I have a counseling appointment today.
I've been trying to understand why I don't like this therapist. I thought at first, that I was unfairly comparing her to Therapist, but I'm realizing that's not it. Tolkien Boy said something to me today that helped me understand what bothers me about visiting with her. He said: I'm... interested in how you're feeling. There is no further involvement in this post pertaining to Tolkien Boy. I'm saying this because the following remarks have nothing to do with him, my feelings about him, or our friendship. He simply made a comment that helped some things I've been wondering about click into place.
Interest--this is what bothers me. I've often had people interested in me. Clinical interest is good and proper, especially in a therapeutic setting. But my problem is that I think I've had enough. The therapist is "interested" in things that are deeply upsetting and personal to me, and I'm tired of sharing those things with people who barely know me, who will forget about me five minutes after I leave their offices, who are only interested because I pay them by the hour to tell me what a bad lot life has dealt me, and then tell me to carry on doing the things I've been doing because they don't know what to tell me next. I don't want "interest" anymore.
I want someone to say (s)he cares about how I'm feeling. I understand this is completely inappropriate in a therapy session. But I always felt that Therapist cared. I knew he didn't. I was very aware that I was deluding myself. But it felt like he cared. It felt as though what I said was important. I was willing to share anything with him because I knew it would help me find peace--but mostly because I felt that he really wanted to hear what I said because he cared about me. I know, that was a silly thing for me to feel. Nonetheless, I made more progress with Therapist than I thought possible, and I believe it was because I felt safe with him, and because I felt that I was more than a science project, social anomaly, or favorite pet.
So, today I get to go sit through another hour of verbal dance with my new therapist. And I'll walk away wishing I hadn't gone. I'll wish I could trust her. I'll wish I dared to really tell her what's hurting me. I'll wish she could pretend to be more than just interested. I'll wish that she could care about me...
So, if you ever ask me a question, and I dodge it, now you know why. I'm not sure if the question is asked in polite human interest, or if by some miracle, you care--not about the answer, but about me.
I really don't want to go to my counseling appointment.