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The counselor: I saw a counselor for awhile towards the end of my relationship with Lee. There isn't much to say about the counselor. He seemed like a nice guy, but he wasn't very helpful. I guess my story was/is too far out there into the realm of the impossible. He wasn't equipped to cope with my reality, no one else was either. I tried the suggestions he made, but they didn't work. I remember sitting in his office, struggling not to cry, and begging him to please not ever turn his back on his own children if they ever got really sick. I remember my trembling voice pleading with him, making him promise me and God and himself that if his kids ever got sick like I did that he'd take them to good doctors until he found out what was wrong and followed through with humane treatment. I didn't want any other children to be put through crazy or perverted or idiot doctors and then thrown away like they were trash because those few moronic physicians couldn't figure out or didn't really want to figure out why they were sick. He had no trouble promising. He'd never deny his kids like that. I remember feeling thankful. I think he felt sorry for me, but he also couldn't fully understand me because I didn't have a neat little diagnosis to show him. It didn't matter, I just didn't want anymore children to go through what I did. I didn't want anymore children to be sick at all. I didn't ever want another child or even an adult to be so sick that they turned into an instant old haggard woman or man. However, if such sickness must exist, I didn't want anyone else to suffer unnecessarily through the illness itself or through cruel and senseless treatment. After a number of sessions the counselor kicked me out of therapy because I had PTSD and I missed too many sessions. I was wasting his time by missing sessions. |
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