Man, talking about yourself is exhausting. I had one appointment yesterday and one today, with two very nice female therapists. Neither of them talked about baggage insurance kiosks, or spent an hour lecturing me about how my husband really needs a doctor of his own. We talked about me. Which was kind of nice. But also kind of draining.
It’s kind of a drag getting all that history stuff over with: the sexual assault, the ensuing ED, the failed attempts at therapy. And then it’s kind of a drag getting all that current stuff over with: my breakdown, what led up to it, my divorce and my current, rather perplexing, partnership. It’s kind of a pain dealing with this new health insurance, and it’s kind of a pain driving new places.
But I think today I found a keeper. And now the real work begins.