Three times now since my first therapy session last Wednesday I’ve gone to the website and hovered my mouse over the “cancel appointment” button for the meeting next week. So many mixed emotions are making me question whether I want to keep going.
On the one hand, at least as far as I can tell from movies, books and the internet, therapy can help but often times people don’t want to go and don’t believe it can help, even thought it can.
On the other hand, I’m not even sure I “need” help. Yeah I’ve had some rough patches, some troubled times, some doubts and confusions. But what can a therapist tell me that I don’t already know?
Then of course there is my shyness. How I even managed to set up a therapy appointment is beyond me. The idea of spilling my guts to this stranger… and I generally wear my emotions on my sleeve. It’s not hard for me to tell certain people anything and everything about me. Oddly the only people I can’t seem to talk to are my parents, and anyone I view as socially above me or intimidating (such as my boss). But friends, most other family, even coworkers I can spill everything to without a care in the world. So why do I hesitate when it comes to telling that same stuff to a therapist?
Next is a continuation of my shyness… even if I feel that therapy can’t help and it’s a waste of both of our times… I feel bad about cancelling. She already spoke to me, took studious notes, maybe has spent some time pondering stuff I’ve said, considering things, basically put time and effort into me, only to have me cancel after the first session. That’s rude isn’t it? She might think I didn’t like her. She might think I thought she was a bad therapist. And worse yet she might email me and ask why I cancelled! Then what do I do!?
The trouble is, I am fairly sure it can’t help. All she can do is tell me what I already know. If I want to draw then I should draw. If I don’t want to waste my life in front of a computer than I should unplug. If I want to sculpt or read or write a novel I need to just do it. And if I don’t… well then I probably don’t actually want to do those things.
But as I’ve said before, that terrifies me. The thought that I don’t want to do the stuff I used to love anymore… the very idea that I’m going to spend the next 50 years of my life watching TV and working until I die… it terrifies me. And I can’t help but wonder… if it scares me that much, if I don’t want that to be my fate so much, why can’t I change it? Maybe I do need help?
I’m so confused, and I really don’t know what to do.