Awoken by PTL to tell me she cannot see me until the New Year.
That is at least 45 days from now.
A month and a half. It doesn’t sound that long if I tell myself it is only a month and a half.
I freaked out.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t over the festive period which is the hardest time of year for me. Maybe because I expect too much from myself and unknowingly make it harder.
She said she wanted to see me for at least a year, maybe two which is the maximum they can see you for.
My therapist is a flake.
She forgets to book transport, she has missed numerous amounts of sessions. I should request a new one but I am getting comfortable with her, opening up. A new one would put me right back to square one which we both agreed wouldn’t be the best thing. She is also quite intelligent, she seems to know what she is talking about and when she doesn’t have her micro-naps in our session, she can be exceptionally perceptive.
I’m scared I won’t be able to cope, seeing her has broken down walls, defences and although I managed to cope for all this time before seeing anyone, now it is different. They don’t understand that it is different, I’m different.
Give a girl a therapy session; she can survive for the rest of the week. Give a girl the tools to cope and she can survive for the rest of her days.
I don’t have those tools yet. I no longer have the fortress of a defence system that I used to. How am I supposed to make it to the end of each week?
My way of thinking had changed; I no longer lusted for suicide. I no longer created wounds to release my feelings and I didn’t feel the need to purge when life got out of control.