What's Next?

I finally got the nerve to tell my therapist I wanted to see someone else. I explained that while she's helped me, I feel we've exhausted what she can do for me. I told her I wanted to move into cognitive behavioral therapy, which she thought was a good idea. (I would be leaving her no matter what, but I also cannot afford to keep paying someone out of network.) Overall I think it went well; much better than the last time I quit therapy with her, when I left a Post-It on her computer that said, "I'm sorry. I can't. Don't hate me." Wait, no. That was an episode of Sex and the City. I just left her a message saying I wasn't coming back. Then when she called to discuss it I didn't answer. Kind of like when Maria leaves at the end of the first half of Sound of Music and doesn't even say goodbye, only I don't have a guitar.

Anyway, I've been scouring my insurance company's Web site for a new therapist. This can be tough, because the site is poorly updated (When I've looked for other types of practitioners, I've encountered some who were no longer practicing, and one who had actually died two years earlier, still listed as accepting new patients.) Therapists are supposed to list in their profiles which mental illnesses they are qualified to treat and what types of therapy they offer. Here's the thing, though: People lie. Even therapists lie. Usually, if I see someone who has listed every single kind of therapy and every illness, I am skeptical of their ability to treat the psychological ramifications of a paper cut, let alone my myriad of problems. Once, I called a therapist who claimed she could treat OCD and she had never even heard of cognitive behavioral therapy--shown to be the most effective treatment for the disorder. At least she called back; many don't even bother to return a phone call to say they don't have time for you. I was about to say that I know I am lucky to have access to any therapy at all, but I don't really believe that. Bad therapy can do more damage than no therapy.

Still, I'm optimistic I'll be able to find someone I can work with. Wait, no, that's not really true either. After so many false starts in the past, I am apprehensive I'll be able to find someone who can help me. Still, I know what I want and need, and my recent history (sticking it out with the same therapist for 16 straight months) suggests there's a glimmer of a chance I'm ready to make this work. In the words of Sally Bowles, "Maybe This Time. . . "