My First Time in Therapy

I still remember my first ever therapy session. I was just a kid. 12, maybe 13. I don't remember if I had turned 13 yet. But I remember just about everything else. I remember how awful it was to ask my mother if I could see a therapist. Because I couldn't admit why. I couldn't admit that at the time, I wanted to kill myself. I couldn't admit to her or even myself that my relationship with food and my body was not normal. But I braved it and asked her if I could see someone. She said yes.

I went after school one day. I remember sitting there in the lobby, playing with my pleated uniform skirt. Embarrassed by my glasses and braces. Wishing my thighs didn't look so big against the chair. Then this girl came out of her session. She was also in a Catholic school uniform, although I don't know the school. She was older than me, a teenager. She was beautiful. As she walked out of the lobby, she gave me a small smile. A friendly one. And it made me feel better.

If I'm being completely honest, I felt a little cool. Because this girl was beautiful and a teenager and she felt the same way. She understood me and my feelings. Well, probably not. I have no idea why she went to therapy. I never saw her again as far as I know. But she made me feel less nervous. I thought it would all be ok.

It wasn't.

Fun fact, my first ever therapist was a Catholic therapist. Or a Christian one I don't know if it was a Catholic practice or not. But definitely a Jesus lover. I was scared to talk, but I tried to. I told her how I felt hopeless and sometimes wished I was dead.

"Have you ever cut yourself or attempted suicide? Because you know that's a sin, right? You will go to hell."

I was confused about my stance on the church because of how they treated queer people.

"The church doesn't hate queer people. We don't teach it's wrong to be queer, we teach it's wrong to act on queer thoughts and beliefs. You can be queer, you just can't act on it."

I had a really bad lying problem for most of my life. And having to lie to her so she didn't pretty much sentence me to hell was one of the easier lies I ever told.

"No I've never hurt myself and I don't want to."

"No, I'm not queer. I have a few friends who are though."

I bit my tongue and didn't argue. I agreed with the things she said so we wouldn't fight. I let her tell me all these awful things. The whole time she kept looking at her watch. Finally, it was over.

"Can you go get your mother so she can pay me now?"

I will never forget how she said that. Or the look on her face. Or how I tried not to cry when I grabbed my mom from the waiting room. Mom came in and paid. The therapist asked when my next appointment would be. I shook my head slightly at Mom and she seemed to get it.

"Oh, we'll call to schedule."

It was scary to know that there was a therapist like that. It made me not want to go again for a really long time. Now I'm kind of scared of therapists, even though I've had some really good ones. Things really do stick with you, huh?