"...I'm just really depressed all the time, I don't want to get out of bed." Whumpee's tears were flowing so freely that their shirt had droplets all over it.
"Tsk. It's like you WANT to be depressed. You WANT to be a victim. We go through how sad you are every week and talk about what you could do to change but you never do. Come back when you're ready to work on yourself."
Stunned, Whumpee left their therapist's office and walked to the car. Seeing Whumpee's expression, Caretaker knew they were disassociating. Caretaker buckled them in, drove them home, and tucked them in on the couch to let them ride it out. They knew better than to expect a lot of talking, or, any talking, really. They set a bottle of water and some pretzels nearby, pulled out a book, and sat in view of Whumpee for when they came out of it.
After a while, Whumpee slowly reached for the water to replenish themselves. The tears began again now that they were hydrated. Caretaker slowly approached with tissues.
"Sweetheart, do you feel up to talking about why you're crying?" Whumpee shook their head. "Ok, do you feel like you could text me what happened?" Whumpee met Caretaker's eyes and nodded. Pulling out their phone, they told Caretaker what the therapist had said. They told Caretaker that even though they try to do what the therapist says, they are still struggling with the aftermath of their trauma and maybe, this isn't the therapist for them.
Reading this, Caretaker said "I believe you are right, Whumpee, I believe this is not the therapist for you. You gave it a try, but let's find you a new one."
