Jenna Goes to Therapy

So, I used to be embarrassed about going to therapy but whatever. Blogging for honesty right? I pay for stupid health insurance so I might as well use it. I like the lady I see now, but she always makes me do things I don’t want to like draw and play in sand. I do it anyway because being a stubborn asshole probably isn’t helpful in the whole healing yourself process. Last week she made me envision the knots in my stomach from my anxiety. I can write words. I am good at words (sort of…I am good enough with words when they aren’t for an assignment) so I drew a garlic knot. Complete with salt. And I still really want to eat some garlic knots. But as I was pretending to fall asleep and wondering if Tim hated me I started thinking of my past experiences with therapy and they made me laugh.

1. My mom made us go to therapy when my parents got divorced. I was 7. I didn’t know what was happening but I was pretty positive it was my mom’s fault. I only remember going once. It was by Tom’s donuts. I like donuts. She let me (I say let but it was probably more like tried to make me) go outside on the patio and scream really loud. Again, I actually am a stubborn asshole and was really shy as a kid so I probably actually did not scream. I probably gave her the sassy eye until she gave me a cookie. I remember cookies. Archer’s cookies.

2. Then my mom made me go see a lady named Lynn in middle school. See, I am actually really bad at talking to therapists and people in general when it comes to personal situations. I can talk to someone not involved in the situation if they don’t have a degree in psychology, but not a therapist or the other people involved. It’s those written words man, I just love them and they feel comfortable to me. Duh, blog. She had fun toys though. I don’t remember anything significant about that.

3. Dr. Whatshisface. See, I don’t remember his name because I actually NEVER SPOKE TO HIM. I said hi, and then sat in his office for an hour while he did paperwork and I texted or played snake on my phone. Senior year of high school. Remember the stubborn asshole? This was my crowning moment. I refused to talk to him about anything because I didn’t “believe” in therapy. Think of how great that was for him though. For a whole year he got paid an obscene amount to do his paperwork for an hour. And they made me take a test once to see what exactly was wrong with me. They told me it would take 2 hours…home girl ain’t got no 2 hours to spare. I was in high school and super important, come on now. I went in, filled in the middle bubble for everything except questions relating to sex and drugs. For those I answered All the Time. When they called with the results my mom was like, “So, apparently you are an alcoholic rapist”. Sounds about right. I am still a littttttttle bit proud of this. Again, I walk that line between stubborn and passionate.

4. I went to see a free therapist on IPFW’s campus a few years ago. I actually got “discharged” if you will because I usually know what my problems are and what I should do, I just don’t execute them well. She was a grad student though. I am a grad student now. That is a fun realization.

5. And now I sometimes go see a lady who let’s me draw garlic knots and works in the coolest building ever. I tell her every time that I want to live there. Very rustic. Crust. Pizza. Mmmmmm.

Basically, talking to people is good. So if you need to go to a therapist, go for it. Ain’t no thang.

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