offer me except to listen, which meant i had to listen to me too. It dragged everything to the surface. They seemed unaffected like they'd heard it all before. They asked questions which weren't appropriate or relevant, they asked about my father and had I been abused by him... like it wasn't enough to have been abused by another. They asked questions i'd already given answers to, as if searching for more. It seemed like I had to gratifying them in some way. Then because they lived near to me I would then see them regularly in the street. I used to have to serve them in the local shop where i worked. By morning I'd be describing physical assaults and then by lunch I'd be packing their shopping for them. It was humiliating and degrading and i vowed never to seek counselling again!

Of course depression hounds my life and now here I am in 2004 back on the pills diagnosed with severe depression and I'm suicidal. NHS counselling was offered and declined BUT I know I need help if I'm gonna survive so I've contacted a private counsellor and I have to say... it's bloody expensive. No husband and wife team this time, just a female counsellor with a soft voice and an attentive expression. Offering sympathy in all the right places. Of course I've made the leap now... begun to tell my little secrets. I can't open up to another... not now not again... so with her I stay. An hour's not nearly enough though. One hour per week and the rest I'm bottled, fermenting and stewing. By the time I get in there and release the weeks pressure there's no time to address my problems and so it goes on and on... as does the money which is running out... and then where will I be... It's scary. I still don't know if she can help. I'm waiting for the text book questions and the flow charts to come out. I wonder if they'll be laminated, that’s why it's so expensive.

I had no choice in getting depression and it seems my choices in it's treatment are gone too. We're all expected to put our faith in others, to take a chance on people helping us it's a risky business where we hope for the best. I hope your one of the lucky ones, NHS or Private.

Helen