I met with the third different therapist I’ve had this year. She seems nice, and eager. She says she’s going to stick around for a bit. I didn’t tell her that’s what everyone else says.
Most of the interview was the customary pleasantries. Why am I here. What am I looking for. Bare your soul, but don’t make it awkward. After three times delivering it this year, I’m getting pretty good at it. I’m here because I tried hard and failed to end my life. Insert disarming joke here. Smile.
If I’m laughing, I must be comfortable and happy.
I looked around her office for religious paraphernalia. I didn’t find any until I took a closer look at the back of her business cards. Some verse from Jeremiah. At least she’s not telling me Jesus will solve my problems. Too bad I can’t talk about it again.
This therapist will get a good try like the other ones. We’ll see how long it lasts. But there’s a routine to the process that’s getting in the way. I have to trust a therapist like an old friend or loved one, but that can’t happen quickly. So I get to be a meat puppet that smiles and laughs and keeps everyone happy so they don’t freak him out.