Next Therapist Please is a glimpse into the life of Janie Weiss. After a tragic accident Janie’s goal is to try to live a normal life. Plagued by anxiety, depression and OCD, she is struggles to find happiness. When Janie runs into her last therapist, therapist #6, she takes a trip down memory lane and recounts her troubled past. Read a short passage of this captivating novel.
“How long ago did you last visit a therapist?”
“A while. You own the honor of being the last therapist I visited,” I say, slumping my shoulders. “Do you think eating any brand of ice cream is grounds for needing to consult a therapist?”
“No, no.” Rob laughed. “But you seem pretty uptight over a discussion complete strangers are involved in. You need to relax and not concern yourself with others’ business.”
“Oh, I guess so.” I sigh. “I do become wrapped up in what others think and believe.”
“Like a bad habit, we can banish your preoccupation with others,” Rob states.
“I like the idea. Anything to improve my outlook on life is welcomed.”
“May I call you on occasion to check up on you and perhaps talk about what’s on your mind?”
“I think phone therapy is a fantastic idea. Will you charge a fee?”
“Remember, I’m not practicing; I’m retired. My services are gratis. No charge to pretty widows who live by the beach.”
“Imagine running into you, Doc, after all these years.”
“Call me Rob.”
My visit with Dr. Rob conjured thoughts of my lifelong string of therapists and my mental unrest.
My first five therapists were a mix of professionals who helped me stumble through life. To say I was complicated is an understatement. Thus began a long relationship with psychotherapy. I experienced the good, the mad, and the incompetent.
I began identifying my therapists as numbers in a succession of men and women who tried in their own ways to help me. I remember their names, but I keep track of them by number to keep them straight.
When I started my second year of high school and became more withdrawn, my parents intervened and sought professional help for me. I channeled enough angst to depress Al Roker in a candy store. My issues, however, ran deep and interfered with my ability to live a somewhat quasi-normal life. I dreamed of living without fears and sadness.