For fucks sake.
I began therapy last week, had my 2nd session yesterday. Before I left Seattle, I wanted to take DBT through UW, the Mecca of DBT. I knew they had a good program there, and I was so super stoked! However, things changed, and I moved to Smallsville instead. More on that at a later date.
Anywhooser, I googled DBT therapists in Smallsvile, and found 3. Why I chose to pick the one I did, I have no idea. It was like throwing a dart at a spinning wheel. You never know right. Well, my therapist is about 75 years old, and that is not even an over estimate. She could be even older. Older is wiser right??? Fuck. I hope she don’t die on me.
So the past two weeks, I’ve just been spilling and spilling. Talking about everything under the sun and all my craziness. But yesterday, I was thinking, okay, she’s going to give me some tools right? We’re going to start DBT. Right? Apparently not. She keeps talking about clearing the table, and making room for us to talk and work.
My table is clear chick lets get started before I make some really bad choices again. Frustrated. This is why people stop going to therapy. And hate therapists. Maybe I need to change, idk. I’ll give her another 2-3 sessions and see how this goes. This shit ain’t cheap either.