My last therapist told me to stop being Mormon. She said that would solve all my problems. Some how I doubt trying to undo 20 years of socialization and rejecting something I have always held dear will really bring me happiness. That's why they sent me to you. They told me that you're sensitive to clients with strong religious beliefs. They said you are down to earth and realize you are not a hero, facilitator, or know-it-all. You just listen. I guess I need someone to listen. No one seems to be listening to me.
You are my third therapist so I know the run around. I talk, you take notes, and if you're good, you will nod at the right times to assure me you understand. On occasion you may ask me something to get me talking and if I'm not coming to any constructive or real conclusions you will ask me how “that makes me feel.” Therapy is really all about what I convince myself of. It has nothing to do with what you tell me.
You probably looked at my file, the one I gave my previous therapists permission to release. I had to sign my privacy away to you. Feel special. I don't give myself away as easily as I do to strangers with advanced college degrees. That fancy piece of paper framed and hanging on the wall right above your head tells me I should trust you.
Okay, so let's get into it. You want to know, in my own words, why I'm here. Well, I didn't want to be one of those girls. You know, the kind of girl that ends up in therapy because she got dumped. But that's who I am now. I know, that's a destructive thing I just said. I know I shouldn't characterize myself by the things that have happen to me. But if I knew how do that, I wouldn't be sitting with you right now.
You probably want to know about the guys I let ruin my life.
Maybe “ruin” is too severe of a term. I still have a 3.8 at school. I still have friends. I still eat three meals a day. I don't have scars on my wrists and I never needed my stomach pumped. Nothing in my life has changed since Sam or Abel, only how I feel about my life has changed. I still get A's in school but I don't feel like I'm accomplishing anything. I hang out with my friends but I might as well be alone because that's how I feel. And I only eat because I don't want anorexia to be another thing I have to go to therapy for.
How I ended up in this chair across from you started a year ago. First, there was Sam. I met him at Boy Scout Camp. I worked there last summer. We had nothing in common. Sam was agnostic and I'm such a big fan of God I'm surprised I was even interested in him. The relationship was very one-sided. I was in love with him and he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend.
After camp ended and we ended, I got really depressed and wrote these really dramatic blog entries about that summer. I stopped eating and lost twenty pounds. My doctor wrote me a prescription for Prozac and I started seeing my first therapist. After a few months of therapy, she got me to a good enough place that I finally stopped writing Sam letters I was never going to send, I stopped being sad enough to eat again, and I stopped hoping for closure. A friend told me you never get over a relationship until you get into a new one and I was desperate to forget Sam. That was when I met Abel. He swore at me the first time we met and I was stupid enough to like that type of thing.
Abel was Jewish. Like, really Jewish. Like, his-dad-served-in-the-Israeli-Army, Jewish. And I was this nineteen-year-old devout Mormon girl. He said he could never tell his parents about me, I'd have to be a secret. They would kill him if he dated a non-Jewish girl. My parents didn't love that I was dating a Jewish guy, but after Sam they realized I wasn't going to listen to them anymore.
Abel and I chatted on Facebook for a few weeks before dating for real. He is more socially awkward than I am and that made me feel good. Sam was always trying to push me out of my comfort zone and I hated it. But Abel was content sitting in his dorm room all day, blogging or watching TV and I liked that pace.
YOU ARE READING
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