Today, while driving around the eastside, I realized that I was going past one of my former therapist's offices. From five years and three shrinks ago. Five shrinks if you count two attempts at marriage counseling, successful only in that the marriage was declared unsavable under the cold light of day.
Wednesday I had an appointment with the best therapist I've ever seen. Certainly the one with whom I've experienced the most growth. We've been winding down for a few months, appointments getting less and less frequent. I asked about scheduling the next one, and she told me that there wasn't a next appointment. We're going to talk in a few weeks and see if we should schedule another appointment, but there isn't one on the books.
I've lost total count of the therapists I've seen; LICSWs, psychiatrists, psychologists, therapists. The number is something like a baker's dozen over the last couple of decades; I can only remember names for about half of them. Some of them exist only as "Bolo tie" or "Ira with the beard".
It's weird to look to the future without a therapist. Even when I've left therapy in the past, there was never a feeling that I'd probably be okay indefinitely. I'd either leave disenchanted with a lack of progress, or just stop after some sort of interruption. Never come back from vacation, move out of the area.
I'm not too worried though; the last year and a half were pretty good to me. My demons are still there, hovering, but I've made my peace with a lot of them and learned healthy ways to keep the rest of them at bay or fight them off before too much damage can be done. It'll be okay.
It will be okay. And so will I.