I got fired from therapy again today.
Let’s deconstruct that a little bit. My therapist decided that we have reached our goals and that it’s time I take a break from therapy. He created a discharge plan for me, which includes the following: I will know I need to seek help again when I sleep with more than two people in a week that I know I won’t see again.
Alright, I know I’ve been making some poor choices in life. But did he really just put that on the plan? So what, two random hookups in a week is fine and dandy? But three? Whoaaaa…hold the phone. That’s too much strange, missy. Zip it up and back to therapy you go.
He wrote on my paper that he enjoyed working with me because I am able to find the joy in life and laugh at the little things. Ummmm. I’m no therapist, okay? I dropped out of university after I went broke and compensated with college. As a result, I only took first year psych. But even I know that my humour (while amazing) is a thinly veiled attempt at protection.
I suck at emotions. They’re hard and they hurt, so I hide them and crack a joke instead. Nothing like a little self-deprecating comedy to lighten the mood, right? If I’m on the spot maybe I’ll add a little “jig d’Ashlee Simpson” and make my exit stage right. But I definitely wouldn’t say that means I’m fixed.
I was in therapy less than two months. It takes me the better part of a year before I’m even comfortable using someone’s name in conversation. For real. If you know me, think about that. How many times have I actually used your name in daily conversation? Probably not many. How many times have you seen me cry? How many times have I shared something intensely personal with you? You could be one of my best friends and it’s entirely possible that you’ve only seen the funny Bri. Definitely more than biweekly sessions over the span of two months.
Oh — and we were deconstructing, weren’t we? So I suppose we should get to the end of that thought. I was fired from therapy…again.
That’s right, folks! This is not the first time that a therapist has broken up with me. Again I sit in the chair and I tell my life story and I shove down all the unhappy and I smile big and I laugh loud. And I get the same story of how well I’m coping with what life has thrown at me, and I get sent on my merry way.
Would you like to know how I reacted when my therapist broke up with me today? I laughed. I got to my car and I cracked up. All I could think of is what a great story this will make. Yes, friend, I have tried therapy. Multiple times. It’s not my fault my therapists keep breaking up with me!
Ah, well. At least it’s a good story.