I cannot tell if we can barely afford therapy…or if it’s something my dad doesn’t want to pay for. He isn’t ruling out the idea completely, but if I leave it up to him to handle the details, the summer will be over by the time I get into see someone! So I set up an appointment with the woman I was seeing when I was 16. There’s already a level of trust and comfort there. She seemed to remember me when we spoke on the phone. My dad says go ahead, but the copay may be too high for her regarding our insurance. The idea of spiling my guts to this woman and then having to either quit therapy, or start fresh with someone with a lower copay makes me wonder why I even bother. But I need to get started. What’s gotten me through these last several days was knowing help was on the way. That I can finally get the help I’ve desperately needed, but have been unwilling to accept these last few years. And now, It may not happen after all.
Today my dad expressed concern about my stress level and concern over how often I am taking the lorazapam prescribed to me. But during that same conversation he, began to yell at me about the cost of the therapy. Telling me that his expenses just continue to go up, and no one in the family understands it, and he can’t just keep spending more and more money. I understand. And I’m only asking for help because I don’t know what else to do anymore. Finances are one of the reason I’ve been so resistant to therapy for so long. But I’ve been saying over and over again, I’m fine, I don’t need help, I’m okay and look where it’s gotten me? I am finally reaching out for help and now this.
I know I’m a tough bitch. I’ve been through a lot. I’ve gotten through worse. But I am afraid of the thoughts in my head.
I can’t do this by myself.