My ten buck sessions are up.

The young therapist I’ve been seeing at the university for the last year-and-half is graduating and moving to San Antonio come June or July. She told me this several sessions back, maybe two months ago or so but I wouldn’t remember–these last few months have meshed in my memory.

Fortunately, I’d already gotten in with the psychiatrist at the community hospital I keep talking about (well, the psych is really at one of their branch clinics but whatever). Now that I’m in with that psychiatrist, I was able to schedule with a therapist there–otherwise I would’ve been on a waiting list for months to come–and well, my first session there starts May 3rd. So my last session with Miss Young Therapist who doesn’t look a day older than myself is this coming Wednesday.

Two sessions ago, so two Wednesdays ago, she’d asked me what I thought about what happens after death (because I’d brought L up again) and I told her what I thought. I then asked her, “what do you think?”  I made sure to emphasize that you. And guess what? She answered with, “oh yeah, that’s what I thought you believed, pretty much.”

That’s not what I was asking. Anyway, I let it slide. She’s probably been the best therapist I’ve had since I started going there at the university late 2008, soon after my monumental mental meltdown which I hope to be able to write about eventually. I can’t muster the courage now. (It’s kind of funny actually, in the way mental breakdowns can be. Then again, it’s not funny at all because breaking down mentally is no fun even if I got the “Dotty’s Being Mental and Loving it award”.)

Wednesday when I went to see her, I’d asked her again, what do you think happens, only this time I told her I didn’t want to know what she thought I thought, I wanted to know what she personally thought.

She got quiet and gave me an uncomfortable look, you know the kind a kid gives his mom when he knows he’s not supposed to say something and is looking for approval from her. She said, “you know, I want this session to be about you.”

I knew then that she’d probably been instructed not to talk about her personal beliefs. That’s the thing about newbie therapsits. They’re too linear with their methods. They haven’t loosened up yet.

See, that’s what gets me. I get the therapist-client relationship and that the therapist should refrain from too much personal info so’s not to get attached and other such things. I get it.

But COME ON!

All I got out of her that day when I asked and wished her the best in regards to San Antonio was that she’s got her thesis or concentration on Borderline Personality Disorder. Now it makes sense why she drilled so much dialectical behavioral techniques (DBT) into me.

As far as the beliefs go, I told her it was just reassuring to know what other people believed regardless of whether I agreed with them or not. And that I think it would be good for grieving L’s loss.

She asked if I’d told any of my friends, and I’d said I feel I don’t have any right now. Then I chuckled and said, “just Eloise and Maribel.” Maribel by the way, who I hadn’t heard from for months, had called me the Saturday before last to tell me her mother had died; we commiserated. It was good, a sucky bad kind of good and a good kind of bad. So Young Therapist suggested I get in contact with friends, make plans and tell them about L and then ask them what I asked her.

I guess. We’ll see. I plan to.

Anyway, I wanted to ask you guys that are or have been in therapy. I’m really nervous and skeptical about seeing someone new yet again. You know, having to re-tell and re-open (I’ve never been completely open to begin with). It just makes me anxious. And you know how much I already talk about anxiety burning me.

What should I ask this new therapist when I go in, I mean besides the usual thing about how I am currently and a brief back-story? What do you do, may I ask?

Sometimes, I think I should just quit therapy all together. I was ready to be done last July, but I spiraled down again. And then I think of how raw I feel right now.

I’m kind of at a loss.

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addendum: I’m going to do my best for today’s NaPoWriMo poem, but there are about  eight people here at the house, EIGHT PEOPLE or TEN! They all just burst in!  That’s not including my mom, dad, myself, my brother and his girlfriend who came by. Aparently my dad finally got a photoshoot gig and latin people like to bring everybody and their momas and their babies and whatnot. Aaaaagh! That’s the downside to a business at home. Then, I heard my dad’s cousins are coming for dinner. uuughhh. They are so nosy and pinchados (upiddy and conceited and haughty and shit), most of them at least.

If not, I’ll post two poems tomorrow.

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