Thursday, June 11, 2015

Therapy, again.

A few weeks ago, I thought that I had met someone who would make a good therapist.  Here's what worked: she didn't ask me if I were always 'manic', she took notes and asked appropriate questions.  That was the first session.

Today's session, our third, began late, for what reason I don't know.  I sat on the sofa in the foyer watching other 4pm folk be called into their appointments by therapists who came out of their offices to 'pick up' clients, as it were, in the waiting area.  In my years as a client, this is usually how things are done.

At five minutes after the hour I knocked on her door.  I heard a voice inside, but wasn't sure if it'd said 'I have a client in here still' or 'one moment', so I walked back down the hall toward my seat.  When the therapist then poked her head out she made a production out of my not being able to hear her through the door, but didn't mention why she hadn't called me in to her office at the top of the hour.  Things went downhill from there.

It was clear within a few minutes that the therapist wasn't using any of the information I'd previously given her about myself to proceed.  She asked me again if I drove.  This topic was covered in great detail in our first session as driving had produced in me a brutal panic attack when I'd first arrived back in CA.  She also asked me again what I had hoped to achieve out of therapy with her.  I repeated what I'd told her during our first visit.

During our second session, she'd given me 'homework' and insisted I was to have it completed for today, so that we could pursue a course of therapy which she'd suggested I try.  For some reason, today, she never asked me for it.  I also created a family tree of sorts, as per her request, which she then could not decipher although it was quite basic. 

Half-way into today's session, her phone rang loudly.  I now know the therapist is into cheesy pop music.  She turned the volume down and said nothing.  A few minutes later, her phone rang again.  This time it was just a series of buzzing sounds which made her pick up the mobile twice, giving it a perplexed look each time.  Nothing was said to me.

Therapy is stressful enough in the best of times.  I do not look forward to going back.  Fortunately, she'll be on holiday next week, so I'll give her mobile a ring {cue pop music} to let her know I'll not be continuing our sessions.

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