Therapy.

When I was about 13, my mom decided it would be a good idea for me to see a counselor. Someone for me to talk to and deal with any problems I wanted to sort out. My parents had just divorced, ending an ugly marriage where my dad had turned into an angry, abusive dictator. My mom was depressed and barely able to deal with her own troubles, much less help me with mine. So she sent me to someone who could help; I started seeing Jack Raby, ACSW.

Jack was exactly what I needed to keep from completely self-destructing. He figured me out pretty quickly - there were sessions when we'd spend 20 minutes talking about his boat (he had a beautiful ~40 foot Hatteras) when I just couldn't put what I was feeling into words. He knew when to not say a word and just let me sit there, perfectly silent, and try to make sense of the thoughts I couldn't understand. I was a painfully shy kid back then, afraid of what others thought of me, convinced by my father that I was worthless and stupid. He snapped me out of that, for the most part, and helped me feel better about myself - no small task when you're dealing with a gangly, pimply teenager.

Now that I'm a slightly less gangly, pimply adult, I've decided to give therapy another try, and I'm going to document some of the things I deal with here. I should probably have my head more thoroughly examined for posting this kind of thing on a blog with my name all over it, but I want a place where I can put it all down and see it. I learn by seeing and reading and re-reading and examining.

Last Monday was my first session with Janine (I'll leave her last name off, for privacy's sake). This first session was mostly spent in gettin'-to-know-you mode, so we didn't have a lot of time to deal with the things I want to sort out. But I'll have more to say soon - my next session is on Tuesday.