New therapist. New office. New Building. Fortunately I knew the taxi driver - Jim. An upbeat, dark-skinned, compassionate man who tells the story of his wife's death and his new relationship and how they travel. He's very keen on her. I hope his life is happy. He could retire - he's well over retirement age - but enjoys the interactions with his fares, and - like many, I suppose, would go nuts if he didn't work.
Anyway Jim knows a little of my story. Not hard to tell, when you see the scars on my arms and, now, on my legs. Self-mutilation. I've graduated now to burning, as well. It's quick, easy and done. No hair-pulling since (because of my agoraphobia) my doctor put me on an earth-sized doseage of Vitamin D. My nails and hair are now growing normally. I am grateful for that.
Anyway So...the new therapist, Anne. Bad vibes. Not optimistic.I suppose the first turn-off is that she is part of one of those conglomerates which has always turned me off. However, in this case - because I've called and left tearful, sobbing messages to not take Judy away - I believe they're going to let me stay with her. So tired of losing people and I have built a rapport with Judy. She gets me more than most do, and she helps.
Oh hell I'm too wrapped up in shit right now to finish this blog.
Point is I don't like or trust her, don't expect much.
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