HopePosted: March 30, 2014
I need a therapist.
I have had counseling in the past, but what happens is, I want them to like me. I don’t want them to judge me or think I am a complete fuck-up. I start out telling myself that we will just get to know each other, and gradually ease into the nitty gritty–that when I am more comfortable I will open up and bare all. Instead, I end up feeling like I do not want to shatter their positive impressions of me. I continue to hold back, as though they are an acquaintance or a co-worker instead of someone whose job it is to delve into my psyche and help me fix myself.
I need a therapist, and this time I need to be brave. I need to go in there on the first day and spill my guts. I need to tell them everything–everything that is going on, and everything I want to talk about in the future. I can’t be afraid to say “I was raped and I still want my rapist.” I can’t be afraid to say “I got knocked up and I had an abortion.” I can’t be afraid to say “I am an addict, and I don’t even think I am addicted to any one thing. I am addicted to the escape from my life because I am so chronically dissatisfied.”
I need a therapist, and I can’t be afraid.
I can’t find a therapist. I can’t afford a real one–I do not have $180 to shell out every week. At this point I would be willing to go to a crisis center and find someone there. I would be willing to sign up on a wait list at a community counselling organization where the “therapists” are social workers, and just take my chances, crossing my fingers that someone there will be able to help me. At this point I would be willing to join a support group.
Except it looks like we are moving. It looks like we are leaving this place in the hopes of things getting better and life moving forward. Is there a point in finding someone here, only to have to leave? Maybe–or maybe not. I am hoping I can find a professional to talk to in our new life, in our new city. I am hoping that a change of scenery and new cast of characters will help, though I know that I can’t run from myself. I am hoping that I am not being foolish to hope that there is someone out there who can aid me in sorting out the mess that is me, and rearranging it into something functional. I am hoping, even though hope has never been my friend.