So, this post may not be very work related. In fact I think the only work related thing about it is that I’m sitting in the tech center while typing it up. August is almost over, and I took some breaks in blogging, took it easy, had some weekends off, and went on a mini vacay by myself. It was a great month. Then yesterday I received some disturbing news, kind of related to my last post. My therapist passed away at the beginning of August, about a week after our last email.
Her colleague (one of the ones she offered in replacement during her leave) called me once on Sunday and didn’t leave a message. I figured he just wanted to check in. He called me again last night and 10pm and left me a message to call him back, and that he would be up until 1. I could tell by the tone of his voice, and the time of the message what had happened but I still had to make the phone call. I guess she had died of rare complications from hyperthyroidism that she wasn’t getting treated, opting to go the natural path. She was only 57. I wondered if it had anything to do with the rash she told me about. I often thought about my therapist’s personal life. I tried not to. But it was just impossible to do. I can’t believe she was going through all these things, while I was seeing her, probably the whole 9 months.
Therapy is a strange concept. You pay somebody, a lot, then go in and literally expose to them the darkest parts of your brain, cry hysterically in front of them for hours while they pull things out of you that you didn’t even know were there, and give you a new perspective. You try to act like they are not your friend and remember they are just a paid professional, but then something happens to you and you think to yourself, wait until I tell so and so about this. You become excited to see them, and as time progresses, you really start to depend on them for a lot emotionally. There’s this fine line there. This was my first experience with seeing a therapist, and it helped me monumentally for the time I was able to go, I’m just kind of a bit melancholy at its ending this way. I’m not sure if I’m going to go back anytime soon, I don’t want to start over with anybody else. Last night when I heard the news I almost went straight for the whiskey, but then after really sitting with my feelings (as she often told me to do) I thought, is this how she would have wanted me to react? The answer was, no. And I knew she had successfully added a new, positive voice to my inner monologue. I wish I could thank her now, but I think it’s just a little too late for that.