The rat is a metaphor

We are midway through our session when my therapist brings up what she has not been saying for the last half hour. I have reminded myself I cannot mind read, but I am not immune to body language. I knew there was something more.

My therapist no longer sees a reason for our sessions. Was this because I had digressed into cat-related anecdotes for five minutes? Since I last saw her, things in my life have not particularly dire. It is the cusp of summer. I handled myself through minor traumas. She feels I do not need therapy anymore.

This is a part of every therapeutic relationship. "We should see other people, in that I am going to see other clients during your slot and you aren't going to see me."

I do not disagree with her assessment. I tell Melanie later, joking that I am not sure whether I graduated or was dumped. Melanie and I are the sort of self-analytical people for whom therapy is tricky. We have already thought through what the therapist might say. We are too smart for much to take us by surprise, which is also a symptom of hyper-vigilance.

I am still going to take meds, though my nurse said she didn't need to see me for three months. I am doing so well managing my medication on my own. Maybe she too is trying to taper our relationship to a close. I liked seeing the nurse less, because it was so quick a transaction and I didn't care for her demeanor. With her, I wanted to say the least possible because she could punish me by suggesting I ought to see her more. I considered it a waste of my time, but I prefer my prescriptions to be refilled on time. She is free to bill my insurance for continuing to click in the prescription verification. I will call her if I need to change my medication regiment.

My therapist and nurse know one another. They used to work together before I saw either one of them. My therapist found it curious that I didn't care for my nurse because the two of them got on so well. Despite this, I continued to see my therapist because it was so hard to find one in the first place. I assumed that professional decorum kept them from snitching about me.

How much of my present seeming mental health is that I am trying to get more sleep? It could be something as simple as that. The mind is a curious machine and does tend to need its downtime.

I don't feel rejected, per se. I am choosing to see this as that I have been successful in treating myself. I am less traumatized, less crazy.

I am willing to see how this plays out. I did survive most of my life without therapy. I am better off now.

Soon in Xenology: Writing. Summer. The Sheet.

last watched: Reaper
reading: The Men Who Stare at Goats