So one of my coworkers (also named Meghan) got invited through her husband's work, to attend one of his student's wedding next year in Ireland. Of course thats an incredible opportunity and, as you can imagine, I was more than jealous. I can't stop thinking about how badly I want to travel. A couple weeks ago I was browsing this amazing website called WorkAway where you can travel almost anywhere in the world where people "host" their house for rent, and the payment is work. It seems like a wonderful program, props to whoever set it up, but it makes me extremely depressed looking through the pictures of houses and areas where people host, because I so terribly want to travel. Just thinking about Meghan going to Ireland makes me sick with dissatisfaction and jealousy.
Kill me! How can I travel? How do I get a job that requires travel? You know, I'd probably be ok just traveling once and then staying there and working there. Maybe I should get into the movies. They go everywhere. Though it makes me nervous thinking about doing that, because I'm bad at making connections with people and thats the biggest way to get jobs in the TV business.
My life is just not exciting and i need CHANGE. Even a freaking boyfriend, idk, I need something. And how long do I have to wait? I'm tired of waiting. What if thats all I end up doing for the next ten years and I never go anywhere or make new friends and nothing changes. I'm terrified of that. I'm terrified that I'm going to be 30, single, still living at home, still at the same job, and worse off than I am today. At least I'm cute and young now, but in ten years I'll be creepy and super excluded from society. Quiet and depressed-- surpressing the years of endless monotony that make my brain go crazy.
My life is going to eat me alive. I know what I like, but I'm not brave enough to break out of my comfort zone to do it. Traveling and job changing and the habits I'm interested in aren't things I can just up and go do. A part of me wants to do it anyways, and another part of me knows I'll never be able to, and yet another part of me accepts that I can't change my life and wants to die so that I don't have to deal with the disappointment of never changing. And this is not just about jobs and careers, its about confidence and change and adventure. If that means anything to me (which it clearly does), you'd think I'd be more than ready and willing to change. I'm scared of the one thing that I need most: change.
One awkward thing about treatment is, what do you do when you've outgrown your therapist? I mean, it's great, they probably helped you a lot. So how do you end treatment with them?
Technically, the therapist is supposed to see when things are at an organic end point but that doesn't always happen. I saw my former therapist for almost three years. She was exactly what I needed when I needed it but when my life finally began to change and stop sucking so much all the time, I actually felt like she didn't trust me. I felt that she was overly critical and even territorial when it came down to it. I didn't feel that she understood the extent of the suckage that was my life. I was legit living in the ghetto for just under two years. And my original land lord had died and left us with her horrible partner in charge.
The partner (Slum Lord Biotch or SLB for short) was truly the most horrible human being I have ever met. And let's face it, I attract assholes like moths to a flame. So I wasn't surprised that she was awful, I was just surprised she was THAT awful.
When we got the opportunity to move out of there 2 months before the lease was up we were all over it. We did everything by the book but...being a psycho SLB, she continued to hound us and hound us for more money. The last time I ever saw her I had been cleaning the apartment top to bottom for about 4 hours. And it was HOT. I so happened to go outside to put something in my car when she appeared out of nowhere. She claimed to have paid the handyman to remove the giant pile of trash we'd left on the sidewalk. I told her the town was going to pick it up for free as I had called them and spoken to a very nice lady about it. But she'd already paid the guy so I figured I would suck it up and pay the $150 just to keep the peace. (Apparently peace pricey!)
Except she followed me upstairs. And stood really close to me. And then demanded more money. And I completely lost my shit.
Lost. It. (I suspect now, looking back, I was angry at two other women who'd had some form of power over me and I never got to tell them off so this was kind of my moment.)
Anyway, I think I may have blacked out. Because I could hear myself screaming at her and calling her every name in the book. The C-bomb, which I try to only use on special occasions...stole the show. It was as if I developed Tourettes Syndrome and that word was all I could get out. Loudly. Very loudly. Until I finally came back to my body a bit and had the sense to scream "GET OUT! Get out of my house you evil crazy bitch!"
Then called my husband and cried "I just called Lori the C-word like, 87 times and I'm totally freaking out!"
My therapist's response to our moving out of the ghetto was that it was wrong of me to break a lease and that renting from my landlord was wrong because he was the step-dad of a former client. Her exact words were, in fact, "I will fire you as a client if you do that. For as long as you live in that house you will be going completely backwards."
I went back one time after that. It was okay, I did tell her I didn't appreciate what she'd said. Or her weird denial of the fact that we have the same job. (Seriously! I felt so judged by her!)
I didn't call her and she never called me. I consider that not just poor business, but poor social skills. After three years of treatment, I feel a client falling off the face of the earth would merit some form of communication.
The real deal breaker was later that spring, I had a horrifying experience trying to wean off Effexor (My med of choice for years. Too bad it was the wrong one!) I basically went into withdrawal and could not function.
I have no idea why, but I thought I had an appointment. I called her and stated, "I am extremely ill, in withdrawal from Effexor, the doctor gave me cancer meds to stop the nausea and I'm so scared but I really hope I didn't mess up your schedule because I hate missing appointments and I am so sorry and baaahh..."
Her response? "No, we didn't have an appointment."
And she never called me again.
It may be crazy of me, but if one of my clients dragged themselves out of a withdrawal stupor to call me and apologize for missing an appointment that didn't exist, I would have called them again in like, a week, to see if they were alive.
Anyway, if you want to stop meeting with a therapist, it's okay. Really. We are surprisingly resilient and don't take that personally. It's okay to tell your therapist face-face that you're ready to move on. In my case, you could even text or email. No hard feelings. Come back and see me sometime if you'd like a tune-up.
|That about sums it up. It's not always about you!
(But it is usually about me.)