I went to see my old therapist, Jill, mainly just to appease my psychiatrist, who has been bugging me to go back to weekly cognitive-behavioral therapy.
I thought Jill would be mad at me for not contacting her since last spring, but she acted very nice to me. She led me into a large room for my therapy session. I wasn't sure where this room was in relation to her usual office, or anything else in the counseling building, but it was definitely a nice room. There were hardwood floors, exotic plants, and big windows on every wall. The middle of the floor was clear. It looked almost like a dance floor. The walls of the room were adorned with classic pieces of art, and under these pictures were the exotic plants and various types of couches and chairs.
Jill led me to a couch at the back of the room and instructed me to lie down. I did, and I buried my face into the thick burgundy fabric as I started telling her how I'd been feeling these last few months. I wasn't giving her the whole story by any means, however. I told her I'd been feeling depressed and getting panic attacks, but I completely forgot to tell her what had triggered my depression and anxiety. She knew all about Chris, my ex-boyfriend, from our previous sessions, but the memory of him didn't occur to me until near the end of our session. I kept telling Jill that I was taking antidepressants and anxiety pill. I made a point of mentioning my psychiatrist in almost every sentence, as though I was trying to make her jealous that there was another psychology professional helping me out.
Finally, I told her that Chris dumped me. And then I started crying. And then she started crying. I got off the couch and let her lie on it. She was sobbing and telling me about some ex-lover of hers. I didn't know what to do; I didn't want to counsel my counselor. So I went and grabbed one of the other therapists in the room and brought her over to Jill. Suddenly, Jill started spilling out all her problems to the other therapist, and to the whole room in general.
At this point, I wasn't sure what the room was for. I had previously thought the room was just for counseling, but I now noticed that other people -- non-crazy people -- were milling about, looking at the pictures and exotic plants. I suddenly felt very embarrassed, figuring these people were pitying me for needing therapy.
I knew I couldn't stay in the room anymore. I didn't want to be in therapy. So I said to Jill and the other therapist, "I don't think I can have a lesbian for a counselor. Sorry. I don't think she would understand my relationship problems." It was a really lame excuse, but it was all I could think of to get out of the room. I had become scared of telling anything to any of the therapists in the room, and I didn't want anyone in there to know anything else about me.
