to start from the beginning...
two years before the explosion i started therapy for the first time. therapist #1 was the guidance counselor at school, and i went to her (at first) cause i was freaking out over some health issues going on in my family. once i got over that, i continued going to her, since it was a good way to miss class. i never liked school, so this was the perfect excuse. every week, i would miss at least half an hour of class playing in the guidance counselor's office.
i continued seeing her for two years, even after she left the school. when i called my mother two years later, (see the poem) the first thing she did was call my therapist. that's when my strangeness clicked in everyone's mind. so that's why little sheep is so moody/explosive/such a crybaby/doing so poorly in school/refusing to do homework...i stayed with her for half a year later, when i decided out of the blue that i didn't want therapy anymore, and i was fine, and all that. she said i outgrew her, which was probably true.
after a year and a half of not being in therapy, and still being the same moody/explosive...kid i was before, my parents decided that i needed to be in therapy again. so along came therapists #2 & 3. i loved them both so much, that i can't even tell the difference between the two! they shared an office, so that after dropping the first one (two sessions in), when i got there for the second one, i already had a prejudice against her. either way, neither of them was too exciting. one said in the first session "you think your parents are making too big of a deal out of this, and that it's not a big issue, and they should leave you alone." ironically, the other one said the exact opposite. "you think that your parents don't care, and that they make light of your issues." those statements were what doomed these therapists from the start. i might be crazy, but unless i say something, no one has a right to make assumptions. had either of them phrased it as a question, they probably would have lasted longer. needless to say, by the time the summer was over, my parents and i had called it a truce, again-no therapy.
after another year and a half, my parents dragged me back to my psychiatrist, who i hated. nothing against him personally, he's actually quite a nice fellow. just that he was a guy. and guys+little sheep=disaster. after refusing medication, he convinced me to try therapist #4. T #4 was a nodder-mm hmmer. if there's one thing i hate in therapy, that's it. if i wanted to talk to a wall, i have plenty at home. four in every room, in fact. why pay someone to be a wall? needless to say, after a few months i convinced her to call my mother and tell her that she wasn't the therapist for me, or something like that.
a few months later, my school started something new: Project Fix Little Sheep. my mother was called down to school, and my teachers, and some other people at school had a whole meeting with her, and they decided to find me a new psychiatrist and therapist. so along came psychiatrist #2, and therapist #5. T #5 was the first one i really liked. of course, two days after seeing her for the first time, i landed myself in the psych ward. she lasted around three quarters of year, then she felt i wasn't getting anywhere with her, and that i needed to try something new.
(to be continued)