My boss isn’t here today looking over my shoulder, so I don’t have to pretend to look busy. That’s how I’ve managed to churn out three blogs today! Maybe more to come. Let’s see where my mind goes.
I was just reading someone’s blog, and they mentioned that they were in therapy when they were a young child, but that it didn’t last very long. Well, that benign little comment triggered a memory for me. Join me, while I take my little trip down memory lane. Watch out for the shards of glass and broken spirits. The bitterness may just jump up and bite you.
Shortly before Jay and I moved to Arkansas to get away from my family, my parents FINALLY realized that I was pretty messed up, mentally. I had been trying to tell them this for at least a year. I guess I should be grateful it didn’t take longer to sink into their thick heads. Anyway, my mother knew that money was an issue for us, so she offered to pay for therapy for me. This actually was a HUGE step for my mother, as she doesn’t really believe in mental health issues and thinks therapy is a waste of time.
When I got to my first session, I had a MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR panic attack in the waiting room. I was completely alone, so I didn’t feel bad pacing around the room and then curling up in a corner to cry. My panic attack was due to the very long and steep flight of stairs I saw upon entering the building. It was a small office, so I was sure that, if there were stairs, that meant the session would take place UPSTAIRS. Time for me to mention that I have acrophobia, which is a fear of heights. Not just “a fear”. An intense phobia. Anywho, that’s not the point, so I’ll move on. Suffice it to say that I was really freaking out.
The therapist told me that we could meet in the downstairs room. Blah blah blah. Talky talky talky. At the end of the session, the therapist told me that the fee would be higher than she had originally discussed with my mother since I was over the age of 21 and not on my parents’ insurance plan. I’m not sure how much the total session was, but I cannot imagine it would have come to more than $150.
After I told my parents about the extra charge, they told me that I couldn’t attend. That’s nice. One session of therapy, and then NOTHING. Apparently the cost was just too much for them. Please note my angry sarcasm. Here is the part where I tell you that my parents, at that time, had quite a bit of extra money lying around. My mother was constantly shopping. She would go to outlet stores and drop $200 at each store, not batting an eye. She would order things online that she didn’t even need. There were always boxes arriving at their house. They ate out all the time. Every day both my parents would usually get lunch at some fast food place. Quite often dinner was some form of take out, or even a sit down restaurant. They went to movies every time one was out that struck their fancy. They were giving my younger sister money hand over fist. They paid for her education, her car payments, her insurance payments, even her gas. She was given her own credit card for when she had the itch to go shopping.
So, obviously, my parents were not hurting for money. They had it coming out of their upturned noses.
It’s nice to know where I stood on the spectrum of things. Pay for everything for my sister. Purchase things for the house that are not needed. Waste money going to the movies and buying food out. But as for Meagan’s mental health? “Oh, so sorry!! We can’t afford that. No, $300 a month is far too much to spend on our daughter after we have gone out of our way to completely mess up her sense of self-worth. No, Meagan having a proper sense of reality isn’t important. It doesn’t matter that Meagan is a shaking MESS whenever she leaves the house due to anxiety. $300 would be better spent on my next manicure.”
I have always felt like the least important person in that house growing up, ahead only of the daddy long legs on the wall. Nothing I have ever wanted or needed mattered. Everyone was put ahead of me. I hate that I get these strong feelings as September starts. It happens every year, and was discussed HERE, so I won’t go into it now. This is the time of year that I WON’T speak up, even though it’s when I feel most strongly about things. I just need a clean break. Enough of my stressing over this.