Therapy.

Oh, gosh, how I love my therapists. Yes, I do mean that to be plural. Hahahah.. I have a personal therapist and a family therapist. Such fun. I have two meetings with the family therapist this week. One is just me and my mom and the other is just me and my dad. I would rather drink that whole cartoon of rotten milk that was in my closet-bedroom thing for weeks than go to the session with my dad. I know for a fact that it will no go well. No matter what I say or do, he'll walk out of the office pissed off because every week, he's told by the therapist that his rules are too strict, too harsh and too uncaring. He's also told every week that he doesn't really actually have the right to parent the way he thinks he does, considering he was there for, well, all my life. I suppose this may be hard to digest, but he needs to figure it out somehow. I'm sure its hard to deal with, but its also hard to stand by a window when you're five, waiting for dad that never shows up. Hm.