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.

8 Comments on “Hope”

  1. phoenixasubbie says:

    Hoping for you too! xxxxxx

  2. Enid Coleslaw says:

    Are you doing any meetings?

    I know I need a therapist too but I can’t seem to bring myself to schedule an appt.

    Lately I have also had the thought that moving away would solve some of my problems. Like to a remote, rural area with a distinct lack of penises. ha ha ha

  3. chinaskie says:

    Sounds like some great energy bubbling up in there to push you forward. Meetings might be a great idea to get started – you don’t have to share if you don’t want, and if you feel comfy enough, you can also maybe ask around about affordable treatment where you’ll be moving to. One thing a a time, obviously.
    Whatever you decide, getting support at this tough time wouldn’t hurt, from this addict’s perspective 🙂

  4. saablogger21 says:

    I understand some of what you are saying. I have gone to a therapist but the cost alone has prohibited regular attendance. Being a grad school student with limited money sucks. However wish you well and enjoy your honest and writing

  5. […] Maybe knowing that I am ONLY wanted for my perceived outer sexiness boosts my confidence, while the possibility of being rejected by someone I have committed to spending my life with fills me with fear. Maybe I do not believe that I am worthy of true love, or maybe love without the rush of infatuation bores me. Maybe I have serious psychological issues and really do desperately need a therapist. […]

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