It feels like being a sick animal kept in an observation box. No hope of escape until the diagnosis is made or the funding runs out. Or until the hour is up. From the facial expressions and sarcastic tone, the quoted Bible verses and assuming to know the nature of the situation, and asking every five minutes what you are thinking, everything grates upon until the striking desire come to strike with your knuckles on her overly made up eye. It is quite the personal tragedy when you do not like your therapist. It is also a tragedy when you know that through the annoyance you feel, you recognize she is right. The diagnosis has been made.
You have control issues.
You are afraid of the unknown.
You have to plan everything or you get anxious.
You cannot change your father.
You cannot change the situation.
You. Have. No. Control.
So where do you go from here?
Take a deep breath, keep your face expressionless, pay your $50 co-pay, hug the therapist, and prepare for next week.
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