So I showed up. Tuesday at 6:45.

She was all “I have you for tomorrow at 6:30 PM. Can you do it then?” My first thought was “no, because I was supposed to come Tuesday at 6:45!” But then I said no, but I could come later. So we agreed at 8 PM on Wednesday night.

Earlier in the day on Tuesday I was emailing with my mom and I was all “I think I’m done with therapy. I really don’t want to go. It feels like such a chore. It shouldn’t feel like such a chore.” And as my mom always tells me, do what you need to do. Which, awesome non-advice mom! I’ll remember that the next time you fall down the stairs at Wrigley. (Kidding! Hi mom! Love you!)

As I left my non-appointment on Tuesday night, I realized that I had to quit my therapist. She’s a nice enough lady and I think she’s good at what she does. But really, it shouldn’t be a chore to go every week. I shouldn’t be excited for the weeks I can’t go.

Now granted, therapy isn’t like going to a bar and knocking back a few cocktails. Now that is fun! But from my last experience, I also know I didn’t ever dread it. Sometimes I worried I would have nothing to talk about (HA!), but I never had that overwhelming sense of dread of going.

So I decided on my walk back to the train from my non-appointment that I would cancel this week’s appointment. I made up some excuse about dinner reservations and that I couldn’t make it.

But I do have an appointment next Thursday. And that’s when I’m going to tell her that her services are no longer needed. But because I’m too nice and she knows my damn weaknesses, I’m going to say that I don’t have any free evenings at ALL the rest of August and that I have no insurance come September 1. So we’ll have to sever our relationship for the time being. And I’ll make promises to call her once I find a job and start back up with her. Which will all be a BIG, FAT LIE.

It’s really not her. I’m just not really focused and motivated enough to be delving into this again. (Any armchair therapists are welcome to psychoanalyze this.) If I’m going to be paying for this service, I should be invested in it. And now, I just don’t have the time. I’ve got too much shit going on. And also? Her calling me sweetie all the time is really starting to irritate the fuck out of me.

So when I get a new job (hopefully one with benefits) I’ll look into starting my therapist search again. I really think you have to be in a place where you WANT to go to therapy, not just go and pay a $20 co-pay for the Jolly Ranchers on the table.

But boy oh boy am I going to miss the FREE Jolly Ranchers.

I stood on that platform for seemingly ever (seriously, our train was sitting there in the distance. JUST. SITTING.) thinking about what I could write about. Before therapy I thought about telling you guys how because I’m friends with a MAN at work, we’re clearly sleeping together. Because OMG! What single woman has FRIENDS that are MEN at WORK?

After therapy I’m all “woe is me. Wah wah wah. I’m fucked up. And I’m pretty sure it is mostly my dad’s fault. And I’m sure my therapist is convinced that I’m never going to find a man because I do not trust any men.” Which is not true. As told her, I trust Barack Obama. And I trust Bret Michaels and the fact that he will put out a quality season of Rock of Love every fricking time. Until he dies. Of gets some sort of venereal disease that he will probably get from Kristy Jo.

And then I started to wonder, what the hell can I write about when I’m all weepy and wondering if she’s right and OMG, I’m just like any contestant on The Bachelor because I cannot open up. I have an unpenetrable wall! I will die a lonely, spinster death with my 11 cats all because my dad was an asshole. Woe. Is. Me.

And then I punched my own self in the face.

One, because therapist knows only what I’ve told her in two 45 minute sessions. So really, she’s missing a BIG PART. I’m a talker but even I’m deeper than 90 damn minutes. Two, it isn’t really like I’ve had this line of potential suitors lined up outside my apartment that I keep turning down because I refuse to trust anyone with a penis.

She’s all “you do not trust people. Not everything is so black and white, honey.” (Yeah, we still have the honeys, but not as condescending this time around.) I told her, I’m inherently a very trusting person, almost to a fault, until you FUCK WITH THAT TRUST. Then, you have a bit of a hard road to go up because I make you work to get back in my good graces. I will not let you continue to fuck with that trust. You have to prove to me that you value it. It is a precious thing, so it should be handled that way. Treat it like something you CANNOT break.

I realize people make mistakes. I’m not perfect, I do not expect people to be perfect either. I’m mostly in the “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me” camp. And shame on me means you will have a hard time ever regaining that trust. Yes I realize this is very harsh. And believe me, through the years I’ve gotten better about it. I used to hold grudges like it was an Olympic event. I’ve eased up on that a little in the last few years and grown up.

But I also don’t mess around with shit like that. Do not lie to me. Do not disappoint me over and over. I’ve been there, done that with my father. I do not want to go there ever again. This is why I surround myself with people that I know I can trust with anything. Because these people in my life will never, ever do anything on purpose to fuck with that.

I know I have my issues I need to work on (that’s why I am back in therapy in the first place). And I know that the things I experienced as a kid, the constant disappointment and lack of support from my father, has messed me up in more ways that I will ever know. But I will not let that affect me and how I live the rest of my life. He did his damage, I know what he did and I will not let him continue to make me feel like this from six feet under.

I will work through it and become an even better person in spite of him. Because my ultimate reward, and revenge on him, is turning out to be this fabulous person that he was too careless and too stupid to let out of his life.

So then one time at work I was all “I start all my sentences with and.” And my boss was all “I’ve never noticed that. Ever, actually.” If you could have seen me backpedal out of that one, boy howdy would you have been impressed. Because I don’t do it at work. Ever actually. She was right.

That was so not the point of this post. And by the way (I did it again right there), trying to submit posts to BlogHer for their open mic thing is really difficult when 99 percent of your posts start off with me rambling about baubles or stupid Yahoo! mail for a half-page before even getting to THE POINT. Kind of takes away from the funny. But I’m hoping they will move past that and let me just read when the funny starts.

And I know you all just said “AND WHEN WILL THAT BE????”

And now I just keep doing it on purpose.

Anyhootie, tonight I had my first appointment with my new therapist. I picked her randomly off a page of therapists that were close to my house. And I really like her. She seems very cool and she just let me ramble on like an asshole for a whole 45 minutes before cutting me off and telling me “hey! I do have other patients.”

And I’m all “oh, but I forgot to tell you about the one time when my dad hung up on me. Oh! And I have two cats! And I’ll have some Swedish Fish! And some Milk Duds.”

It was good. I wouldn’t say I walked out of there feeling good. I mean, I basically put my whole life and all the batshit crazy issues out on the table ALL AT ONCE. And after seeing all that, it is amazing I’m able to get dressed every day and not have to wear a bib from the drool.

But! I do like her. She was easy to talk to. (That is not saying much, my throw pillows are easy to talk to. So is the one-eyed man on the bus. Even though I’m not quite sure who he is looking at.) I told her about getting fired for the blog. She laughed. She thinks I’m wacky from living in fear of someone from work finding it. She called me honey a lot. I think she thought I was younger.

She also told me there’s depression there. She’s not thinking I need to go on medication just yet, she needs a few more sessions. But it is there. And noticeable.

I’m not surprised. More and more, I feel that way. I don’t feel nearly as bad as my lowest point the last time, but I almost started crying for no reason in her office. And that’s not normal. I went to therapy before for almost a year and I don’t think I cried once.

So I’m going to start to see her weekly for the time being. And I’m going to try to get to the bottom of this and work through all these issues that I’m having. It is nice to be able to talk to someone again. So I’m glad I finally called and got in.

And in the meantime, I’m going to stop showering, wear mismatched clothes and speak in tongues to channel the crazy.

Which is also known as a “typical weekend” in Kristabellikstan.