I just finished my final session with my therapist of the last year and a half. She’s a grad student at Columbia, and my therapy was part of her training, now she has to move onto “real” crazy people at Bellevue. It sucks, in a way, as I feel like we’d just started to get comfortable with each other, and now I either have to find a new (dirt cheap) therapist or forego therapy altogether.
It’s also strange, now that I’m thinking about it, as this woman knew me better than anyone during one of the most emotionally chaotic periods of my adult life. We spent fifty minutes together every week, during which she got a firsthand account of the wonderful mess that was (and still, to an extent, is) my life, as well as a bunch of other shit that managed to loosely associate.
And now I’ll probably never see her again. And I think this is ok, really, as my life is in a good place, and I can’t afford to pay her (highly discounted) rate, anyway. Actually, I think I’m past due on a few sessions. Oy.
Any doubts I had as to the efficacy of weekly talk therapy are gone, however, for as much as I didn’t realize it at the time, I’m not sure I would have gotten through some of the ugly shit without it. Perhaps I would have gotten through it, but I wouldn’t have known how or why, and I’d be completely unprepared to go through it again.