Well, we’re here. The day I’ve been dreading for, really I guess about 10 years now.
Later this morning, I am going to see my therapist for the last time. I reached out last week and asked if I could come in today (I was “allowed” 2 more appointments).
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Honestly, as I started writing this, Casey had a pretty bad seizure, the first one since Friday evening.
If I had the room to write about my thoughts and feelings about therapy before, I don’t now.
Sitting next to my 17 year old dog in a postictal state not knowing if she’s going to come out of it, and wondering how many minutes hours or days I have left with her kind of makes any other thought or emotion feel out of place.
Today will suck. And I’m sure my (soon to be former) therapist will tell me all the ways in which everything is my fault.
I don’t care anymore.
This week will suck.
And it will probably look like me saying goodbye to my therapist after 10 years, and my dog after 17 years.
What a fucked up way to start a week.