I stopped going to therapy.
Because I feel like I’m fixed.
Not completely, but I’m at the point where I can recognize my problems, bad mental habits, and work towards fixing them myself. My anxiety — the reason why I went to therapy in the first place — is under control, and I’ve been delightfully drinking black tea in the mornings1. No more suicidal thoughts either.
I asked my psychologist whether I could hang out with him outside of the sessions because I enjoyed his company so much on a personal level. From life to art to sociology, we would always stray onto a wide variety of other topics. Perhaps I found the human mind to be as fascinating as he did.
He told me that as much as he’d like to, his ethics wouldn’t allow him to do so. I brought up the option of going to someone else for therapy, so that we could be friends, but after a bit of consideration, I didn’t like that option either, because I really enjoyed working with him. On top of that, as he explained, he would be available to me if I ever required his services in the future. I won’t lie and say that it didn’t make me very sad, but I understood and respected his reasons.
So after my last session, we shook hands, and he said “I’ll see you when I see you. Take care”.
And he meant it.
- Caffeine, along with many other things, used to trigger anxiety attacks in me. [↩]