T is for Therapy

This post is in two parts: Therapy Past and Therapy Present. Therapy has played a big part in my life recently, so some acknowledgement is due. I guess.

Part One - Past

Ex and I went to marriage counseling. I honestly don't remember our therapist's name, so I will randomly name her Megan and hope that isn't her real name. She was that memorable. We would go sit in her office and she would giggle and say how quiet we were. I didn't talk because I was scared of Ex and also wanted to give him the opportunity to say, finally, why he was so mad at me so I could fix it.
                                  
That's all I wanted - to know what I was doing wrong so I could stop doing that and everything would be okay. I was so naïve. Ex said very little in therapy. He complained about me wanting him to put our dog on a leash on the rare occasions he took her for walks. Well, she was deaf and almost blind and would wander into the middle of the street, and then he would yell at her for not staying with him. That, my friend, is what leashes are for. Megan was no help on this issue. She pointed out flaws in his arguments and he agreed to use a leash from then on. Which means that he just stopped taking her for walks at all, which was fine by me.

We only saw Megan about three or four times. Ex lost yet another job, which meant we had no insurance, since I was still in school and three part-time jobs do not equal insurance. It was no loss.

Part Two - Present

I'm still seeing my current therapist but things are still very strained and I don't know if I can keep seeing her. She doesn't get me. Like, I told her I couldn't make a decision on whether or not to keep seeing her, and she said I didn't have to. So then she texts me the very next morning to see when I can reschedule for next week because she will be out of the office Monday night. Um, I just told you I can't decide. You said I didn't have to. And now you are asking me for a DECISION. Not cool, yo.
                                  
Also bothering me is what my ex-friend said. (She claimed to be my friend and then, when she found out I was upset about her saying rude things to me, decided to just stop calling instead of apologizing.) She said that working for therapists would be good for me, so I could see there were people worse off than I am. Um, no. One, I don't sit around feeling sorry for myself and thinking that everyone else has a better life. And two, I think the world is a horrible place and most people are awful (point in case) and have no regard for anyone but themselves. So reading hundreds (thousands, really) of progress notes detailing people's horrible lives is NOT good for me. It only reinforces my opinion of humans.
                                     
Sometimes I think about just walking away. The problem with that plan, though, is that wherever you go, there you are. I need a new plan.