Dumbledore Changed The Password On Me.

I am going to be using blogging as a coping skill today. 

It has been brought to my attention that I have kind of clammed up since leaving residential. I'm not as open and forthcoming with my treatment team. I'm not all about feelings and trust and asking for help. 

Oh, you are concerned? 
You would like to know why?

**Flash back to the end of June**
(We'll just do a quick run-through here so no one gets too bored...)

• Life was in shambles.
• Arrive at residential.
• Meet with lovely person who is assigned to me.
• Delighted to find out she is not burnt out old coot, but super-smart and hilariously inappropriate! (Not in an unprofessional way, good lord.) (Could not tell time, though. Maybe needs new watch?)
  
• Decide that life may not be over after all and stop planning funeral in head.
  
• During meeting where you fill out paperwork about "patient history" I just dig out a tattered hobo sack full of the bits and pieces of my life I have picked up and carried with me and never shown anyone. (Not all at once, at least.) 
  
• To my utter shock, she did not run away in fear, but rather looked DELIGHTED that I had given her such a puzzle to work with! Like, OH! YOU ARE GOING TO BE SO! MUCH! FUN! 
  

Seriously, dude. I have never had as much of a connection with a therapist as I had with my case worker in residential who shall remain unnamed. 

So what is the problem? Why would I NOT want to go make a million more therapist connections? That was AWESOME!!! But, wait? Why do I need a new therapist? 

Rewind.

• When you step down from residential, you get a whole new team. 
• You don't get to talk to your case worker anymore.
  
• You may get to say a quick "hello" in the hall, but you basically have to act as if you have never met them before in you life.
  
• You have to pretend like you had not spent hours taking the remnants of your life and putting them together in a way that  is functional, and actually functions PRETTY DAMN WELL (well, in theory).
  
• You have to pretend that you haven't sat together to run through every possibility where it could go wrong and tried to come up with every contingency plan and written lists and jotted down notes and brainstormed together until your ears bled. 
  

None of that counts, because it was a job. I was the patient, she was the case worker. Don't get me wrong - I know very well that she cares about her patients and does what she does because she honestly wants them to thrive in the real world. I myself have been in the exact same position so many times. I don't hold it against her one bit. If she didn't have those boundaries, she would burn out and no one else would get to benefit from that spark she carries around that makes her so undeniably fucking awesome.

But excuse me for not wanting to open up to a new therapist right now. I'm still getting over the best one I've ever had in my life and NO I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT HER WITH YOU BECAUSE YOU WILL NEVER BE AS GOOD AS HER SO STOP ASKING. 

I am fine.


   - Pita