I saw my new therapist today. She’s new but anyone would be. The last and only other time I’ve been to a therapist was after I came back my parents brought me back from Little Rock where my then husband left me stranded with no car and no one I knew in the whole city (what a sob story). As might be expected for a 23 year old who’d prior to that led a pretty uneventful existance, I was in need of some mental assistance.
If I remember correctly, I saw my first therapist for the allowed 8 sessions and his suggestion to me was to read, Codependent No More, How to Stop Controlling Others and Start Caring for Yourself, by Melody Beatte. It’s only just occurring to me that the subtitle was telling me it was me controlling him. I had no idea. I thought we were relying too heavily on each other, I didn’t realize I was the controlling one. I didn’t feel in control of anything.
Anyway, that was then. This is now.
I have a whole new set of problems. I’m eager to see what a third party will have to say from just hearing my perspective. I wonder if she’ll see right through me to something I don’t even see myself. Doesn’t really seem like it, yet. I mostly talked for the entire hour about my husband. Talked about our differences but actually found myself liking who I described. We were raised so differently it’s like we were born on different planets, yet we need each other – but I don’t want to get too “heart on the sleeve.”
I wondered while we spoke why I agreed to this in the first place and why was she asking me so many questions about my husband? I guess that’s a really good way of getting to know someone, knowing who someone spends most of their time with.
I was surprised in the end when there was no assessment, no feedback at all at the end of the session. Just a request to re-schedule, “I mean schedule another appointment,” she said. So she gave me some paperwork and sent me to the community waiting room (the building housed like 8 psychiatric doctor’s offices) to complete and leave on a public, unmanned desk. I’m sure it was safe, it was just weird, ya know? My social security number was on there, that’s all. It was also kind of nice to get to skip the receptionist experience. Those are always so strange and impersonal. Strange and impersonal is what I spend most of my time trying to avoid and overcome.